Setting: Weary adventurers at the tail-end of a long day of cross-country travel. The wilderness glooms, the skies glower. A thin plume of campsmoke in the distance; later, the flicker of far-off firelight. Whose fire? Roll d10.
1: A band of half-orc pilgrims sits praying around a small fire. They will evangelize anyone who approaches, bearing the good news of some unknown god.
2: Two men sit cross-legged, staring intently into a helm-sized fire. The flames take the shape of unidentifiable persons performing mundane activities.
3: Men from a far-off land cast wary eyes across their radius of firelight. Each is gaunt and footsore, wearing a network of lash-scars and the remnants of broken manacles.
4: Around the dwindling warmth of a dying campfire lie a half-dozen gravely-wounded orcs, fresh from some lost skirmish. A human woman sweeps about trying to tend to the mens’ wounds while keeping the fire kindled.
5: A ragged family of halfling refugees—fleeing the recent unpleasantness—squat around a battered cooking pot sitting in a bed of coals.
6: A squad of horsemen drink wine around a roaring fire while their bound and hopeless captives lie in the muck and shadows at the flickering edge of the firelight. Are they guardsmen and bandits, or bandits and guardsmen?
7: An undulating campfire spits fist-sized will-o-wisps into the night; they drift off in haphazard directions until out of sight. The wizened, loinclothed man crosslegged before the fire stares into the flames, seeing in it those scenes that the will-o-wisps survey.
8: Grim, narrow-eyed gnomes sit on stones about a low brushwood fire. Surrounding them for several hundred meters’ circumference are identical fires, each unattended and giving off no heat.
9: A cast of unlettered hillmen huddle about their ferocious bonfire, occasionally taking a turn at feeding it with books from a tongue-broken cart.
10: An array of lepers lies scattered across the open area. Each huddles next to a small fire and stack of scavenged wood to feed it. Not many are moving.