The Hunger Games

[Shang Tsung]

‘THE Pub’ was rather rundown despite the signage that proclaimed it to be the ‘Best Waterin’ Hole in the Pale Moors!’ Based on the parts he’d seen so far and the general mood of the realm, Shang doubted that this quaint establishment had much in the form of competition.

“Hey there, robed guy! You a traveler?” The bartender loudly inquired upon noticing the sorcerer walk into the pub. Shang stifled a scowl as he approached the portly, sweat-stained man. His original hope had been to lay low here until the huge crowds dissipated or the sun dipped under the horizon. He hadn’t expected the owner to be so damned observant of every single person who came into the place, and now he’d be forced into ‘small talk’ to ensure a low profile.

“Yes, I am.” Shang replied, feigning a cordial tone and smile as he sat down on a creaky wood stool. He took a moment to glance around at the rest of the building. Even though the afternoon wasn’t that old, two-thirds of the tables were occupied by at least one or two people. In the corner, a group of eight people occupied a pair of tables that they’d moved together. If this was the afternoon crowd, Shang wondered what exactly the evening or late-night crowd looked like.

“What brings you to this desolate ole place? You want to be a famous monster slayer like Cameron out there?” The bartender’s question was harmlessly, and even as he asked it, it was obvious his focus was more on the pint glass he was polishing with a rather worn-out rag.

Shang made a mental note of the man’s name. “No, I’m just wandering…I figured this place would make a nice stopping point.”

“Ha!” The bartender chuckled before breaking into a fit of laughter—a full-body motion that made his gut jiggle. Once he finally stopped, he set the glass down and plucked up another. “You might be the first person to say that in… well, probably forever! Darkshire ain’t known as a tourist attraction. That was Silent Hill, at least until that place went the same way as the rest of the Moors.”

It was then that the sorcerer saw how he could play this situation to his advantage. As the bartender finished polishing his second glass, Shang slipped a hand into the dead knight’s sack and fished around until he felt his fingers brush up against metal coinage. “Why don’t you give me a drink and tell me all there is to know about this place?” He asked as he dropped three silver coins onto the countertop. The bartender’s eyes light up at the sight of the money, and after he scooped them into a hidden container, he poured a pint of ale into a large tankard.

“I didn’t think you’d be such a big spender,” he spoke as he smacked the container down and slid it across the counter to his customer. Shang scooped it up as if he were a pro and took a few gulps before setting it down in front of him. The ale tasted like piss mixed with more piss, which only reinforced the sorcerer’s belief that Darkshire was a terrible place. How long had it been since Shang’s last goblet of fine wine?

Too long… Despite the foul taste, Shang knew that pretenses and appearances were more important than anything else. He took a second set of gulps as the bartender made his way back to him.