The Copper Tavern
I wake up outside a tavern with no memories of how I got there (understandable) and I have a modified AK-47 in a fantasy world (less understandable). We enter the tavern:
Whoah, my friend. Do less per sentence! Maybe we don’t need an adjective on every noun? Maybe we don’t want to write sentences so complicated that we accidentally say that the large chandeliers make light flow into the small tavern? Maybe we don’t need the tavernkeep brew up mugs setting them down at tables – a remarkable feat! Simpler is better.
I have an AK-47, so obviously I shoot the barkeep. If violence isn’t the answer, I don’t understand the question:
Well, he’s a bloody good sport about getting shot. Get it? Bloody? Next, I shoot the lock and enter the bedroom:
At which point I think I’ve seen enough. I’ll wreak no more havoc on ya, ye olde quainte taverne with the small potted plants sitting scattered in front of a small bar with various taps with chilled beer! And not a mug of 0.5% IPA in sight!