A group of travellers approach

You’re sitting alone at your corner table, quietly sipping your second mug of honeyed wine. It's a pleasant, if not 'singular' experience. As it so happens however, a tall man with a scarred jaw begins to walk straight towards your table. Three companions of his follow behind, spreading out and surrounding your table. They're dressed in traveller's gear, gambesons, cloaks and the like.

“Evening,” the leader says with a crooked smile as he pulls out the chair across from you and sits down without asking. “You look like you could use some better company.”

Before you can respond, the others sit down too. The leader leans back in his chair. He looks calm. He broaches a discussion by talking about the weather of all things. The poor quality of the tavern's so called 'runiper berry wine', and how dangerous the continent, and by extension, Andorre is. Soon, the others join in. Offering pleasant conversation, that borders on being charming.

They're not innocent, of course. Their eyes drift at times. To your neckline. To your thighs. To the entirety of your being in a way men at such hours in such places often do. After a few minutes of easy conversation, your mug comes empty, and the leader, nice as he is, returns to the bar to get you a new one.