The Psionicle, Part XI

"Eeny meeny miny mo..."
Syld heads for the inn unless somebody objects.

OoC: Just realised that I haven't posted the 3.5 version of Syld. I'll do that once I get back to my own computer and back to a net connection, most likely no earlier than next Monday.
 
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The Lost Inn

OoC: I figured, hence why I pointed it out. :)

The door to the Lost Inn is somewhat blocked by the small snowdrift in front of the door; with a small amount of effort, however, it opens, and you enter, accompanied by a moderate amount of snow falling into the doorframe.

The floor of the building is set lower than the ground outside, though not by much; however, it is human-sized, and everyone save Ruth has to take a small amount of caution navigating the half-foot step.

The inside of the inn is as much as could be expected from an inn: several round tables, all crafted of roughly-hewn wood, surrounding by three or four chairs apiece, made of the same poor-quality material. A collection of metal weapons - some swords, a few axes of varying sizes, and a metal lance among them - line the walls; some appear to be of great quality, though most are somewhat subpar, just as the furnishings and general construction of the building.

Indoors is not much warmer than the outdoors, though there are several large fireplaces built out of the walls; the chimneys appear to be made of cobbled-together stone. There are no fires burning, however, and the fireplaces are devoid of fuel.

A wide staircase takes up a sizeable amount of space in the inn, leading up to a second floor with a balcony overlooking the common room. From here you can see at least three doors, and from their spacing it doesn't seem that the rooms here are more than likely slightly cramped.

At the far end of the common room is a long bar, behind which are two shelves sparsely occupied by murky glass bottles filled with varying amounts of liquid. A sour-looking human of stocky build watches you from behind the bar as you enter, and he seems distrustful of your appearance, though not hostile.

"What brings you to the Lost Isle?" He asks, enunciating clearly with what seems a modicum of effort.
 


Ruth puts her sword against a chair and hangs her helmet over the other side before turning towards the presumed inkeeper.

Our buiseness is our own for now and after our journey we would appreciate some food, drink and perhaps some warmth from your hearth.
 

The innkeep nods his head once.

"Aye, your business be your own. Food and drink I can do ya, but no fire; can't waste fuel on just a few, hard as it is to find on this iced-over rock."
 

Then some food and drink please if you would.

She then turns around to her fellows again.

Is there nothing we can do here to get some warmth besides burning our cloaks, perhaps a spell or power?
 

"I can bring forth wood and fire for a moment, but trying to keep that up for a meaningful time will leave me completely drained afterwards."
 

The innkeep nods, and disappears through a door behind the bar; he reappears a minute or so later, a wooden plate in his hands with small stacks of coarse-looking bread, rough cheese, and some kind of meat you can't identify; accompanying these are four wooden cups, and in his other hand he carries a wooden pitcher.

"Not up to mainland standards, aye," The innkeep says with a shrug as he sets the plate at the table where you have set your gear, "but it's edible. As fer drink, water, unless ye want somethin' harder - though that'll cost ye."
 

That'll have to do then, thank you.

She then waits for the innkeeper to walk off and then turns to her compagnion.

Well is it me or is everyone I'm meeting lately talking like some pirate or dwarf? But nevermind, what do you suppose we do next? Shardorn? You've been kinda quiet, suggestions?
 

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