Goh

The Bleeding Heart Inn was bustling tonight, low murmurs of brooding adventurers crowded the tables. It looked like most were well established groups. A lone figure in the darkest corner catches your eye, a dull light hovers above his open palm, his flesh bubbles and boils as it burns from the light. As he balls his hand into a fist, the light dissipates, and his wound heals. His eyes lock with yours, and with a finger, he beckons you closer Be not afraid, what is your name, stranger?