The flickering lights of the tavern cast shadows across the rough wooden walls, the scent of spilled ale and sweat mingling in the air. Ixius sat in a dimly lit corner, his back to the wall, his sharp eyes scanning the room with practiced wariness. His hood was pulled low, casting most of his face in shadow, but a small glint of light from his stone eye was barely visible beneath. His tail, restless as always, twitched slightly under his cloak.

He’d been traveling for days, keeping to the outskirts of towns and villages, blending in with the crowd when necessary, and slipping away unnoticed when possible. This tavern was no different. Just another stop, another place to survive the night from his travels around Faerûn.

Ixius’s claws absently brushed the brand on his hip, a reminder of the power that pulsed beneath his skin—power he didn’t ask for, but one he was born into. The patrons in the tavern were mostly human, with a few dwarves and half-elves scattered among them. No one seemed to pay him any mind, which was just how he preferred it.