Bariston enters the tavern, quickly looking around, a hood on his head down low to keep his face obscured. He had only stepped in for some shelter from the weather outside, but had not expected to see the various acts going on. He keeps his cloak around him, the slight rustling of chainmail possibly heard as he moves across the floor to find an empty table. He orders a drink from a bar wench who approaches him, the girl seeming hesitant to serve him in the first place. She returns shortly after with his drink and quickly leaves. He reaches out to grasp the mug, fingers of bone clasping around the handle as he lifts it up to take a few swigs, pale flesh exposed to the light briefly before he lowers his drink and his head, covered by his hood once again as he quietly observe the people and the activities they are engaged in.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>