The very soft (and slow) spoken elf gave his name as Glywen when asked and in general provided everything that was asked with no charge. Sparkling golden rivulets flowed through the grain of the wooden floor in natural looking paths, occasionally diverting to light up little golden leaves, looking somewhat like a very fast growing golden vine as it led each of them to their rooms. Khuuld harrumphed and promptly declared that sleeping even a single night in such a place would make him soft. He decided to test the potency of Glywen's darkest ales.
The next morning as the party awoke in the nightrobes that had been provided, they found that their clothes had been cleaned and mended. Khuuld had actually managed to make himself comfortable up in a tree outside, and actually managed to stay up there all night even given his condition when he got to it. Andrew, finding his clothes clean, quickly went through his things to make sure they were untouched when something struck him as odd. His most treasured possession, an ancient strangely bound book written in a language he didn't understand and containing evocative pictures from which he had adapted his martial art; this book which he valued most, lay open to the last page upon his shaped wooden dresser.
When Andrew stormed downstairs and demanded Glywen revealed himself, Glywen simply replied that he is something of a repository of knowledge and that their stay would be considered paid in full until further notice. Feeling violated, cheated, and even a little jealous deep down inside, Andrew refused to stay another moment inside Galearon and left town back towards the ship.
As he crossed the short cropped grassland that surrounded the capital, he passed Frederick and the crew with little more than a few grumbled statements about elves.
Khuuld became bored and upon seeing Andrew storming off, poked his head inside and asked Glywen what there was to do for fun or gold in the area. Glywen mentioned several enlightening, peaceful elven activities but already knew from his quick peak inside Khuuld's head what it was he was after. So he let slip the continuing problem of the goblinoids and giants to the east that seemed to be becoming bolder and more organized. He also warned that it was dangerous as the walking dead roamed the plains out there in the night.
Khuuld trotted east out of Galearon without a word to anyone and with a lethal grin on his face.
Collin and Tylette however enjoyed their stay immensely and finding themselves the only ones there, lounged around and allowed themselves to be pampered for a while before questioning Glywen. They decided that the two best chances for information on Khuuld-who was making himself remarkably scarce this morning-would be Celethiel, the elven Archmage, and Edoath, the high priest.
Frederick had gotten to the inn while Collin and Tylette were bathing in the natural hot spring behind the inn (and while Collin was staring goggle-eyed at how free elves were with the beauty of the elven form). Tylette chose to bathe in her nightgown.
The three elves who happened to be sharing the warm spring that morning found both of their behaviors amusing.
Frederick, upon hearing that Collin and Tylette had not eaten yet, that Khuuld had already left, and that Andrew would not likely be coming back, shrugged and inquired if he could purchase supplies.
Glywen's slowly pronouced response puzzled him.
"I can prepare for you any meal you and your friends would like. But I cannot supply you as my talents are bound to this inn I tended while I numbered among the living."
That didn't puzzle him. That had his hand itching for the scales of justice that adorned Equitus's holy symbol on the chain about his neck.
Glywen, having assumed they had already puzzled out his state from his manner of entry and departure attempted to explain.
"For the last 400 years, my people have been embroiled in the tail ends of a bitter conflict with our fallen brethren. The long war with the dark ones has nearly defeated us, and though they are no more our people number scant hundreds now and magical servants preserved by the eternal spirits of fallen brothers now see to much of the maintenance of our once grand capital.
Our king is dead these last 30 years and our prince was struck down only 5 years hence by a terrible curse from the last of the drow. Despite the high priest Edoath's daily ministrations and hardest work, the Crown Prince Verik, Guardian of the Dragon Range, Lord of the Setting Sun, and Protector of the Elven People, has yet to recover.
Please forgive my current condition, but I cannot leave my beloved home while my people are in such a state."