A fixture nearly as old as the stump from which the Meadbrook tavern was carved, Tynnyri, the barkeep, has seen much and known plenty. Still, the sudden appearance of this curiously clad mouseling was something to behold.
She stood encircled in light upon the threshold, the threads of her cloak shimmering and, no, that can’t be right, he pondered, sparking? In an attempt to break through the room’s lively chatter and announce her arrival she utters a pert “ahem!” Then with a practiced flourish peels back the hood of her cloak and squeaks in exaggerated authority “ATTENTION!!”
