The wind of winter blows forever in the city, making it's people wear fur coats, killing the animals of the land.  One such man travels the streets every night, wrapped in his deer fur cape.  He always has his staff with him, no one knows why but he does.  He always walks to the tavern at the most southern end of the city. 'It's warmer' he always says.
    He walks towards the tavern, shivering with every step.  His staff hanging from his almost frost bitten fingers, his blue lips chattering together.  He slowly opens the door and steps into the tavern his body feels the heat right away.  The tavern is the warmest as he says, because it has three fire places.  One i each corner except the far corner where the bar tender stands through out his whole shift.  He notices the bartender, wiping the insides of a few goblets, and a few mages sitting near the largest of the three fire places.  A group of men near him stop there game of cards and look at him, then they continue their game of Hogbush, a game similar to poker.
    Taking a seat at an empty table, closer to the smallest of the fires, he sets the staff down on the table and raises his hand, his pointer finger pointing straight up.  The bartender nods and begins to pour a few drinks .  The man looks at the mage, who seem to notice the staff, and it's powers.  The man takes off the fur cape and the blue robe underneath it, leaving only his chain mail which has a few holes and some blood stains on it.
    The bartender finishes pouring the drinks and brings them to the man, who guzzles them down one by one, the mages watching, the Hogbush players watching, and the bartender watching.  He slowly faints and his head falls to the table, knocking his staff to the floor.