The village of Grayweald was far from a village you'd take notice of if you passed through. In truth, it was plain average, perhaps even dull; it had a town market; a cemetery beside the old stone temple in honour of Markisha, the Goddess of farming and fertility; a small barrack where the local 'militia', if you could even call them that, kept their weapons and practiced; a small river running straight through town; a bridge crossing said river and several other buildings. 

Another such building was the tavern, "The Waterfront", a wooden building with two stories and only a handful more people inside. At this time and hour it wasn't normal to have more people, beside the town drunkards and early birds about to head out. The barkeep walked down from his quarters at the second floor, opened the shutters of a few windows and in the now lit room found several people sleeping in various spots around the room. A few slept on their table, their hands still cluthing a mug of unknown booze. The others lying aroundt he floor were much the same. But not the old man sitting at the counter. 

-"Didn't expect you to be here this early, ol' Ragnar." The barkeep said casually to the grey-haired man, sitting in a straight position unlike the other heavy sleepers. The man called Ragnar smirked as he turned his head towards the barkeep. 

"Couldn't sleep, so thought I'd get some early breakfast, Soldard." 

-"Bad dreams? Guess that makes two of us. Hold your stomach for a little longer, I'll get something on the stove."

"Not dreams; visions. And that'd be nice."

-"Oh don't start with that again, Ragnar. Being you're old and bind doesn't make a wise prophet, just wise."

Ragnar, the blind, couldn't help but chuckle. "You might be right, but I know what I saw. If I'm not mistaken, we'll have company in Grayweald soon. Both welcomed and shunned."

-"Really Ragnar, really? That could mean anything; traders, soldiers, bandits, vermin and deer, or just the never-ending snow. Do you want breakfast or not?"

"Yes please, Solvard. I guess I'm just an old, blind man rambling, like always." Ragnar said in a jokingly manner, as if humoured by the stereotype he'd become. It fit into it somehow, all with his grey beard and hair, white blind eyes and the long staff leaning against the counter. Solvard the barkeep chuckled after a moment, he too humoured by it, before coming back from the stove where a simple breakfast was cooking. 

-"You're wise, Ragnar. Old, sometimes overly cryptic in what you say, but still wise. Fitting your old name."

"Maybe, maybe not. But what's certain is that even old birds gets hungry during the morning. By the way, shouldn't you help poor Jorvi over there? He's been singing drinking songs in his sleep since I came in here, and not very good either."