As the cold wind continued to howl, a solitary figure made the trek from the edge of the wilderness to the Smiling Fool.  He was wrapped from head to foot in a tattered black travelling cloak, and while he was in town, he almost always kept the hood up so that his face stayed in its shadow.  He had boots, but they were in poor shape - there were spots where the soles were worn completely through.  He had no pack on his back, and no weapon hung at his side.  As he pushed the door open, the owner of the Smiling Fool would glance up, and then promptly ignore him.  The stranger, for his part, did not order food, nor drink, nor did he attempt to beg any from the patrons.  He glanced around briefly - noting the wolf-eared humanoid and his companion, as well as Shyrden, the fellow cloaked figure in the room.  His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than it had the rest of the patrons, taking note of whatever detail he could from one that was, like him, hiding while in public.  And then he bowed his head like a humble tramp should, and shuffled to sit on the floor near the hearth, along the wall and out of the way of the paying customers.  Maybe there would be a trencher or some scraps of food tonight to eat.  Maybe there would not be.  But the fire was warm, and it made sense that one such as he would seek shelter on a night like this.  He could expect not to be questioned.<br/><br/>And so the old fiend sat and listened to the chatter and gossip of the town.<br/><br/>-------------<br/>(If your characters have any better-than-human senses, message me, and I will give additional information as they would discover it).