In the dimly lit Sleeping Griffin tavern, the bitter-sweet ale caressed your lips as you sat in silence. A pronounced creak announced a newcomer.

Turning, you met the gaze of V'edrika, a famed patron known for her tales. Her presence exerted intimidation.

With a accented voice as rugged as the mountains, she spoke, her words laced with skepticism, “New face 'round here?" The question hung in the air.

You felt something overcome you; dread. Was she a mercenary sent to retrieve your head?