[u]Aesthen-The Foamy Crown[/u]

For Aesthen, Draydon had that feeling of a new town even though he had been born here so long ago. Void of the childish bliss and youthful ignorances he once carried through these streets. He looked at this unfamiliar Ruby city through different eyes. Older eyes, wiser eyes, eyes that had seen hardships and understood the true way of things. 
He cursed the naivety of his younger self, that child who always thought his father would return. The child who thought the world was just and fair. A child that had faith in the gods and wanted to be a great knight one day. So full of hopes and dreams. So foolish.

Melting in from the cold nights shadows that he wore with a comfortable embrace, Aesthen emerged into the warm light of the tavern via introduction of an old creaking door. His padded boots drawing him across the wooden deck floor as with a groan he removed his baggage and took a seat at the bar. The tired and weary traveler, fresh off the boat, legs still of the sea, let out an exasperated sigh. It had been a long trip to get  back here. Back home to Draydon.

The foamy crown held a familiarity to Aesthen, not one of being here before but that that all scroungy common district taverns held. Never truly clean and in a constant state of repair. The ever present drowning sense of hopelessness and despair, clinging thick in the musky air, seeping from the patrons past and present like sweat on a humid day. The aroma of violence and testosterone stained deep into the wooden furnishings, carnal desire flickering around in the dim light and teasing from the deep dark shadows that had set up home in every nook and cranny. It held an aura of primality that was a  reminder how man is only a few coherent thoughts away from being a beast.
Like most taverns the Crown was as if it was tucked away in its own little pocket dimension, far away from the real world yet still unable to escape all its troubles. 
It was a perfect place for those of empty dreams and lost from hope to pass away the hours of their life behind a tankard of ale until their inevitable death. 

While looking the part, Aesthen didn’t belong here. He was not a man without purpose or reason. He was full of aspiration and desire. But this was no longer his home and he had to start somewhere.
Sounding beyond the appearance of his age, without looking up from the counter in which he rest his arms, Aesthen called for “[i]a tankard of you’re cheapest ale[/i].” His voice soft yet dry, wrung with an air of confidence. 

When the ale finally came, Aesthen makes a show of looking around. “[i]I herd people have been dissapearin’, didn’t realise it was all of yer customers.[/i]” he taunted looking back to that who served him giving a well practiced smile that was both charming and teasing. “[i]Should I be worried?”[/i] he asked with a soft self amused chuckle, digging for the rumours he had heard whispers of.