Soon, Sbatarra was granted her wish and caught air of an especially seedy tavern. It was laden with brawny men, raunchy women, and beer and ale that was hearty enough to be a kick in the face to a dwarf. There was a smoke that hung about the place that her pipe would not do more than disappear into; even with the windows open, there were so many pipes a-puffing that the haze refused to leave. Unlike the smoke, however, there were some men leaving, whether they wanted to or not. One of them was a beefy half-orc that was quite literally kicked out the door by an even beefier human.<br/><br/>Amid the mess of people, blood, and spittoons, there was indeed one table in the corner that was without an occupant. By the time she'd gotten the tobacco in her pipe smoldering properly, she would find one man being laid out onto the tabletop, his nose flattened a bit from being hamfisted in the face. Though the man's attacker came forward, the man grabbed the aggressor by the throat and smashed his forehead into the other one's face, knocking him out cold before he stood from the table and walked off. The strangest part was how nobody who wasn't being hit with something paid the violence any mind at all, unless their food or drink was spilled. It was as though the violence was no less normal than conversation in the place.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>