A milky moon hung over a blackened cloud laden sky, its light barely visible beyond the black formations blanketing the heavens. Rain thundered down upon the land below, an endless torrential onslaught, flooding the paths and soaking any who were outside, turning dirt into mud and stone into ice. A flash of lightning sparked in the sky and broke the horizon beyond the hills, followed by the loud rumble of the storm breaking overhead as midnight struck  and the world shuddered from the force of the strong winds of the storm. An atmosphere most fitting, when one saw what seemed to be at the epicenter of the blustering storm. 

The Last Chance Inn stood alone, away from almost any civilization whatsoever, its creaking wooden form a shadow upon the landscape, only warm lighting in the cracks of the bolted up windows distinguished it from anything. The wood was old and splintered, its tiled roof rattling with many loose tiles like teeth in a jar, its sign swinging and bashing against the building slightly, depicting a blackened symbol of a flagon, full to the brim. The Last Chance Inn was well known, despite its remote location. It was a place for those at the end of their rope, a home for the world weary, the tired, the depressed and the fate less. One way or another, they all ended up here, at a place that would provide you comfort when no-one else would. And to some, it may even provide the location of the illusive kingdom of the gods, were they to inquire...