There was something so endlessly endearing about these little roadside villages, particularly on cold, bitter nights.

The air was so chilly, it seemed to cut into one's nose as they breathed. However, here in the hamlet, that biting cold was mitigated by the rich, smokey warmth of woodfire smoke. Warm, golden light bounced off the glittering snow and coaxed many a weary traveller into the tavern, the aromatic promise of hot food and hot mead completing the enthralling spell.

It was here that I found myself, one again.

Being a native of Salvar, I knew better than to travel this frigid land at night, so I'd returned from the port town with plenty of time to reach my little village-stop before sundown. It was a stop I made with every trip to the port; one night, with dinner, hot milk, and a bath if I could afford it. For now, I sat in my normal seat, a little table tucked into the corner.

As I lifted the mug to my lips, letting the steam warm my features, I closed my eyes and felt my muscles relax in the warm, pleasant atmosphere of the tavern. Things seemed to be settling in for a nice, calm night.

... Oh, how wrong I was.