The largest standing building in the center of town, the tavern has withstood several years of neglect. The exterior walls have bare wooden planking with just a faint echo of what was once paint. The unprotected wood is gray with age and ware. A sign hangs from one of its two hinges on the front of the dirty porch. The sign reads ?The Shady Corner?.
The doors are pushed open and darkness fills the disheveled rooms. The doors have large gashes in them and they are barely holding onto the walls with broken hinges. Tables are upended and chairs thrown about the room. Leaves and debris from outside have blown in. And the air is still. Spider webs cling to the ceiling and adorn most every thing in sight.
The smell of decay and death fills your nostrils. The smell is strong and stomach turning. A broken axe lies on the floor of the main hall. Old blood coats its dull blade. The shaft is snapped rendering the weapon useless. A large stain of old dry blood lies near the axe. Clearly who ever the wielder was, met their fate at this spot. The blood trails off out a side door, as with several other paths of presumably dragged bodies.
In a corner a severed hand grasps a bloody holy symbol. The hand is gangrenous and been long lying on the floor, exposed. Its owner is nowhere to be seen. The lamps are dark having long exhausted their oil. They sway from the ceiling as a stiff breeze enters the front doors. Rattling on their hangers as the spider webs cling to their footholds.