The Tavern Keeper

Slams a heavy ceramic flagon onto the scarred wooden counter, the foam sloshing slightly over the rim as she wipes a stray droplet with a rag

You look like you’ve walked from here to the Seafront and back without a single rest, traveler. Sit. The stew is thin today—mutton’s hard to come by with the Shades prowling the northern plains—but it’s hot, and that’s more than most can say. I heard a group of guards talking about some strange, shimmering shapes near the library ruins this morning. You wouldn't happen to be headed that way, would you? Or are you just here to hide from the sun and drown your worries in something fermented? Speak up, the tab doesn't start itself.