The morning mist drifts through the air,
Concealing the place you know is there.
Cold, gray stone protruding from the ground
With a small wooden fence bordering around.
A tiny sign hangs, letters engraved within
The polished wood, reading "Silver Sun Inn".
The thick, oaken door opens without a sound,
The drunken inhabitants inside sit all around
Recollecting the tales of DerMond and Pagonia,
Here in the magical land of Mystonia.