[i]It’s a fucking nightmare out here.[/i]

Densha pulled irritably at the hood of her cloak. Downpouring raindrops shattered like glass on the cobblestone pathway. As she crossed a small bridge, she looked up at her destination. The dark, towering wall seemed to stare her down as she walked toward it. She couldn’t recall ever seeing such a tall structure in her life. In fact, pretty much everything she’s experienced since leaving Eastwind had been a shock to her. Men riding wolves, homes built underground like anthills… even spellcasting was unheard of in her homeland, save for the occasional healing enchantment by the local shaman. Though, by far, the heavy rain was the most [i]horrible[/i] new thing. Sure, Eastwind had a few sprinkles now and then, but deserts don’t storm like this. The explosions in the sky made her flinch every time; each one felt closer and closer.

As Densha neared the entrance gates, a man shouted down at her from a watchtower.

“Oi, down there! State’cha bus’ness!”

She thought for a moment. Densha didn’t exactly want the whole world to know she was hunting a large bounty. That would only mean competition.

“Just a traveler, looking for a place to rest!” she bellowed back.

The gate man looked skeptically at her weapons and armor. Densha forced a smile.

“Awright, bu’ we go' our eyes on ya!” He signaled to other men on the wall, and the iron-clad gates began to open slowly inward. Densha slipped through and looked behind her to watch them shut it.

It was morning, and there didn’t seem to be many people out in the rain. Those that were rushed to and fro, searching for shelter. She spotted a beggar sitting on a pile of wet papers nearby; he was trying to protect his head from the rain with a particularly thin news article on [i]The True Lives of Elven Warriors[/i]. Densha approached him warily.

“Hey, know where I can get some food and a warm bed?” she asked him.

At first, the man didn’t seem to realize she was talking to him. He looked behind him anxiously.

“[i]Me?[/i]” he asked her, pointing at himself.

“Yes,” Densha responded, puzzled. [i]I suppose the people around here don’t talk to the destitute,[/i] she thought.

“I… Y-you probably want The Faintly Gallows. It’s just in the center of town. You can follow the main road and cross a wooden bridge to it.”

“Thank you, sir. Here,” she pulled a golden coin out of her purse and handed it to him. “Have a good day.”

The man was dumbfounded, holding the little coin with both hands as if it was his firstborn child. Densha left him stunned speechless and went down the wide stone path. Sure enough, she had only walked some 10 or 20 yards before reaching a tall, grayish building with curly letters spelling “The Faintly Gallows” above the door. Though it was similar to the rest of the town’s structures, the inn seemed warmer, more inviting somehow. The windows glowed orange from a lit fire, and she could smell bacon and potatoes being cooked.

When she opened the door, Densha was immediately in a better mood. The rain was practically a whisper compared to the bustling people and the sizzling breakfast stuffs. A woman behind the far wooden counter greeted her welcomingly. Densha felt the heat of the enormous fire pit on her skin, and she took off her cloak and wrung it out outside the door before shutting it and stuffing the cloak in her bag. A small man by the dining tables was performing a cheerful song on his fiddle; Densha watched for a moment, then neared the innkeeper at the other end of the room.

“Got any rooms available?” she asked the balding man casually.