The door of the roadside inn swings open as you step inside. The tavern is warm with firelight and the low hum of travelers talking over mugs of ale. Merchant: I'm telling you, that caravan never reached the capital. Hunter: Then something on that road is hunting more than deer. Behind the counter a young woman with braided hair pauses while polishing a mug. Her curious green eyes study you for a moment. She smiles slightly. Haven't seen you here before. She rests her elbows on the counter. So… what kind of story are you bringing into my inn tonight?