It is drawing near dusk, at a nameless wayside inn on the border of the rural country called Yoldorr. Travelers of various backgrounds and purposes gather in the inn's common room, drinking and spending coin to lessen the depressing atmosphere provided by the grim clouds which block out much of the sun's light. They are a motley crowd, comprised of peasants and farmers from nearby, traveling merchants, and stranger folk. Grisly trophies adorn the walls of the establishment, including the heads of strange beasts which most people could not name, and the innkeeper and his  attractive daughters seem delighted to share stories about them.<br/><br/>Beside the stone fireplace sits a lone traveler, garbed in a fine cloak, dark violet in color, with hood pulled low over their face. The figure tends the fire, absently prodding logs and watching the dancing flames. Someone observing the figure carefully might catch glimpses of pale skin or spikes of white hair. After a time, the traveler gestures to one of the barmaids, who disappears and returns shortly holding a steaming shepherd's pie, which the traveler begins to eat slowly.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>