Next to arrive was Krieg, who swaggered in with a liquid smile, clearly already well lubricated. He made it barely feet through the door before a barman appeared and ordered him to leave his large felling axe in the rack by the door. Unused to this level of civilisation, Krieg argued fiercely with the barman, who was somewhat shorter than him but no less insistent. At last, with great reluctance, Krieg hefted the axe from its resting place on his shoulder and stood it in the rack, glaring around at the patrons seated by the door with a fierce look that suggested he wouldn’t need the axe to decapitate anyone who allowed it to be stolen. He stomped up to the bar, thumped a handful of groats down and barked something at the publican, who took the coins in exchange for a large, slopping flagon
