The Three Barrels Inn was a sanctuary for travelers, adventurers, and locals alike.
Its name came from the three different types of famed ale it offered, and tonight, like every night, the inside was teeming with life.
A thick mixture of ale, meat roasting on a wood fire, and the scent of damp cloaks hung in the air.
The crackling of the fire in the hearth accompanied the cheerful but off-key song of a bard and the roars of laughter erupting from the tables.
Waitresses skillfully glided through the crowd with heavy wooden trays in hand, delivering steaming stews and frothy mugs of beer to the patrons.
It was a picture of a well-deserved, carefree rest at the end of an exhausting day.
In one of the loudest corners of this tableau, a group of five adventurers was enthusiastically clinking their goblets.
Their crude armor and the common swords at their belts were proof that they were no elite warriors.
