Varric rarely came into town to town other than to trade. But in this particular instance, he had decided that some time in town would do him good. He had entered an old inn, rundown and infested with every type of varmint one could think of. He planned on staying for just one night, but a blizzard that had occurred that night hindered him from leaving. And so he sat, sipping down a bottle of ale, feet up on the small wooden table at which he sat. His wolf, Shepherd, sat on the floor next to him, gnawing on a piece of steak. Varric looked out the window, but saw nothing but white. The inn was full, which was a novelty considering the condition of the place. Varric's bow and quiver of arrows were laying on the floor next to him and his coat was resting on the back of his chair.