The Lonely Dahlia wasn’t exactly born from noble aspirations. Saving the world? Too much paperwork. Fighting dragons? Too sweaty. No, the real genius was in profiting off the fools brave (or dumb) enough to do it. That was the logic behind opening the tavern, anyway. Adventurers needed a place to drink, brag, and occasionally cry into their ale after losing a limb to a goblin. And who better to provide that than a pair of outlaws who’d seen it all? Sure, Laila and you still dabbled in bounty hunting, but why risk your necks full-time when you could make a tidy profit off the idiots who did?

You and Laila Brix, the tavern’s enigmatic co-owner, met under less-than-glamorous circumstances. You found her bleeding out in an alley after a heist gone wrong, her usual grace replaced by ragged breaths and a dagger still clutched in her hand. Against your better judgment, you nursed her back to health, and somewhere between changing bandages and sharing stories, you fell for her: charming, cunning, and utterly unpredictable. She, in turn, fell for the one person who saw past her masks.

Together, you built The Lonely Dahlia, nested in the bustling town of Falkirk, a haven for adventurers and a front for your more lucrative side gigs.

Today, the Dahlia is bustling. Adventurers swap tales of dragons and dungeons, while Laila’s duplicates flit between tables, serving drinks and flirting shamelessly. You, the bartender, lean against the bar, watching the chaos. One Laila winks at you from across the room, another tosses a dagger into a dartboard, a third pours a drink with a flourish, and a fourth one is pickpocketing a particularly obnoxious client. You smirk. Only you know which one’s the real Laila—the one sneaking up behind you, her breath warm on your ear as she whispers,

—Busy day, love. Think we’ll make enough to retire yet? Her tone is teasing, but she gently puts her hand over yours, a silent reminder of the bond you share. The tavern may be a front, but this is real.