Drovic's perceptive gaze lingered on the band of adventurers that had entered the inn, his keen observation assessing their collective capabilities. A faint, almost imperceptible, scoff escaped him as he quietly observed their ranks. They appeared to be a typical assembly of low-level warriors, lacking the diversity of a ranger, mage, or healer in their midst.

There was a hint of subtle amusement in Drovic's expression, a knowing realization that this group, while formidable in their own right, lacked the strategic advantage and versatility that a balanced team composition might afford in their ventures. Their reliance on brute strength and combat prowess was evident, a characteristic trait that hinted at their limited range of expertise.

Behind the bar, amidst the quietude of the inn, Drovic's assessment remained veiled, hidden within the enigmatic mask of his attitude. Despite the underlying amusement at the adventurers' composition, he maintained his vigilant stance, an ever-watchful presence should the dynamics within the inn's sanctuary shift unexpectedly.

Drovic's enigmatic façade faltered momentarily as he connected the dots between the leader of the band of adventurers and the fearful reaction of the little girl. The realization washed over him like a chilling wave, piercing through the veil of mystery that shrouded his understanding of the inn's purpose. It became clear—a profound revelation etched within the depths of his perceptive gaze.

A subtle shift transformed his demeanour—a steeliness in his gaze, a resolute determination that belied the impassive mask he usually wore. He comprehended why the inn had brought him to this particular moment, this precise juncture in time. It was a revelation that resonated deep within him—a call to action, a purpose that surpassed the transient nature of the inn's wanderings.

The trembling of the little girl, her eyes wide with terror, mirrored the past that haunted her. And in that poignant instant, amidst the storm's fury outside and the tension within the inn, Drovic recognized his role—a silent guardian, tasked with a mission that transcended the ordinary tales woven within the inn's walls.

Without a word, but with a steely resolve, Drovic steeled himself for the impending confrontation. The inn's purpose had revealed itself, and he knew, at that moment, that his presence was not just chance—it was a guiding hand, a guardian summoned to protect the innocent from the looming shadows of the past.

Drovic, sensing the tension escalating within the inn, made a deliberate choice to veer away from the imminent path of violence that the adventurers seemed poised to embark upon. Recognizing the palpable rage etched on the leader's face and the anticipatory stances of the group, he sought to defuse the brewing confrontation.

With a calm yet deliberate conduct, Drovic stepped out from behind the bar, taking measured strides toward the band of adventurers. His approach was composed, his hands raised in a non-threatening gesture of greeting.

"Greetings, travellers," he announced in a tone that carried a touch of courteous diplomacy. His words, tinged with an air of serene hospitality, aimed to redirect the atmosphere within the inn, steering it away from the brink of conflict.

"Welcome to the Wandering Hearth Inn," Drovic continued, his voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. "What brings you to seek refuge within our humble sanctuary on this stormy night?" His words, carefully chosen, held an invitation for dialogue rather than conflict, a subtle attempt to redirect the adventurers' focus away from their apparent anger and towards a more peaceful interaction.

Drovic's perceptive gaze took in the details of the leader—the rugged countenance, the scars etched across his weathered face, and the missing part of his right ear, all indicative of a seasoned warrior. The man's appearance hinted at a life filled with battles fought and hardships endured, a past written in the scars that adorned him.

As the leader's fists clenched within leather gauntlets, a subtle tension radiated from his stance, a silent warning that spoke volumes about his readiness for conflict. Drovic, though undeterred, registered the implicit threat in the leader's body language, a palpable indication of the brewing storm within the inn's confines.

Before Drovic could further extend his attempt at diffusing the situation, the leader's voice cut through the tense air like a blade. "Mind your own business," the man barked, his voice carrying an edge of authority and aggression that reverberated through the room, thick with the brewing confrontation.

Drovic, maintaining his calm composure despite the abrupt dismissal, nodded slightly. He seemed unaffected by the leader's escalating rage. His composed manner persisted despite the brewing storm in the leader's voice and the underlying tension in the inn.

"I ask again," Drovic began, his tone measured and polite as if the abrupt command hadn't been uttered, "Are you here for food, drink, or a room?" His attempt to redirect the conversation toward hospitality persisted, a silent plea for civility amidst the charged atmosphere.

However, the leader's anger boiled over, his voice laced with simmering rage as he dismissed Drovic's attempt at hospitality. "Go back behind your bar," the leader barked, his words cutting through the air like a blade, "I'm here for the woman and the girl."

Drovic's expression remained composed, but a flicker of resolve sparked in his eyes. He recognized the gravity of the situation, a clash between his desire to diffuse the tension and the inevitable confrontation that loomed within the inn's walls. Drovic's response held a subtle touch of defiance veiled within courtesy, his voice maintaining a calm and composed tone despite the escalating tension. "My apologies, sir," he began, his words laced with a hint of restrained sarcasm, "but the girls aren't on the menu."

A slight pause followed as if to emphasize the absurdity of the leader's demand. Then, with calculated yet polite conduct, Drovic attempted to diffuse the situation with an offer of food. "However," he continued, his voice smoothly transitioning to a more hospitable tone, "I can recommend a new sandwich we've just introduced—a delightful beef dip. It seems fitting for someone as beefy and drippy as yourself."

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The leader's laughter echoed through the tense atmosphere of the inn, and a cold, uncomfortable silence settled. Drovic's expression remained stoic, an unreadable mask that concealed the concern stirring within him.

"I will take what I want," the leader declared with an air of arrogant entitlement, his tone dripping with disdain, "and a little odd innkeeper isn't going to stop me, or my crew."

The declaration hung in the air, an unspoken challenge that reverberated through the inn's walls. Drovic's steady gaze met the leader's defiant stare, his demeanour retaining its calm exterior despite the veiled threat. The moment teetered on the edge of confrontation, the tension thickening as the leader's crew mirrored their leader's aggressive stance.

Drovic could hear the young mother shifting behind him, and a soft voice spoke. “Don’t he will kill you. It is fine we will go.”

Then silence, amidst the brewing storm outside and the tempest within the inn, Drovic stood resolute— unwavering in his resolve to protect the innocent that sought refuge. Drovic's expression remained an inscrutable mask, yet a subtle shift occurred within the theatre's sad clown mask that adorned his face. The features transformed from their usual melancholic downturn to a fierce, angry countenance, an unexpected metamorphosis that mirrored the brewing tension within the inn.

The transformation was subtle yet potent—a silent warning that echoed the charged atmosphere within the inn, a visual cue that betrayed the underlying threat lurking beneath Drovic's composed facade.

A rare tremor of anger laced Drovic's voice, breaking through the calm façade he usually wore. His tone, usually measured and polite, now carried a steely resolve tinged with a simmering rage that simmered beneath the surface.

"If you aren't going to order anything," Drovic's voice held a hint of restrained fury, "then you are going to have to leave." His words, firm and commanding, cut through the tense air of the inn, a clear directive issued to the group of adventurers.

A palpable tension crackled within the inn's confines as Drovic continued, his voice carrying an unmistakable warning, "Or you might be lucky if I call the guards." The unspoken threat lingered in the air, a veiled promise that hinted at the consequences should the situation escalate further.

In that charged moment, the innkeeper's words hung as a silent ultimatum—a demand for order and respect within the sanctuary of the Wandering Hearth Inn, a warning against trespassing the boundaries of civility

The leader of adventurers called two of his group, “Make this innkeeper bleed.“

The leader's command cut through the charged atmosphere, igniting action from the two half-orcs flanking Drovic. With a clear directive to make the innkeeper bleed, the smaller of the half-orcs brandished a baton, launching a swift attack aimed at Drovic. However, the innkeeper moved with an uncanny agility and grace, evading the strikes effortlessly, almost as if he were dancing amidst the chaos.

Drovic's movements were fluid, an astonishing display of dexterity and precision that seemed to defy the laws of combat. He sidestepped each blow with an almost preternatural ease, his body moving with calculated grace, effortlessly dodging the attacks aimed at him.

“Get him you fools, he is just an innkeeper,” the leader screamed.

As the second half-orc attempted to flank him from behind, Drovic anticipated the movement with an otherworldly swiftness. In a split-second maneuver, he swiftly shifted his position, evading the incoming assault. The two half-orcs, caught off-guard by Drovic's unexpected agility, collided with each other, crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and confusion.

The inn fell into stunned silence, witnessing the innkeeper's astonishing display of agility and evasion. Drovic stood, his stance unwavering, a testament to his unexpected prowess amidst the confrontation.

.

Drovic's expression transformed into a wicked smile, a subtle shift from his usual composed appearance. His voice, calm yet tinged with a hint of warning, cut through the tense air of the inn. "I told you," he began, his tone carrying a steely resolve, "that you would wish I had called for the guards."

With the two half-orcs sprawled on the floor, momentarily disoriented by their collision, Drovic seized the opportunity to initiate his own calculated counter-attack. His movements, swift and purposeful, carried an unexpected grace that belied his seemingly unassuming appearance.

Drovic made a decisive move, closing the distance between himself and the two remaining warriors with an otherworldly agility. His actions were precise, and calculated, as he engaged them in a series of fluid strikes, exploiting their temporary confusion and catching them off-guard.

Effortlessly maneuvering through the chaos, Drovic expertly evaded their attempts to retaliate, his movements a dance of calculated precision and finesse. With each precise strike, he aimed to disable, not to maim—a testament to his proficiency in subduing the threat without resorting to unnecessary force.

“We have taken down a troll, how are you all losing to a simple man,” the man hollered.

His strategy was clear—he left the leader for last, a calculated decision aimed at neutralizing the immediate threats while keeping the most formidable adversary at bay.

With a swift motion, Drovic snapped his fingers, and the front door swung open as if responding to his command. The frigid gusts of the stormy night rushed into the inn, carrying with them a biting chill that contrasted with the warmth within.

"Time to take out the trash," Drovic declared, his voice carrying an air of finality. With intricate hand movements that seemed almost mystical in nature, he orchestrated a series of gestures, an unseen force obeying his silent command.

In an instant, as if propelled by an unseen force, the four adversaries were lifted from their feet, hurtling through the air with otherworldly power. They soared through the open doorway, their figures silhouetted against the snowy landscape outside, before landing unceremoniously in a powdery snowbank.

The door, responding to Drovic's command, swiftly closed behind them with an almost ominous finality, sealing their expulsion from the sanctuary of the inn. The adventurers found themselves sprawled in the wintry embrace of the snow, their forms left at the mercy of the storm that raged outside the protective walls of the Wandering Hearth Inn.

Then the leader pulled out a short sword. “I am going to kill you,” the man said without emotion.

“Big mistake, time to take the kid's gloves off then.”

In the flickering light of the fireplace and lanterns, Drovic’s face looked like a hungry wolf about to feast on a sheep.