The warmth of the hearth washes over you the moment you step inside. Lanterns sway on iron hooks, their glow carved into the fog seeping through the window seams. Tharvon glances up from wiping a tankard, gives you a nod that’s half greeting, half measuring.

​

“Commander,” he rumbles, “Vorundel ain’t much, but she’s steady. If you’re lookin’ for steel, head to the Blacksmith. If you’re lookin’ for supplies, the General Goods shop’s just off the square.

Or,” his eyes narrow with a knowing smirk, “you can follow the woods path… but that fog’s bitin’ today.” He points toward the door with his chin. “Go on now. See what the Village Square has instore for you.”