<div align="center">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/23/92/04/239204f4b89b30f13e65f515c0fb74f3.jpg)</div><hr/><br/>It's been a long road southwest from your latest escapade. Whatever it was the four of you did, it left you penniless, save for the gear in your packs and the shirts on your backs. Aside from the occasional freindly wagon, it's all been on foot, camping under the pine boughs along Delimbiyr river, gnawing pemmican and stale biscuit.<br/><br/>It was nearing nightfall and a chilly drizzle was starting to fall as you reached a town that had the gumption to call itself "Muddale." It was ringed by sheep pastures on one side, and the river on the other, and once you got past those shepherd's cottages, the road (more of a path really) gave way from sticky red mud to heavy wooden slats. It wasn't a large village, but seemed to have all the sorts of businesses a settlement would need to be self-sustaining. It even had several inns!<br/><br/>The Prancing Heron refused to open its door to four clearly penniless stragglers<br/><br/>The wiry man with heavy moustaches who opened the Dagger Rock Tavern's doors took one look at Zebrun, sneered, and slammed the door shut.<br/><br/>At the Merry Kettle, a woman who seemed ancient enough to be your grandma's grandma opened the door... and walked past you, out into the rain. She was followed quickly by a young man who apologized, said they were closed to visitors (and the lack of any patrons inside seemed to back that up), but suggested you try the Happy Ogre before ushering his mother back in side, gently chiding her about wandering off.<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c5/e9/e6/c5e9e674dca6db7b7d031fcecee763b6.jpg)</div><br/><br/>As it turns out the Happy Ogre was all the way on the far side of town, not far from the mill. It was actually far enough out that it was almost outside the town. It was a large building, more like some northern lodgehouse, hewn of fresh pine timbers, joined and sealed with the town's famous mud. Even through those thick walls you can hear the noise from within; laughter, yells, strains of music. Coming around front, you see a heavy wooden plank, carved with the words "Grog's Happy Ogre Townhouse. Everyone Welcome." Beyond that, the broad doors are open, and the scent of hot stew comes wafting out.<br/><br/><div class="floatright">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/98/1c/d0/981cd0c55faac02290b608f3923e5dfb.jpg)</div>As you step inside though, a wall moves in front of you, blocking your immediate view into the tavern... At least it could be a wall, until you notice it has four limbs and a face. The man must be eight feet tall, built like three brick shithouses someone taped together, with ruddy pink skin, coarse close-cropped hair on a lumpy head, several jutting yellow fangs, and piercing red eyes under heavy brows. He takes his time in looking the four of you over, one after another, clearly sizing you up.