A dusty refrigerator.

Another dawn had broken, and the traveler awoke in his cell. He had slept well and rested from his long journey. However, hunger was unwelcome, and a good mug of ale would be very welcome, or rather, not quite welcome... The cell door opened, and a burly, bearded dwarf with a huge axe on his back burst in. He was easily recognizable as a warrior; even in this dark room, he was fully prepared to chop an enemy to pieces. "Get up, prisoner!" the dwarf boomed. The prisoner did not resist. "Come on!" The dwarf led him down a dimly lit corridor to the only room where a lamp was burning. There was a wooden table and two wooden benches in the room. Then, the dwarf slumped onto a bench and took out a few sheets of paper from a small, inconspicuous cabinet standing nearby, opened a jar of ink, and began to scribble something on the paper with his large hands. "Name," the dwarf demanded. "Vistrit." "Who are you, and why have you come to Highflood?" "I'm a frequent visitor here; I need to buy something and see someone." "Be more specific!" "I need a bow, and I wanted to see you." "So, you don't need your bow anymore; I'll write that down." Then, the dwarf scribbled on the paper for a few more minutes, then got up from the table, took the paper with him, and went to the wall, placing it on a shelf. "It's been sent for review; now you can continue your stay in the cell." "That doesn't suit me at all," replied the white-haired man. "I don't care!" the dwarf roared and laughed. "If I had my bow, you wouldn't be laughing so cheerfully." In the morning, there were still few people in the Haven, and no music could be heard; only a few people were chatting among themselves. Arandor lazily strummed his lute in the middle of the daytime emptiness, glancing at the visitors. An inquisitor having breakfast, a couple of mercenaries, several townspeople playing cards... Guards often came to the Haven, looking for someone... the last time something similar happened was when someone stole the ruler's blue ruby. Apparently, something interesting would happen again. The doors of the Haven opened, and a new stranger stood in the doorway. Blond hair, blue eyes, a charming smile. He was wearing a green, thin cloak, gray trousers, and matching boots. A short sword hung at his waist. Arandor watched, mesmerized, as he sat down at a table. Where is he from? Who is he? *sleep*