Tonight there are many caravans in town and the day was busy with merchants and traders exchanging wares and hauling cargo to and from the Outer Ring.  In all, it was a prosperous day.  Work was had for anyone willing to put their back into it and a day’s wages would pay for a meal and drink tonight.

The Hearth Room of the Caravansary Tavern is full.  The tables, mostly large affairs of a sturdy construction designed for six large patrons each, are crowded with peoples from all over:  turbaned men from the South, fur-clad barbarians from the North, colorfully robed Easterners, Westerners in doublets and capes, even a table of dwarves from the mountain mines.  Mixed in are the doughty men of Karfan, a mongrel of the blood of all men – and even orcs - who pass through these crossroads.  You are among them!

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It is early autumn, the first week of the tenth month.  Outside it is cool already, though it doesn't really start to get cold until the middle of next month.  The only women in the place are the staff of the tavern and a couple of prostitutes with their clients, enjoying some drinks before finding a tent for their business.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:48, Tue 06 July 2021.

The door to the Caravansary Tavern swung open, and large, muscular man stepped him. His gaze was piercing, his muscles rippled. A massive blade hung across his back, and his long mane of golden hair rustled in the autumn wind.

As everyone turned to stare, a small, dirty guy with heavy five o'clock shadow wearing dirty black monks robes slipped in unnoticed behind him.

Certainly the big man-mountain was destined to be the hero of a mighty saga, but for reasons I cannot explain, we will follow the little mouse of a man as he struggles to find a table where he can sit to find dinner.

The man has the look of someone not all there. He wears a vest over his robes made of colorful but tattered bird feathers. At his hip he wears a heavy footman's mace with a head of bronze. Around his neck, a wooden totem carved like a monkey with a laughing face. To all appearances it seems to be laughing at the man wearing it.

Finding an empty chair against the wall furthest from the fire, the man looks sadly at the flames across the crowded room, removes his backpack and takes a seat. He raises a hand in the direction of the serving girl, in the hopes of ordering something cheap but filling for his evening meal.

The well manicured warrior entered without thorough fare. Of average height and build, his eyes scanned for a place to seat. The look of apprehension clear on the young man's face. So far from what I expected of myself. He thought to himself. The door closed behind him as the wind blew it shut and the man made his way to a seat near the barkeep. His eyes didn't stay long on the prostitutes as he needn't have the extra coin for a dalliance.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 00:58, Thu 08 July 2021.

Zudaan entered, having just left the stables after seeing to the proper care of his mounts, his boy opening the door for him then falling in behind him wordlessly. Upon Zudaan's gauntleted left hand was a hawk,  one of the pair he kept, the other either left with the horses or perhaps out hunting. He glanced at the men in turbans, the colors and styles revealing their homelands just as his headwear would tell them he was from Adiz, and his silk robes and ornate silver and lapis dagger would reveal his social class, as would the hawk and even the silver training whistle, itself in the shape of a hawk, on a lanyard about his neck.

Glancing about the tavern he spots an open seat with a couple familiar faces, and handing the hooded hawk and the glove it was perching upon to his boy he made his way to the table.

Kurin, weary from the road and covered in dust and muck, entered and looked about. He was short for a man but tall for one of elfin blood with dark hair and eyes that gave him a brooding look. Kurin was lean and fit looking, sporting leather armor under his travel cloak. He wasn't exactly sure what had drawn him here but sensed that something was amiss and, in the tradition of his fathers, he was going to find out what it was and do something about it.

The spirit of the place cheered him somewhat and he relaxed marginally, a smile even threatening. Casting about, he sought out a chair along the wall so that he could slake his hunger and thirst in relative peace.