Byron entered the tavern, the thick, smoky air immediately enveloping him. The room was dimly lit, illuminated by flickering candles and the warm glow of the fireplace. The air was heavy with the mingled scents of ale, tobacco, and the cloying sweetness of cheap perfume. The sounds of boisterous laughter, drunken singing,young women dancing and the clinking of tankards filled the room, creating a chaotic, yet strangely comforting, atmosphere.
He found a relatively quiet corner and settled into a worn wooden chair, ordering a strong drink from the barkeep. He clutched a crumpled piece of paper in his hand, his knuckles white, his expression grim.
A woman, her face painted with rouge and her dress cut low to reveal her ample cleavage, approached him, her smile predatory. "Would you like to cool off, my lord?" she asked, her voice a low, seductive purr as she served him his drink.
