Gray tobacco smoke enveloped the room in wide curls, plunging the already dark room into even greater darkness. The old walls, which had seen a lot in their time, were decorated with spots of something unknown, once thrown into them, there were no other decorations, like paintings and other things, in this room. And the place itself left much to be desired. A leaky roof, a floor shabby by thousands of pairs of feet and a creaking door completed the image of this dull, but at the same time no less popular institution. In such taverns, lost to cultured people, one could find anyone. Mercenaries, vagabonds, and bandits preferred to rest here - not the most trustworthy contingent of the city of Rigva. However, the authorities preferred to turn a blind eye to this disgusting old ulcer on the body of the city, since monsters, a gift from past times, spinning around, frightened the mayors more than the rabble gathered in institutions like this tavern. Such degenerate or adventurous people
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