Ichabod Brooks

Slapping a few gold coins on the bar, Ichabod Brooks helps himself to a mug of ale and the last bowl of an old stew. He cautiously sniffs at the reheated meal a few times before taking a tiny bite, which he immediately spits out. With a sigh, the dark-skinned man tosses the dish into an empty sink and walks out from behind the bar. Pushing a pair of rainbow-tinted glasses back up his nose, the nervous adventurer takes a seat and tries to relax his aching muscles. Finding a jar of pretzels, he grabs a handful and does his best to eat the stale snacks. It requires several gulps of the decent ale to get the food down, his stomach complaining about the abuse after days of meager meals. He stares out the open window even though the streets are empty, except for stray animals. Watching a…