Burning twin braziers mark the entrance to Dragonsfall Tavern; its main hall emblazoned with the form of a dying dragon, painted in crimson. Surrounding it is white snow, dusting everything from the cobbled streets, to the surrounding buildings and treetops.
Raised in memory of a great adventurer, the tavern is sturdy, yet tastefully furnished. Patterned rugs soften the ground, and a shared bedroom provides a modest—yet clean—resting place for weary travellers.
The well-stocked bar offers ample snacks and drink, and there are private rooms hired out for meetings, and other, secretive purposes.
A balcony on the upper floor overlooks the hall below, and signs of sorcery have been permanently burned into one of the private abodes. What fowl plots are being formed, behind closed doors?