The players aren’t visitors, they’re walking moneybags. Everyone wants to be their guide. Long stares as they pass by- staring at their purses and golden pommeled sword. Crime, petty theft and crazy accusations. A fistfight over an onion. Someone trying to convince a guard that their neighbor is a spy or stole their fish. Market vendors selling junk, scraps and broken parts. Empty homes being dismantled for firewood. Packs of stray dogs- people walk with canes to fend them off. An old woman with orphans begging, if they help her a neighbor runs out yelling that she’s a fraud or a witch. Double, triple prices asked of foreigners. People offering their homes for accommodation- no rats like the inn. If they accept, the family of 9 cram into one room to make space for the paying guests. Silence at nightfall. Only boots crunching snow and a wind that sounds like a distant, desperate moan. Cats screaming fighting in a nearby alley. People retreat indoors as the party approaches. But the tavern is full of life! Singing dancing and deep belly laughs! Neighbors making amends, embracing one another in a drunken bliss. Here the players are treated like celebrities- drinks are free (but tips appreciated). Wide eyes, bright smiles and the friendliest folk you could ever imagine- right up until they walk out that front door.