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Long ago sealed, this tavern were nothing more then a prison of bad memories and wooden decay. None dare venture forth to it's oak doors and try it's rusted handle. That of which was obvious. The path had been grown over by grass and small plants and weeds over the many lost years, leaving the tavern to seem forgotten.
However, it was not forgotten for long, for it's original owner returned one cold evening with a young man, who could be no more than 19, who requested to have a look when he happened upon the abandoned building.
After much debate and well reasoning, the Tavern was sold to the young man for barely anything, but a simple two hundred dollars (He figured he'd rather see the place become something then wilt away), and was reopened with a new name.

Although the exterior of the tavern remained mostly untouched after the young man bought the building,the inside was remodeled with the newest of furnishings. The floors still smell lightly of polish, the tables and stools gleam in the dull light, without prints.

The large square room is divided into four near-equal sections. Left, far left, far right, right.

Stepping in from the centered door, a lounge lies to the left, arranged with two pool tables, a few various tall tables and stools, and a mysterious closet sunk deep in the corner.

Further back on the same left side is an arrangement of couches and bean bags, with a large screen TV sidled by two smaller sets, various game systems and cable packs nestled in the cabinets beneath the screens.

To the right of the entrance is the main area, littered with a handful of tables and chairs for those who decide to dine off the small menu made available at the bar counter.

The far right section is slightly bigger than the rest, seeing as it is the main attraction and purpose of the dwelling, the bar counter. Thirteen stools sit waiting for occupation. Above the various fountains and taps there can be seen a small window to the kitchen behind. A small TV hangs in the top left corner of the counter, for those passively observing whatever event the non-cable channels are playing while they drink their sorrows away.

The young man took up residence in the attic with simple furnishings,a bed, a desk,book shelf stocked full and simple rugs to cover the wood floor.

The path, now cleaned and kept, lead to an aged, weather worn oak door. The handle, now a glistening copper.
The outside of the Tavern appears worn out by the long years of no maintenance. In some areas, the wood buckles from water absorption, and on the roof, shingles are missing from extreme storms.
However, the inside can make one step back and look twice.
The sign that hung over the door was painted a weather worn red. Words that read the Tavern's old name, "The Black Rook."

The King of Thieves had made a home for his people.

Within the dusty and broken building, or more so tavern as some had come to call it since it's recent fix up, a man sat near the corner, and next to a window. The sun came down against his back, against the white vest he was wearing, with the kanji on his back meaning 'Blood'. The vest merely came down to his side and not to his waist, it was shortened so he could move around better. The hair of the man was pulled back into a pony tail about the middle of the back of his head was it tied, the hair beind that hung still moved down against the man's vest almost covering the kanji writing that was there. He was sitting in a chair, red pants covered his legs as bare feet were sitting upon the floor of the tavern, though being covered by the long pants his feet merely tapped the floor as he glanced around.

Red hues scanned over the area, staring at a few people none of particualr interest, until the door opened, a woman, well a child it seemed. What was someone like her doing in here, then again being what he was and what else he was, you could never tell from the outside appearance. He merely leaned forward, his right arm stretching out grasping the bottle in front of him. The smell was gone, it didn't seem to smell of anything, though there was liquid within the content of the bottle. Beside him,lay a long quarterstaff, trimmed with an icy blue tint at the ends and a black shaft the weapon, or walking stick leaned against the table.

As he grasped the bottle his finger gleamed with a shine, what seemed to be just a finger guard lay on his right idex finger, his hand slowly brought it back and within him flexing his back to to himself. The rune tattoos could be seen, his red eyes looked down focusing on the contents before pressing the rimm against his pale lips. Soon he tilted the bottle back allowing the liquid to run down into his mouth and down his throat as he sat there, his eyes moved back now to the woman. Sitting the bottle down his arms came to rest lightly over his lap, just staring, his other index finger had the same guard as his right.