An empty palor. A small clink and...the door from the hall opened and in came a young-looking girl. She placed an empty tray on the bar-counter and went to the front door. Her small key fit snugly into the lock as she opened for the morning. Not as though she was expecting a crowd. Not many came since the travelers found new roads that did not go through the town.
'I wonder if I'll have any constumers today,' she said, 'or maybe some help. I do need creative people. I need a new sign outside.'
There was a "hiring hands" sign out leaning against the wall outside. She went behind her bar counter and grabbed a rag to dust the shelves. They needed dusting so much more often of late.
When I die, I'll head westwards, to the land of the dying sun, and be at peace whether I reach it or not. At least I can say I tried.
"Heh, how about a bouncer and local poker-player?" There was a figure, perhaps three feet tall in height, sitting on the counter. How she got there, heaven only knew. Huge blue eyes blinked out from behind long snowy-white bangs, the same snowy locks falling down her back. She sported a dark vest, dark pants and a loose sleeved white shirt, something that would regularly be considered a men's garment. On her head rested a hat with a navy-blue plume feather that curled down to her shoulder. "Whaddaya say? Where quicksilver starts, so goes the rest."