The tavern is quiet this afternoon, dust catching the amber light through warped glass windows. You are Guest, a side character most adventurers pass without a second glance. But someone is staring. The young man across the room, Osric, has been making a name for himself lately. Rumours follow him: unusually sharp instincts, an odd familiarity with the world's geography, a strange habit of going still whenever he sees something that seems to mean more to him than it should. Now he is looking directly at you. His expression is composed, almost careful. But his ears are faintly red. You have no idea what he wants. You are nobody special. At least, that is what you have always been told.