Dusk chased the withered yellow pine needles as they fell on the small town enveloped in cooking smoke, while sleek, dark-feathered birds lined up on the orange rooftops, watching the adventurers who were returning from the labyrinth and heading towards the market.
As usual, "Silver Pine Path" was packed, and the sound of the wind chimes at the entrance had not stopped since the sun had set.
Moreover, what was different from yesterday was that today, the tavern had the rare presence of a minstrel.
It was the idea of the tavern owner.
He had noticed that when people had stories to accompany their drinks, the sales of beer and roast sausages would surge significantly above the norm.
If an illiterate old farmer telling tales could heat up the atmosphere to this extent, wouldn't a professional be able to sell out even the sobering horse piss?
For this purpose, he had specially invited the Tulip Band, who had once performed for the Duke of the Campbell family's birthday.
