The atmosphere of the Inn is thick with woodsmoke and the smell of sleeping bodies.DavetheLost wrote:Drawn by the scent of fresh, crusty loaves Desmond pops into the bakery just as the first of the mornings baking pops out of the oven.
"There wouldn't happen to be a crust to spare for a poor hungry fellow in danger of wasting away from hunger?" he asks hopefully.
"No, and you're in no danger of wasting away," laughs the baker. "Now be off with you, honest folk need to earn a living."
Des shakes his head ruefully. It was worth a try anyway. He decides to head to the inn and see if there is anything left in the kettle over the fire. Maybe someone will be up and about with a tale to tell. If nothing else perhaps he can flirt with the barmaids.
The Inn is an old longhouse. There is a fire pit in the middle, with raised floors to either side. The Inn's residents are still waking up and packing away their their sleep rolls while the Inn's servers move out tables for breakfast.
The Inn has been filling up for weeks now with travelers who can't go any further until the snows melt and open the pass through the mountains. There is an especially large crowd, this year, and the Inn is creaking with over-capacity.
As Des walks in, one of the servers, a stocky girl with a serious face named Embla, calls over to him. As she manhandles a table into position, she says, "Rill dinnint make it in, this morning—her babies got th' colic. Help us set up an there'll be porridge and beer f'r yer breakfast."