The wind had died down as the sun began to set overtop the forest that surrounded the Wilted Butterfly. Candle flames flickered within the windows, shining brightly through the stained glass. Merriment and laughter could be heard within the confines of the Tavern. Standing behind a bar that was parted straight in the middle was a man in a red vest overtop a grey tunic. On his hip was strapped a spellbook, holding within it incantations and scriptures of ancient magicks. This was Voltair the Reborn, First of his name and host of this establishment. Food could be smelt by those that entered, fresh pork and bread burning to life in the ovens and skillets, ale pouring freely into magical tankards that lifted themselves to the guests. One would not go hungry here should they have coin.