'the bar was crowded, overweight dwarves throwing their ale around. Red noses, happy faces and laughter were flowing around the room in abundance. Everyone was happy. Then felt it, the disquieting shiver ran around his head and down his neck. And his eyes met, the wintry stare of the face opposite: A thick cloak was pulled tight around the man's shoulders even though the hearth blazed. He clutched an old wooded staff, white knuckels looking as worn as the wood itself. the whole figure was grey and solaced from the jolly riot around him, and the bar drifted into silence as the figure drew him into his very eyes. Grey and tired, they still pierced every nerve in his body. All he could feel was the pain, suffered in silence for years. Born like the weight of some unholy secret. An alarm, of comming strife... '