Soft chatter echoed through the empty tavern, cleared out by the owner to assist her comrades. The candles and torches lit around the area bathed the room in a warm glow, a perfect match to the summer night’s gentle caress, lulling everyone into a state of pleasure and contentment.

“No, no. We should attack aroun’ ‘ere, ya know? We’d be much better off.” Soap’s brow furrowed in mild frustration, “Ghost, ya have to see what I mean, don’t ya?” The wood elf looked over at his comrade— his best friend— Ghost.

Ghost shook his head, tail waving behind him absentmindedly, “If we do that, they can take the rear. They’d have the opportunity.” The tiefling murmured, looking at Price, their captain. “These bloody Shar worshippers. And they’ve even made themselves a little band called the Shadows. What stupid blokes.” He grunted.

Price nodded along, “If we go head first into the battle, we’re doomed. We need to take the route below, plant gunpowder barrels, and take them out like that. They won’t even know until—“

“Until it blows up in their face?” Gaz smirked, stealing Price’s joke. Just to be a bit cheeky. The high elf, Gaz, leaned forward, brushing a finger along the path scribbled out onto the map that was open on the desk. “This is a good plan, Cap.”

Soap took a swig of his pint of Fireswine, feeling the burn go down his throat. The alcohol was good, but it had a faint vinegar aftertaste. He wrinkled his nose a little, looking at the tavern’s owner, a Druid named Kate (and another leader of their little band), “We got a plan, I think.”

“What do you think?” Gaz finally turned to you.