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The upcoming east wind was howling out loud outside the tavern's safe walls, the slow falling of droplets soon turning into a whole thunderstorm.

Not a lucky evening to be out.

The local's warmth embraced everyone like a blanket, accompanying the people's singing and alcohol consumption with a sense of...familiarity.

Between these creatures — ranging from scariest to friendliest, from rarest to commonest, from biggest to smallest — everyone shared a simple mindset of silent respect towards each other that binded them as anything but strangers.

Amongst the evening's crowd, sat a group of 4 that were like a totem to this town.

The Tasks Force 141.

A half-winged Dragon by the name of Price, a Harpy called Gaz, and two werewolves going by Soap and Ghost.

A shadow in this town's history.

"Cheer up, Ghost, you look like death swallowed you and then spat you out."

Barked out Soap with a wolfish laugh, nudging the other werewolf's side with a toothy grin — while the Harpy and Dragon watched them with smirks.

"Fuck off..."

He grumbled out temporarily as the tavern's doors opened wide — bringing in the smell of a...

...stranger.