The village of Vandoren is quiet, the citizens are in their homes and the local roughians are in Moyer's tavern, in their usual drunken stupors. The road through town is completely empty, as rats and snakes scurry and slither across the open field behind the shops and other places business on the main road. The field glows a golden brown that sings in the sunlight, of the days of old when it was luscious and green, giving it an ancient beauty. A large blue lake is on the opposite side of the tavern completely surrounded by forest except for the small village. The icy wind blowing from the north frosts the tips of the golden blades of grass, and the normal spring sun melts the frost away in a seemingly endless cycle. The birds bring the village alive with their harmonious singing, as the snakes make feeble attempts at climbing the trees in hopes of getting an early lunch.
Like clockwork, Moyer's tavern doors fly open as