The Crimson Apple

The Ladys charm is like a parasite, when you feed its desires it strengthens, and when you starve it, it weakens. The clinking of tankards and the discordant plucking of strings is heard as you stand just outside the door. The exterior seems welcoming enough, nothing to warrant caution, other than what youre already used to exercising. Just above your head, cradled by two rusty chains, an intricate sign sways gently in the wind. The craftsmanship - surely out of place in a town like this. It rea...