Icy cold hands grab your shoulders from behind, and shake you with a shout. You jump up and spill you drink in fright.

The group laughs as one of your friends had crept up behind you.

You smile and shake your head as Freya comes over to bring another round.

“No breaking my mugs!” she lectured with a laugh.

The group suddenly began to break out into song at they grabbed their next ale with a smile and nod.

Come with me to the little old inn,

Where people come to meet their kin.

They come from far and wide,

To be together side by side.

I'd like for you to come with me,

So we can lessen our misery.

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We'll speak of days long passed,

And times we wished would last.

Ride with me to the little old inn,

Where strangers meet and all will win.

We'll waste away the day,

For it is cold and grey.

Come sit with me here by the fire,

Here we have all we require.

The hard days work is done,

We can rest here and have some fun.

Break out the games break out the ale,

Take off that armor shirt of mail.

Savor these movements make them last,

For life it travels far too fast.

Come with me to the little old inn,

Where you can't help but to crack a grin.

We'll waste away the day,

For it is cold and grey.

“Alright, Alright,” one of the storytellers said as they stood up. “Let us have another story. I know of one about the undead, but it does not take place in the grandeur of the castle. Rather, it takes place in a graveyard not far from this inn.”