The wooden sign above the old, rickety building swings back and forth in the cold night breeze in the dead of night. The door creaks as you slowly push it open. This place does not and should not exist on any map you're familiar with; a tavern lost to war and long forgotten to history. Yet here you are and here it stands, the place that shady character in the plague mask told you about: The Luck's End.

Aside from a few patrons that are already a few sheets to the wind, the tavern is empty. The bartender, a half-elf with a torn left ear, looks up at you with eyes as sharp as daggers and a stare that could cut a man in two. She slides a glass in front of you as you approach the bar. The liquid inside is blood red, with something that looks like a coin from a dead civilization floating on top of it. A breeze from out of nowhere carries the scent of spice, fruit, and a hint of something savory.

"What is this?" you ask.

She looks you up and down, taking full measure of you before she responds. "Depends on which version of tonight you want to live, my friend."