If anything epic was going to happen, it was in a tavern on a rainy night. This was an absolute truth known to any DM, Roleplayer, storyteller, or Mystic. Something about rainy nights drew heroes and villains to chance encounters, the sort of things that set the future alight with possibility.

Vincent was also stupid cold and really hated the rain. So, as he sat sopping wet and shivering, he had devised a cleaver plan. Sit and make the magic happen. Right now it was incredibly empty, but at any moment he was almost sure that some of the worlds best and worst were about to stroll through that door.