Silva, Basil, and Hannah slumped in their seats. Before them, a well-worn bar was cluttered with drinks, streaked with old residue. They all nursed drinks in their laps, although Silva's was a bit stronger than the others. It had taken hours to reach the Valle pass and traverse the jagged gap in the mountains. Any longer, and Silva would have been forced to stop and make camp. Since they'd taken the back-roads, it was pure luck that had led them to the little outpost, hardly a town.

The settlement consisted of one main road, a sad, bedraggled thing. The strider had tilted uneasily as they stumbled on the ruts and potholes.

A tavern had beckoned them inside with promises of a hot meal. Its stone-lined exterior stood out amidst the ramshackle buildings that huddled beside it. The rest of the square was populated by a small general store, and an empty forge, its furnace cold and quiet.

It wasn't much, but Silva had guessed that most of the residents lived further away. Likely farmers, they would have built their homes close to their effort-intensive crops. After a day of working the dry mountain soil, they filled the tavern's dim space with shadows, crowding around the trio.

Now, lazy and content after a meal of hot stew and fried potatoes. Silva waved the bartender over. The large man idled, waiting for her order. Instead, she looked at him with snake-eyes, hungry for information. She began to chat him up, hoping to casually glean some answers. Information about a passing merchant and the town constable.

As Silva wrapped herself in conversation, Basil and Hannah gazed around themselves, wet-eyed tourists.

Candlelight illuminated the space, although their range was inadequate for the room. Basil could see mechanation-lights dangling from the ceiling, but they were either broken or out of fuel. Ragged-looking patrons jostled for space as they drank, surrounded by a sea of discolored wooden tables.

To Hannah's disappointment, there was no musician or traveling performer to set the mood. They were, in fact, the only outsiders in the pub that night. Their status was blindingly obvious- their vehicle was the only strider in the square.

Hannah, subdued after what she'd witnessed that day, only grew more somber. Despite the warm meal, the chance to stretch her legs, she didn't feel very welcomed. When they had walked in, faces shifted, sneered. The air had stank of wariness. There was something here, about this place, that left her unsettled and unsure.

Basil, too, was determined to keep his distance from the locals. Afraid of meeting the gazes of those around him, he stared down at his drink, stealing glances at the other tables.

It was then that he noticed the well-worn playing board. He recognized the distinctive pattern, the faded colors, leaving him awash with nostalgia. It was rounders, a game Basil had grown up playing- and it's appearance here was somehow reassuring. Despite his previous inhibitions, Basil couldn't help but inch closer to the two men who were playing. 

Rounders was a simple game. Each player would draw a hand, then allowed to to discard and replace a card each turn. A player won the round by either having the strongest hand, or bluffing the other into tapping out. The victor got to move their piece on the board a specific number of circles, based on the winning hand. First one to the end of the board "rounds it out," to call themselves the victor. 

The allure of the game left Basil throwing his caution to the wind. He found himself peering openly at the board, leaning over to see each hand. When one of the men noticed, and motioned him over, he only hesitated for a moment before pulling up a chair to deal himself in.