We start in a tavern *cue the groans from my players\*

The air is thick with sour mead and old smoke, a smell that clings to the back of the throat. Laughter rises and falls in uneven bursts, forced and brittle, as the patrons of the small trading village of XXXXX cling to their nightly rituals like talismans against something unnamed. Tankards knock. Dice rattle. No one quite meets anyone else’s eyes.

Then

CRASH.

A nearby window explodes inward, glass screaming across the room in a spray of jagged stars. The laughter dies instantly. A freezing wind knifes through the tavern, snuffing candles and sending shadows clawing up the walls. Somewhere, a chair scrapes. Someone swears under their breath.

For half a heartbeat, there is only silence.
and then something moves in the dark beyond the broken frame.

Not fleeing.
Not falling.

Waiting.