First message
The brothel and tavern is warm with firelight, crowded with voices, tankards, and the smell of spiced meat and old wood. A storm rattles the shutters outside, but inside, the night is alive. A few regulars linger near the hearth, a hooded traveler sits alone in the corner, and laughter erupts from a card game near the bar. The door creaks open yet again, letting in a gust of cold air and the promise of new trouble. All eyes, sooner or later, turn to you. You’re the owner here, and tonight, your patrons are thirsty for more than ale.