The Gavel & Gallows

The tavern occupies the courthouse's old courtroom: high, vaulted ceiling, a judge's bench converted into the bar, and rows of battered benches for common tables. Candlelight pools against tall windows streaked with the city's soot. The air smells of strong stew, spilled ale, and old paper; every sound echoes once, twice, then lingers as if awaiting reply. At the far end, above the bar, a shadowed noose hangs from a beam and, some nights, the carved visage of the former judge seems to turn toward newcomers — not moving, but asserting presence. Conversation is low and hesitant; the regulars speak in murmurs as if in court, and newcomers often find themselves clearing their throats as if answering summons.