Grimm frequented this bar for many reasons, but mostly for the simple feeling of comfort that it gave him. While the tavern was far from full, the atmosphere was cosy. At a round table to his left, six poker players chortled at every hand. To his right, another young man was flirting with a barmaid, but quietly enough so that only the two of them could hear. Or so they thought - Grimm could also hear them, however, his ears tuned to pick up the slightest sound, necesary for survival in the wilds of Motavia.
Throughout the night, the creature had not moved except to sup at his cocktail, regularly refreshed by the barman, who seemed more afraid of this patron then anything. Well, he's not Motavian, at least surmised Grimm. Due to their beaks, Motavians required rather wide-brimmed glasses, and hence bars became either Motavian or Palman. Grimm learned of this segregation the hard way when he was almost killed by a pack of drunken Motavians in Tonoe.
Grimm resolved his purpose as he reached the creature, laying his gauntleted hand on the table, right in its view. From here, Grimm could not see past the cowl, but he could see that the creature's hands, human hands, were bedecked with a set of claws, their slight sheen telling of their Laconian nature. His attention was completely focussed on the creature as he prepared himself to speak, and so did not notice the arrival of another darkly-swathed creature, it's black robes covered in snow, and soaking wet. He raised eyebrows as he declined to discard the sopping garment, instead dripping over to sit at the bar and watch the young hunter about to speak. A white hand, stubby and supposedly covered in snow, emerged from the robes and motioned the bartender over to order a drink. Grimm turned away from the new arrival, his danger sense registering nothing from the traveller as he made sure he had the attention, and hopefully the backup, of all the folk in the tavern. But once again he was rudely interrupted as the bartender laughed out loud, crying out "That's a Motavian drink, boy, and not many a Palman can handle it - are you sure you're up to it?" He chuckled to himself as the black robed figure nodded its cowled head. Suddenly, the bartender gasped as he caught a glimpse of the traveller's face. With one hand grabbing his shotgun from under the bar, he used the other to rip off the hood and reveal the traveller for what he truly was...
Grimm turned to the traveller, his back to the figure in the corner as he spoke. "What, you don't know? The Motavian bar is down the street, boy - we don't want any trouble here from... Freaks that aren't even accepted among their own kind..." The albino Motavian's eyes flashed from surprise to anger at that comment. He got down from the stool he was sitting on, his hands now going to the two scimitars at his waist, well hidden under the heavy black robes. But he stopped suddenly as he saw that Grimm was in trouble already. He had been grabbed from behind, a laconian claw poised to cut his throat as the dark creature, in a deep, grating voice, full of malice, said "I believe you've insulted both me and my friend here."
More chairs scraped as the patrons of the bar got to their feet, raching for various weapons. WhiteShadow stood motionless at the bar, the shotgun pointed squarely at his head once more. Grimm, starting to sweat with fear, reached up a trembling hand and removed the hood from his captor. Two red eyes glowed in the darkness from underneath a fringe of jet-black hair. "Z-Zio? But you're... You're dead!" cried Grimm.
"Not quite dead... And not quite Zio either;" chuckled the dark one, hurling Grimm to the floor and preparing to defend itself. Using the distraction, WhiteShadow whipped out his scimitars, slicing the barrel off of the shotgun and bolting for the door as the assembled men attacked the creature. Stumbling out into the driving snow, WhiteShadow replaced his scimitars as he prepared to flee - he would find food and drink somewhere else, this night. His stomach rumbled and his throat ached, but he headed off into the night, hoping to leave the sounds of battle in the tavern far behind him.
"What about the creature itself?" Queried the tired Motavian, his hand slowly moving to his left scimitar.
"He'll get his from the boys in the ba..." He was suddenly cut off by a blow to the back of his head, sending Grimm sprawling face first into the snow, unconcious. From behind the fallen hunter emerged the dark creature, it's head uncovered, and it's eyes flashing in the night.
"Sorry, my friend, but I can't let you stop me either;" he said, his voice less malicious and more apologetic. WhiteShadow reached for his scimitar, whipping it from his belt just in time to be hit by a black wave of energy. He collapsed into unconciousness as he heard the dark one race off into the snow.
When WhiteShadow awoke once more, he was still outside the tavern, but the snow had stopped. Seeing Grimm still in the snow, he picked up the man, dragging him back into the tavern to get him warm and save him from freezing. He dropped the young hunter in shock, however, as he saw the scene in the tavern. Sprawled all over the common room floor were the mutilated bodies of the patrons, all bearing claw-like wounds. The bartender lay slumped over the bar, his face having been slashed. Surveying the gory scene, WhiteShadow took the bartender's shotgun, now sawn-off. He also decided to raid the kitchen; these people wouldn't be needing it anymore. Upon entering the stone kitchen, however, he found a young barmaid, crouched in the corner, crying her eyes out. She appeared completely unharmed, although terrified. WhiteShadow moved to lay a soothing hand on her shoulder, but she screamed and scrambled across the floor, gibbering in fear. "You were with him! He said that you were his friend! Get out! GET OUT!" Using his speed, WhiteShadow dashed across the kitchen, grabbing the girl and closing his eyes, muttering an incantation. Slowly, but surely, the girl calmed until she fell into a deep sleep in the corner.
"May your memories of this horror be vague, child;" said WhiteShadow aloud, before taking some rations and leaving the tavern, meaning never to return.