The muesli splashed across the front of the metal faced stranger, the pattern it made not to dissimilar to how the Jarl’s under cooked pickled herrings are discharged onto the toilet bowl after a heavy session on Krupnik.

One of the hags in the corner immediately rises to her feet to read the sign the muesli had so clearly displayed on the front of the metal faced mans jerkin.  With crooked, bent fingers and a wild set of eyes she hobbles over… The nutty mix slowly dribbling away to form what looks exceptionally like a hammer and sickle.

The hag crosses her fingers and eyes even further, globules of fat encrusted dribble flecking at the corner of her mouth exclaiming “Commisarssss! Violence! The life of violence stains you!”

The clown looked up… It wasn’t expecting this kind of commotion, just wanted to see if this kid had potential on the ice lakes.

The room was deathly quiet, the candles flickered as the main door burst open flooding the hallway with a solid dose of fresh snow. *Dramatic gushing noise… GUUUUSSSSSSSHHHHH*

Stealthily, as was his gift, the clown sidled to the door shutting it with a swift back heel and motioned over to the metal face.

“Seems you have the mark of Commissars there friend. There’s a couple currently moving around these here parts, one bad the other just as bad.  If I were you, I’d stay away from them… Whatever they touch turns to shit, people end up dying or worse still suffer the inequity of being slowly driven insane.  Every person that interacts with them or even farts in their general direction seems to lose something, some even their life.”

The guttering candles seem to regain some life, the flutists pipe up again, the Jarl continues to slobber over his mutton the old hag’s fingers and eyes uncross as the hall of Hnaef slumbers back into its uneasy rhythms.

The Clown takes its seat keeping an eye on metal face as it gently strokes it’s midgets hair.