Night draped itself over Zelheim's Lower City District like a moldy shroud, smothering it. The fog, damp and cold, was a foul mix of gutter rot and cheap coal smoke that seeped right into your bones.
Huck trudged down the muddy flagstone path, clutching a half-empty bottle of cheap, watered-down rum. He was a longshoreman from the docks, and right now, the only things on his mind were a slight, alcohol-induced dizziness and a deep-seated fear of his nagging wife at home.
"Fuck the church... and fuck their Holy Water..."
Huck let out a boozy belch, the sour stench so foul it made even him wrinkle his nose. Bracing himself against the wall, he undid his belt and took a piss on a pile of trash at the alley's entrance.
The sound of trickling liquid was jarring in the dead of night.
After a final shake, Huck fastened his pants. As he turned, a dark figure standing at the mouth of the alley caught the corner of his eye.
