A shadow crossed the threshold of the tavern's doorway as a hulk of a man entered the building. His face mostly covered by the hood of his damp cloak, shadowing his face. He said no words, offered no greeting to the owner and walked up to the bar.

"[color=9e0b0f]Rum, and bring me the bottle.[/color]" the harsh voice of the man sounded like that of a low engine running idle and had the tone of a man not looking for conversation. Coins clattered upon the counter, he didn't bother counting. He had more than enough to buy a bottle of rum. His face was dirty and his arms bore the scars of many a battle.

His head was bald, clean shaven and his square jawline was handset almost stuck in a permanent look of mild annoyance. He was beginning to get wrinkles on his face, the sign of an aging warrior.

He was done with taking jobs for useless farmers and their wives, it didn't pay as well as it did when he was a younger man. Yes, he was done with it all. The greatest of warriors, wielder of the Tooth of Gorm was done with this shit.

He was going to retire, an old crotchety man mostlike to be forgotten by the world. Sighing the old warrior looked at his own calloused hands almost a sad glint in his eyes "[color=9e0b0f]If only a old warrior like me could find one last job worth doin'[/color]" Krin, the Slayer muttered to himself wistfully.