What Became of Corvo? (Epilogue 2 of 3)
The tavern was a dingy, low-ceilinged, unfriendly little established filled to the brim with air thickly laden with smoke. But what lay within the rotting antiquated, doors mattered not to the grizzly figure; wandering in solely to shake the cold from his bones and find respite from the dampening skies.
The lively buzz of chatter swiftly died down as the patrons turned to investigate the peculiar newcomer. A fire crackled merrily away to itself in the corner, oblivious to the uneasy atmosphere to beset the tavern.
The newcomer's grand entrance earned a frown from the barkeeper, but when his eyes reached his face they lit up in warm recognition and the frown was soon dissolved, replaced by a familiar smile.
He strolled up to the bar, unperturbed by the patrons' watchful gazes.
"Why did you not tell me that you would be stopping by?!" The bartender called out, planting his hands on the bar.
"Unforeseen consequences led me here," the stranger replied, keeping his head bowed, "otherwise I would've called beforehand!"
The newcomer pushed himself up onto the bar, reached over, and grabbed a bottle of DeWine; inciting the bartender to sigh in mock annoyance.
"Do help yourself; it's not like I have a business to run."
From the corner, creaking with the weight of years-kept cobwebs: a countertenor laugh pierced the wary atmosphere of the tavern.
A tall figure in a long overcoat sat on the lone seat like a proud spider cradling a web – withered hands gripping a pint of aged-brew and mindlessly tracing patterns in the table's dust.
"My dearest Corvo… Times have not changed you in the slightest!"