The Pack
The name of the bar was No Man’s Land.
The building sat on a small patch of land that did not fall within any Pack lines. It had been that way for generations, as far back as one could track.
There were myths about the land being haunted.
It once belonged to a witch who built barriers against the wolves.
It once was the seat of a stubborn King, who watched his kingdom shrink around him while he refused to parley with conquering tribes.
It once held a gallows, and nothing else.
Now, it was a pub and restaurant. Or at least that is what the sign says, though not many have an appetite when they get inside.
The decor was just specific enough to evoke local culture, but otherwise the room faded at the edges. It was a place to meet a friend or an enemy, to stand out or to
