The night starts at the counter.

Born in the northern hills, she traded her war shield for a beer barrel she hauls everywhere — "heavier than an opponent, but much better company." Rumor says she's won more arm-wrestling matches than sword fights.

An elf bard exiled from her court for singing a ballad a little too accurate about a local noble. Since then she drifts from tavern to tavern, her lute tuned to whatever secrets get spilled after the third round.

Nobody knows where Double-Six comes from, or where she goes. She shows up when the dice roll, vanishes when the bill arrives. Her hood hides a smile that says everything about the purse she just "borrowed".

A fallen knight of an order that no longer exists, still wearing his armor — too dented to shine, too proud to sell. His motto: "You never really leave the watch, you just change which tavern you're guarding."

A former priestess of a forgotten temple who discovered that hops cure more ailments than prayer ever did. These days she blesses the mugs before serving them — "for the body's health, if not the soul's."

A former court jester, fired for making the king laugh during his own funeral eulogy. He collects rigged dice and jokes that go wrong — often both at once.

A dwarven blacksmith who closed his forge the day he realized a good barrel sells better than a good sword. He still forges — just barrel hoops now, with the same rigor as a war blade.

A necromancer turned brewer after discovering you can "resurrect" a flat beer with the right formula. His parrot repeats his incantations, which makes his shot rounds particularly unsettling.

A gnome engineer who invented an automatic beer tap system — functional one time out of three, spectacular the other two. The tavern keeps a fire extinguisher reserve just for him.