Topic for deep delving.

A blizzard raged in the North that night. The tavern was filled with weary travelers seeking shelter and a place to stay. Merriment reigned supreme; music played, and beer flowed like a river. But suddenly, a howl could be heard—the howl of a beast. Someone was approaching the tavern door, the crunch of snow audible beneath their feet. The door swung open, nearly blown off its hinges by the wind. The patrons shuddered slightly. A traveler in a cloak appeared before them. He entered quietly, closed the door, and cast aside his cloak as he walked toward the bar. Everyone looked at one another and whispered: it's Varg, Varg-Nar. "Welcome," said the innkeeper. Varg tossed a purse stuffed with coins onto the counter and told the innkeeper to ensure the patrons didn't have to worry about their drinks; then he clapped his hands and shouted to the musicians, "Play! It's going to be a wild night here...:)"