Here he came, barging in from the cold, hale and sinewy, a sour geezer from an archaic past, though first impressions would place him in the mid-thirties to early forties bracket.
Broad shouldered and barrel chested to match, his thick black curls were rough and uncultivated, save for the tufts that surmounted into two distinct peaks upon his crown, his whiskers encroached bearishly over his cheeks, and his hands were checkered red like those of an abattoir worker. There was an unexplained ferocity contained in every inch of this man's character, an almost primal hostility that wasn't going to bode well for the receivers of such rage.
Worse still, he had the fury of a maelstrom storm about his wickedly rugged features, catalyzed by the evidence of that precious life blood clinging to his palms. He made the grisly discovery no less than an hour ago,drawing on his own impeccable natural talents with a heavy heart and simmering furor to hunt down the ones responsible for the evil crime.
Without due delay, the livid runt made a direct path for a round table nestled in the corner, and the group of surly men who occupied it.
A tightly coiled fist met the grain of the worn table with force, shaking it like a mid-scale earthquake. The action toppled pint glasses and full tankards alike, slaying the banter of the eve.
i"Hey, you're payin' for them!"/i Slurred one of the men. The tone in which the words were said revealed a genuine bad nature.
It was all the provocation he needed to take them on.
The runt reached across and plucked the man clean off his chair as if he was a bag of sugar and threw him wide across the length of the place, not caring in the least where exactly he landed. Typically, this action drove his companions to violence, but he had long passed the point of caring.
These bastards had murdered an innocent woman, and they needed to atone for their crimes through penalty of death.