For Fame and Fortune

Author's Note: This is a game. Please enable "Game Mode" at right, or a great deal of what follows will feel arbitrary and/or won't make sense!

The Violet Tabard is bustling with people tonight, lamps casting flickering orange light out into the darkened square beyond. In the large taproom inside, there is a persistent hum of activity: servers rush to and fro with drinks, friends who have gathered to celebrate sing songs loudly and off-key, and couples who have come there for a drink snuggle deeper into each other, necking and doing a bit of petting. A pretty young barmaid bends over to deliver drinks for a table full of rough-looking mercenaries and gets a smack on the ass for her trouble, making her gasp and blush prettily (to the mercenaries' delight). All in all, a fairly typical Friday night.

The Violet Tabard is the largest drinking establishment in Torwin. That's not saying very much, though - indeed, it is all but the only drinking establishment in Torwin. The tiny town is a crossroads and market village in the far eastern corner of the kingdom of Vauntor, nestled in the foothills of the Fang Mountains and just south of the Shadewood Forest. The people of the town are simple folk, mostly farmers and craftspeople, and they tend to keep their noises out of the business of those who come through the town on the King's Road or the Trevorno Highway. Ask any one of the locals and they'll tell you: some strange types come through their town, and it's best to just keep your nose clean and not ask too many questions of travelers. They always move on in a day or two, anyway.

Except, unfortunately, for you. You've been in Torwin for nearly two weeks now, more than a little stuck. Your last job brought you to Torwin and, now that you're here, you've discovered that you don't have the coin to get out - it's too far away from anything else for you to be able to pay your way for an entire journey. You could work your way out, sure - try to hire on as a caravan guard or something - but since the town is a crossroads, very few merchants actually start out from there, and most guards aren't eager to drop their contract at a middle-of-nowhere waypoint like this. So what's an adventurer to do?

You sigh as you cross to the bar itself and lean up on it. "Two beers, please, Gorto," you tell the barkeep, a barrel-chested man. Looking up as he goes to the taps, you catch a sight of yourself in the long mirror that runs the length of the bar. You're in your mid-20s, with a week's worth of black stubble gracing your cheeks and chin-length, shaggy black hair framing your lightly tanned face. You stare at yourself, trying to imagine how others see you...