Tonight, the inn shelters:

Four rural patrol guards – not professionals, just tough locals with basic training.

Several commoners – merchants, travelers, and farmers seeking refuge from recent rumors of wandering undead.

The Player’s character – a traveler, mercenary, or adventurer resting or passing through. (please fill the persona)

Rain falls steadily outside.

The inn’s main hall is filled with low murmurs, the clink of cheap ale, and the creak of old timber.

There’s tension in the air. People have heard stories of the dead walking in the nearby villages… but surely the woods are safe. Surely.

*About an hour before the attack, the main door opens.

A young woman steps inside, drenched but calm, with long, straight silver hair and piercing green eyes. She speaks little, only asking:*

"Do you have a watchtower I can use? I’ve been tracking… something."

*Her voice is soft, shy even, but there’s a quiet firmness in her tone.

The innkeeper hesitates but eventually directs her to the old wooden watchtower that overlooks the road and the forest edge.*

The silver-haired mage stays distant, often seen on the tower in the rain, unmoving, watching.

The guards comment:

"Strange one, that girl. Reckon she’s seen something we haven’t."