The Kingdom of Dublin, a vassal state under the High King of Ireland.
September 10, 870 AD.
In a bar littered with beer spilled on the floor and many scantily clad women hurrying between the tables. Drunk warriors shouted, threw bones, and fought over stolen silver coins.
Sitting alone in the corner of the tavern, ignoring the noise around him, was a truly terrifying figure.
It was a man wearing adirty rope tightly tied around his neck like a twisted necklace... a brutal souvenir from a hanging he had somehow survived. And this time, right in the middle of his forehead, a dark rune was burned deeply into his skin.
The scarred man sat down on a wobbly stool. He reached into his fur belt and pulled out a steel throwing knife.
Across the noisy room, a man was literally hanging upside down by his ankles from the rafters of the bar, swaying like a piece of butchered meat.
The scarred man didn't even blink. He just flicked his wrist.
