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. That's
Thomas the tailor. Why would Old Tom be in chains? He's
a good tailor who wouldn't harm a bug."
Clawed feet on cobblestones sounded behind the two
friends. William looked back and saw a group of draconians
marching down the street. William and Sintk kept their eyes to the
ground. They walked to the front of the Missionary's Downfall, a
waterfront bar with a garish facade, where they sat down on a
weathered bench in front of the establishment. The tavern was the
most notorious dive in eastern Ansa-lon, not a respectable place
like the Pig and Whistle.
They watched as the prisoners shuffled down the gangplank.
Faces bruised, shoulders slumped, the manacled men and women
moved with a listless step. They were ordered about by a muscular
draconian, who carried a short, metal-tipped whip.
Their thoughts were interrupted by a loud creaking noise
behind them. A moment later, Harum El-HaIup stepped out of the
Missionary's Downfall. The mino-taur was owner of the tavern, a
rugged individual with a bestial face, a massive chest, thick arms
and legs.
A fugitive from a sentence of death in his minotaur homeland,
Harum El-Halop had found sanctuary in Port Balifor. He had
quick wits, fighting ability, and the nerve of someone with nothing
to lose. He had quickly gained a reputation as the toughest fighter
on the brawling waterfront.
A high-stakes gambler, the minotaur had won the Missionary's
Downfall in a card game with the previous owner
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