A faint orange glow on the horizon was all that remained of the sun as the chill of night began to set in across the town. Torch lights twinkled in the distance as footsteps crunched on the refrozen slush and mud that made up the roadway as a lone man marched toward the town. His face was covered in shadow from his hood being up and the rest of his cloak was held tightly against his body to prevent any heat from escaping. After a few minutes, he approached what used to be a tavern, but now was more of a refugee camp. People were huddled in whatever shelter they could find, be it stables or each other. A few people even had some tents set up. Despite the cold, the area was still quite lively with crowds of people walking and talking about outside.<br/><br/>One particular group of people stood in front of the doorway to the tavern. It was a group of five, a group of oddities if the man was inclined to pay more attention to details. For now though, they were nothing more but obstacles between him and the door to warmth, light, and food. Without breaking pace, nor expending additional effort to walk around, the man pushed his way through the middle of the group making a b-line for the door. It wasn’t his intention to be rude or bump into anyone, but if he happened to knock anyone out of the way he didn’t care. With a final tap he pushed the shoddy wooden door of the tavern open and made his way to the bar counter.<br/><br/>Once inside the building, the hooded man took a sigh of relief as he felt a rush of warm air wash over his face easing the sting of walking through the cold. Taking a seat on the stool, the man announced, “Barkeep, a mug of warm mead and a hearty stew!” His voice was loud and firm to drown out the surrounding chatter of the tavern’s back ground. Moving his cloak to the side, the man revealed his arm, a few silver coins pinched between his finger tips. The tips of his fingers were dirty, stained with something that had long dried to a crusty dark red. Any seasoned adventurer would be able to tell that it was blood that had dried on the hooded man’s fingertips.