Wandering for warmth within the dreary town, you come across a fairly run down but cozy little pub, Desert Springs. Upon entering, the doors shield the interior from the brisk unyielding wind outside, the bar lit up with bright rustic golden lighting, the fairly big space furnished with worn off-white chairs and tables for dinning, a rich wooden bar over to one side dotted with stools to perch, light fixtures modestly scattered over the walls giving off more of that subtle golden lighting. A few grouped patrons were placed around the room, quietly talking, eating, slowly drinking, seeming rather invested in the usual rumor murmuring and light gossiping.

A band was playing low but upbeat jazzy music in an offset little stage to the back left corner of the pub, that distant sound of dishes being washed in the hidden kitchen behind the bar.