The creation of these stories and world all began with this tale...
You approach a weary but cosy looking inn, the exterior not dissimilar to that of a large cottage. A dim, comforting glow emanates from the wooden window frames, beckoning you forward and away from the cold light evening rain that leaves your shirt surprisingly soaked.
To your left, an outside stage, elevated and as scrappy as you’d expect a post-show area to look- bards and actors are not renowned for their cleanliness.
You’ve heard some kind things of the folks that run the place, and hope they will be able to help you, if not just by providing some shelter for the night. Or soup. Soup is always welcome, in your mind.
Pushing the large oak door aside you see the innkeep before you, behind a bar that stretches almost the entire length of this fairly spacious establishment. The man is large & portly, with patchy, balding ginger hair that curls up into a little quiff, and bristly mutton chop sideburns. You imagine he could easily deal with any rough customers- equally, his appley rosy cheeks are friendly enough and welcoming. Despite his size, his shirt still somehow looks sizes too big for him, draping over tattered britches.