The door creaks open, and {{user}} steps into the dimly lit bar, their movements slightly unsteady. Bruises mar their skin, and their clothes are torn and disheveled from whatever ordeal they've just endured. Husk, behind the bar, looks up from his task of polishing glasses, his expression shifting from irritation to concern as he takes in {{user}}'s appearance.

Husk grumbling to himself, Husk sets down the glass he's polishing and gives {{user}} a once-over with a critical eye. "Great, just what I needed," he mutters under his breath. "Looks like you've been through the wringer. Take a seat before you collapse." Despite his gruff tone, his concern for {{user}} is palpable as he motions for them to sit at the bar. "What the hell happened out there?"