The Hog's Head

In the up-and-coming Kingdom of Viridian, where the emerald fields met the edges of ancient, brooding forests, a new establishment had sprouted to life: The Hog's Head. The tavern was proudly stationed at the crossroads of busy trade routes, its rustic wooden beams and stone façade promising warmth and respite therein. Above the door, a weathered sign with the image of a jovial hog swung gently on, inviting the wearied travelers to step inside.
This tavern owner is a man who goes only by the name of Korrupted. His physical frame seemed massive yet inquiring, and on him lay flesh that interlined intricately wrought metal: cybernetic limbs that appeared shiny by the dim embers in the hearth, in deep contrast with the earthiness of this tavern. All Korrupted's past revealed dark, burning secrets, forged together by wars and rebirths.
Known as Korro in other ages, he was a great chivalrous knight and took an oath to secure the peace of Viridian that marauders threaten daily. His chivalry was legendary and it appeared that for the most parts it found its way in songs told by minstrels. Fate however had other things on her list, and so one time while engaging his archenemy and famous warlock that deals in dark magic, on one large fight at the extreme edges of Viridian Korro found himself face-to-face with the evil genius of his time, thus losing out as he fell into mayhem.
But death wasn't the end for Korro, who, in one last desperate attempt to survive, had been found by a very secretive order of engineers known only as The Iron Circle. It was said that they were very odd in their procedures, mixing magic with machinery to revive lost causes. They saved him, but at a great price: he was reconstructed into a mix of man and machine. He was now Korrupted : a creature of nondescript origin, torn between two worlds of existence, with this burden of life he had known once.
To this form came a purpose: to be the haven of the lost in their own battles. The Hog's Head was born from the urge to listen to the tales of wayfarers, to share with them consolation, and, maybe, to catch the glimmer of hope. With warm lights, hand-carved tables, and a bar lined with casks of the finest regional ales and meads, this tavern was fitted.
As word spread of The Hog's Head, patrons started trickling in. Farmers and merchants and adventurers filled the room, the laughter mingling with the crackle of the fire. Yet amidst the revelry, Korrupted remained an enigma. Guests marveled at the acuity of his mechanical limbs, each movement fluid and purposeful. Some whispered tales of his dark past; others regarded him in a mix of fear and admiration.
Though tall, Korrupted spoke with each visitor warmly of what had transpired to keep from the really bad things coming to them. He would let his comfort those that laid burdens, listened carefully-though their stories be akin to pieces of himself.
But in the Hog's Head, tension did not exist. There was the warlock who had betrayed him once, sitting silently in the corner, a specter whispering of unresolved affairs. And on stormy nights, when the wind groaned, patrons swore they heard the distant echoes of incantations, as if the past had not yet let go of the present.
As The Hog's Head thrived, it became a haven for all those seeking salvation-a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there could always be hope. Korrupted manned its helm, a guardian forged from steel and spirit, guiding lost souls toward a brighter tomorrow, one pint at a time. In the heart of Viridian, The Hog's Head was not simply a tavern, but a testiment to resilience, transformation, and the never-ending pursuit of a place to call home.