Five people enter the tavern! Regulars might recognise them as members of an adventuring party that left a few days ago to investigate a cave. Not all the members, however; three are missing.

The first into the door is a tall orc wearing a battered suit of platemail. He's missing the helmet, revealing khaki skin and a broken tusk. He walks awkwardly due to extensive damage to his greave; it's been badly dented and there's a bloodstained hole in it as well. The rest of his suit isn't much better; it looks as though he got hit by a rock slide there's so many minor dents and scratches. He has an enchanted sword gleaming at his waist, gleaming and unmarred by whatever calamity has befallen him.

Next is a female halfling, wearing a dirty white dress under a thick leather apron. Her left eye is hidden under a bloodstained strip of cloth torn from her sleeve, and she's leaning heavily upon her spear. She's very pale; paler even than she usually is, and her deep red hair is slightly scorched on the left side of her head. A belt around her waist holds throwing knives, but nearly three quarters of them are missing, and the white-furred squirrel that habitually perched upon her shoulder is gone.

Third is a blue-skinned and bald Vedalken artificer, wearing thick work clothes. Their quiver is empty of crossbow bolts, and the complex double-bow is slung over their back, and damaged. Their right sleeve ends in a bloody torn mess, and is mostly empty. The party's healer did work; the amputation doesn't drip, despite being quite recent, but the Vedalken's stare into nothing suggests not all injuries are so easily sorted.

The penultimate member of the party is a Narnian Goat, slightly bigger than a normal goat, wearing chainmail draped over its back and with steel-tipped horns. Unlike the others, he seems relatively unharmed, and is the first to speak. "Hey, barke-eeeh-eep! Food and ahhhle for us, ple-eeeeh-ease." The goat bleats loudly and trots off to a table. Pulled on a sled behind them is the final member of the party, a weather beaten human woman wearing brown robes and with a tonsure haircut. She's wincing a little as the sled is crude and the ride is bumpy, as she's lying on their bags of supplies. Tattooed across her face is a cross taller than it is wide, with the cross-bar in the middle and radiating beams of light like a star. She's lying because both of her feet are missing.