[Quicksilver_Sprite]

A young woman was walking up the road to the inn. Her cloak was a dusty gray, heavily patched and stained from past travels. Freckles were sprinkled across a hawkish nose; her rosebud mouth curved up at the corners with a mischievous air; seaweed colored eyes set deeply in the very pale face darted around, taking in every sight; kinky brown hair that would not be contained completed the picture, raveling down her back. In a few minutes, she stood in front of the doors to the inn, eyeing the emerald dragon painted on the wooden sign, which was swaying ever so slightly in the soft western breeze. After a moment, she had come to the decision that this inn was quite acceptable, and pushed open the doors. Instantly, smells of ale and hearty food drifted out, accompanied by the sounds of laughter, conversation, and the occasional argument.

Walking inside, the young woman plunked herself down on a wooden barstool, and spoke the words that many before her had uttered on that very spot: "Barkeep? I'll have a pint of your finest." As a sort of afterthought, she added, "And would you have some roast chicken?"