The misty fog settles around your camp and as you hear werewolves howling in the distant caves, you start to wonder if your party's mission is destined to fail. As you traipse across the cold, rocky terrain–past winter wargs, devil worms, and some maniacal, mythical mountain beast called 'Linda'–morale grows thin. Your wizard is out of spells, your barbarian's swords grow dull, and even your bard is losing his sense of song. If only something could lift your spirits...
But behold! As the sun shines mightily over the eastern crest, the fog starts to clear. And as promised, the beacon of hope shines from the base of the hill. It's a tavern, clad in warm mirth and good cheer, no doubt full of other passersby who need to refuel their manna for the road ahead. Because, like our own dismal party (who narrowly escaped the clutches of an L3 trio of mountain goblins), these fair tavern folk are here to share stories, trade goods, and dry their boots before hitting the road again to face the perils of our merciless Dungeon Master.