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<blockquote data-quote="GruTheWanderer" data-source="post: 732837" data-attributes="member: 3119">Warm laughter tumbles from the inn.&nbsp; The worn steps wind around the heavy trunk up to the familiar, carved door.The Inn of the Last Home never changes.&nbsp; The polished wooden bar curves around several living branches.&nbsp; An old man weaves stories in the corner and delights the crowd gathered about him.&nbsp; The delicate windows of stained glass behind the bar are being polished by Otik Sandath, the barkeeper.&nbsp; He turns and waves, smiling at you, and motions the barmaid in your direction.The low murmur of voices fills the inn.&nbsp; The bartender turns thoughtfully to polish the glasses.&nbsp; At a far table, near the storyteller, a man and woman sit together and speak quietly.&nbsp; Another man stands beside the now-silent storyteller while a small boy stares thoughtfully into the fire.The barmaid steps toward you, smiles, and shows you to a table.&nbsp; Something about her seems familiar.&nbsp; The hair?&nbsp; The intelligent glint of her eyes.&nbsp; Could this be Tika, the little girl who swept the tavern floors a short five years ago?&nbsp; The inn never changes, but its people do.</blockquote>

[QUOTE="GruTheWanderer, post: 732837, member: 3119"] Warm laughter tumbles from the inn. The worn steps wind around the heavy trunk up to the familiar, carved door. The Inn of the Last Home never changes. The polished wooden bar curves around several living branches. An old man weaves stories in the corner and delights the crowd gathered about him. The delicate windows of stained glass behind the bar are being polished by Otik Sandath, the barkeeper. He turns and waves, smiling at you, and motions the barmaid in your direction. The low murmur of voices fills the inn. The bartender turns thoughtfully to polish the glasses. At a far table, near the storyteller, a man and woman sit together and speak quietly. Another man stands beside the now-silent storyteller while a small boy stares thoughtfully into the fire. The barmaid steps toward you, smiles, and shows you to a table. Something about her seems familiar. The hair? The intelligent glint of her eyes. Could this be Tika, the little girl who swept the tavern floors a short five years ago? The inn never changes, but its people do. [/QUOTE]

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