
25th of Felmont, Moldain
The air in the Silver Dragon Inn is thick with the savory aroma of sizzling sausages and charred cuts of roasted pork, all grilled over open flames. As usual, the place is packed, its long wooden tables stretching from one end of the room to the other, with patrons sitting shoulder to shoulder. It’s been a week since you returned from Mistamere, and the rumors of your exploits, and the treasure you found, have been the talk of Threshold ever since.
Tonight, however, one person seems particularly intent on finding you. His sharp blue eyes scan the room as he looks for you. He’s in his thirties, with neatly tousled blonde hair and a well-groomed mustache that gives him a roguish charm. He moves with confidence, and his clean, yet worn, travel clothes suggest a man who’s seen his share of adventure. When his gaze lands on your table, his expression shifts to one of recognition, and he makes his way over.
"Good evening, adventurers" he opens with a warm, but calculated smile "I hope you don’t mind if I join you?"