The Apartment in front of the Deaths

5

Your footsteps echo across the wide expanse of the main venue.

The room has a faded grandeur to it, with high ceilings and ornate moldings that have seen better days.

Dust motes float through the streaks of sunlight that pierce the heavy, moth-eaten drapes hanging in front of large windows.

Long wooden tables, their surfaces scratched and scarred from countless drinks and conversations, are scattered haphazardly across the creaky wooden floor.

Abandoned chairs, some toppled over, tell tales of lively nights and forgotten memories.

The raven quips, "Well, you've seen it already, but imagine the potential! A bit of polish, some new furnishings, getting rid of the...smell - and voilà! A bar like no other."

You approach the bar counter, its wood stained deep mahogany, though now covered in a layer of grime and dust.

Rows of empty bottles sit like silent sentinels on the shelves behind, their labels faded and peeling, their contents long since evaporated. The old cash register, with its worn-out keys, sits dormant, waiting for the next customer.

The raven hops onto the counter, inspecting an old bottle. "We'll need to stock up on drinks, both mortal and... otherwise," it muses.

You hesitate for a moment before pushing the restroom door open.

A chilling gust of wind greets you, accompanied by an oppressive eldritch darkness that seems to seep into every corner of the room.

The cracked tiles on the floor, the rusted fixtures, and the ancient, ornate mirrors only serve to add to the eerie ambiance.

The raven shivers, "Well, this will certainly be a challenge to clean. But nothing's impossible, right?"