The Bar

by Huntingeagle
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The Bar The village bar had been swarming with people who were screaming and yelling and dancing and gambling and mourning and dropping senseless on the ground and, well it was a typical night. Not troubled by the outside wars, the town's folk cared not of the burning cities and widespread death. No one wanted to sleep; no one, but the group of drooling men at the distant corner of the bar and another four or five unconscious body's lying on the floor and tables. So tonight, like all other nights, folk gathered in the bar to party and all they wanted was to have a good time. For most of them a good time meant dropping like a stone by dawn, and therefore the bartender was not surprised when an enormous figure strolled forward from the midst of a laughing crowd and slammed an empty pint mug on the counter.

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