ciolocca

The tavern was alive with the sounds of cheery fiddles and drunken dance steps. Pointless conversations floated upon the thick atmosphere of sweat and bad breath. A man passed by you, staring with strained eyes as if trying to ascertain which gender you were—apparently your masculine disguise was working perfectly. You adjusted your dark hat further down over your eyes, pushing your way past the confused barfly towards the back of the building. At last, you spied who you were looking for. A burly man with a brandy-stained beard and a jungle of chest hair sat at a long table in the corner near the bar. His eyes were made of cold steel;