"He's probably having dinner 'bout now, I'd give it a wait and get yerself some. I can whip up something if you don't mind waiting and have a paltry coin or two to spare," the innkeeper smiles and rises from the table and heads through a door behind the bar.
A short while later he emerges with a simple but wholesome meal of dark bread with butter, a native curling green that has been pan fried probably with butter, and a decent sized roast. "I hope ye don't mind fiddleheads, they've got a peculiar flavor, but they're good for ya." He smiles, setting the greens down on the table between the roast and bread.
He waves his hand at the two locals who have been immersed in their game of Mills and they get up and sit at the large table with you.
The meal is friendly and warm, something that most of you haven't had the opportunity for in quite some time. The conversation tends to range towards everyday matters of the two locals and the inn, although once in a while a mention of the Mythar quiets the table.
A couple hours later the dull glow of the stormy day sinks deeper and you finish up your meal thanking the innkeeper who waves away any coin. "Best go see Geran 'fore he heads to sleep. He's an early riser that one."