It was well into the night when Argus entered the village.  He had wandered the wilderness for what seemed like forever. But it was necessary. He had been wrongly accused of a crime he didn't commit. His was a crime of self-defense. In his heart, he knew he was innocent. The city enforcement didn't see it that way and was hunting for him. He left the city on the run and went into the wilderness. In a very short time, he became hopelessly lost.<br/><br/>For a young man, he was not in good shape, and unfamiliar with being out of an urban setting. In his haste, he fell over a stone embankment as he fled leaving him unconscious. He didn't know how long or the extent of his injury. His leg was bloody and he was in pain when he tried to stand. He had torn off his shirt to use as a makeshift bandage. He used a makeshift crutch made from a tree limb to help him walk.<br/><br/>The scent of woodsmoke in the night air led him to this village. He eventually came to the edge of the village and waited and watched. The village was small enough that perhaps he would not be recognized for his alleged crime. That was his hope, anyway.<br/><br/>On the corner of a quiet street, he saw the tavern and hesitated. He wanted nothing more than a hot meal, some ale, and a place to rest and heal. Shirtless, dirty, sore, beat up, and hobbling on a crutch, he knew how he looked and hoped he wouldn't be turned away.<br/><br/>He pushed the door open with his crutch and looked in.