Inspector Finn was a man who genuinely enjoyed his life. He was well-fed, handsome, and carried a leather pouch completely full of jingling silver coins.
In the muddy kingdom of Dublin, being the High King's appointed tax collector meant you were basically untouchable.
Finn spent his mornings shaking down local merchants, and his evenings drinking the finest ale surrounded by beautiful, scantily clad women.
Today was supposed to be just another easy morning...
"Break the fucking door down, Captain," Finn ordered, adjusting his collar with a smirk. "If the owner complains, tell him the High King charges an extra ten pieces of silver for making me stand in the cold."
The Captain swallowed hard. He didn't like this at all. The rumors surrounding this specific tavern were incredibly dark, but he couldn't disobey a royal inspector. He signaled his two burly guards.
The boots of the guards slammed into the wooden double doors.
