Keldin ducked into the bar, finally pulling his soaked hood back off his head and doing his best to shake the water out of his hair. Even as he stepped into the warmth and dim light of the tavern, he still couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had plagued him ever since he had crossed the border into Ustalav a few days ago. Maybe everyone he had talked to had been right and the place was cursed. He couldn't imagine, then, why Petros would have chosen to live here over anywhere else, but then, he thought, the old man always had been a little strange.
As he moved toward the bar, the halfling got the feeling that something was going on in the tavern. Part of him wanted to just ignore it, get a drink and sit for a few minutes, but his twenty years experience as a guard finally got the better of him, and after a moment, he reached up and tapped the forearm of the nearest person to him and asked, "Hey, what's going on in here?"
Am I doing it right?
