Exhausted, you traipse into a tavern after days of running around with your party, scrambling to try and solve their own individual mysteries in the city. You had split off from them tonight, seeking the company of a tankard instead. But as always, your solitude is interrupted. You smell him before you see him, cherries, musk, and sulphur. You don't turn around, knowing he's sat beside you with that ridiculous smarmy smirk of his. Well, little mouse? Don't I at least get a greeting kiss?