The winds blow hard and the snow falls fierce, and travellers and caravans on the road are nearly endless, but the 'Unicorntant Inn' stays open for buissnes.<br/><br/>The fire inside burns warm, and the smell of whiskey, scotch, and cider and mingle together with the aroma of roast meat as the bustle and chatter of the nights travellers crane over tables and weave stories and tales in the warm bask of the fire.<br/><br/>In the bustle, a surly man in a thick, hide coat walks in, and takes a stool at the bar he makes a guesture at the bartender, then grunts, " A whiskey, 2 shots. Spiced. " The bartender nods as he delivers the mans order. The man skitters 4 gold coins over and downs a shot. The potency and spice of the whiskey punches him like a hammer to the jaw, but he dosent mind a single bit. He leans back and looks around the tavern, eyes filled with dreamy sleepiness.