conversations: human
conversations:  "Miss? Would you be wanting some stew brought up to your rooms? You look as though you've seen better days, and Brenna always does make too much. We can spare a little, on the house."
  
  Open friendliness isn't something you're accustomed to, at least not for extended periods of time, but the innkeeper seems like a perpetually jovial sort, one more interested in making sure his patrons are happy than in collecting their coin. An oddity for an innkeep, Morin, as he warmly gave his name in his deep, booming voice upon your arrival, is a large, muscular man in the prime of his life. Though he looks more suited to toiling away in a blacksmith shop with his leather and cloth apron, his face speaks volumes of his hospitality, with bright, attentive eyes and a ready smile.
  
  The White Horse isn't the only inn in Longdale, but it is certainly the most popular, at least insofar as you were able to tell in your short time here. Merry - and more than a little drunk in most cases - patrons fill the commonroom, laughing loudly over jokes only slightly humorous, singing songs only slightly in key, and giving looks to passing barmaids only slightly within the bounds of decency. Two stories, the White Horse fits the typical architecture perfectly: kitchen and dining areas on the ground level, rooms on the floor above. A single staircase leads upstairs from the commonroom, and while there are four rooms available, Morin has already given you the key to his "finest accommodations", a room overlooking the front of the inn with a single large window nearly the size of an entire wall.
  
  "Or if you like, I could clear a place for you at one of the tables," Morin offers, brandishing a rag that seems only slightly dirtied. "A bit of socializing never hurt nobody, now did it? So, what'll it be?"
conversations: Tanaric:
conversations: human
conversations:  I feel strange in this new town, and even stranger in this inn. It almost is as though I'm welcome here. That of course rouses my suspicions, something must be happening here. But I don't want to flee again, I don't know where, and this could also be luck. And I do like being in this place, the people are friendly, and there haven't yet been any mobs after me so far. Alltogether, a very nice place. And I even received free lodging. That's never happened before. Thinking about that my suspicions rise again, could Morin be a cultist, aiming to put me at ease to kidnap me?
  
  I just don't know, but I also know that I can't run away now. I look down to the ground for a moment, passing my eyes over my clothes. As I so often do, I wear simple clothes, those of a traveller. It's a wide, loose-fitting dress, and even that is unpleasant to wear. My wings are folded around my body, but I have to keep them there tightly, otherwise they would become visible, and to make things worse, when I'm sitting I have to keep them up, so I don't sit on them, and I can't lean back, that would hurt my back too much. They can't be shown in any way, if they would pop out from under my dress it would lead to problems, especially considering their black color.
  
  But still, I stand here, and I don't want to arouse any suspicions. I smile at him: "It would be wonderful to sit at the table, but I don't want to intrude on your hospitality. You are too kind, sir."
conversations: Raunchel:
conversations: human
conversations:  "Nonsense!" Morin replies with a laugh. He makes his way to the nearest table, clearing a space at the end of one of the benches - more by forcibly shoving the rest of the patrons further down with the wide sweeps of his broad shoulders as he soaks up spilled ale and stew than by virtue of there actually being enough room for one more - then gestures for you to have a seat. "Back in a jiff with that dinner of yours, miss," he says, moving back toward the kitchen.
  
  Your nearest would-be dining companion looks up before you can so much as take a step toward your seat, eyeing you in a way not quite appropriate for a man of his advancing age. Stringy gray hair hangs almost to his chin, framing a face with a leer made palatable only by the fact that his much-broken nose shows he's been punished for it at least a few times. "And what's a fine miss like yourself doing in a place like this, hm? Here to audition for the - ow! Gods blind you, Morin, that hurt!" The man's voice, pitched low in something you assume was meant to be welcoming, abruptly rises several octaves toward the end, as the tip of Morin's damp rag makes a whip crack against the back of the man's neck.
  
  "Senn, don't bother the girl. Mind your own business and go back to your drink," Morin says, turning back to continue on to the kitchen. "And don't mind the locals, miss. They aren't the most refined bunch, but they're harmless. Feel free to kick some shins if they bother you."
conversations: Tanaric:
conversations: human
conversations:  Sitting down always is a little difficult, but this time its at the end of a bench, which makes it quite a lot easier to get in place. But still, its not nearly as confortable as a nice pile of pillows to lie on. I lean forwards at all, never backwards. That's too painful. I already hate the man sitting next to me, filthy old pervert. At least he doesn't try to burn me, or carve my heart out. I can feel the hunger gnawing on my stomach, I have to eat, I've not had anything for two days. I never know when I can, so I tend to space out my meals.
  
  "Thank you again, kind sir. I hope that I will ever be able to repay your kindness. "
  
  This all is so strange. Why is he so kind? Especially when all the other visitors are like that. Something must be going on, but I just don't know what. I look at all the other customers, wondering about what this audition is. It takes me a few moments to gather the courage, before I ask, in a soft voice: "Uhm, what is this audition thing?"
conversations: Raunchel:
conversations: human
conversations:  "Oho, a shy one!" Senn croons, apparently undeterred by his previous treatment. "Why, for the entertainment here, of course. The dear old White Horse just hasn't been the same since since Gwen packed up and left. Easy on the eyes and ears, that one. Shame..." He trails off, staring into his drink with a mixture of what you take to be longing and general drunken haziness.
  
  Morin returns a moment later, reaching between you and Senn to deposit a healthy portion of stew and bread before you, followed swiftly by a mug of a dark red wine. "Appreciate the patience, miss," he says, wiping a bit of spilled wine from his hands with his ever-present rag. "Brenna took some convincing, but I've brought you a bit of our best to drink. I hope nobody bothered you too much while I was gone. Enjoy, and feel free to ask if you need anything. I'll be around, keeping these hooligans content."
  
   
   Spoiler 
  One thousand pardons for the delays. Once I get things back in order around here updates should be both more frequent and more interesting. Right now it's just trying to squeeze a few minutes in to write something between customers, so eh. Anyway, on with the show.
   
conversations: Tanaric:
conversations: human
conversations:  "Thank you very much, sir. You are really kind.", I say, before I take a bite. And then a sip of the wine. I never had any before, and I like the taste. I like it a lot actually. But the food also is very good, but I try to not eat too rapidly, that would mark me out as a stranger, and that could even endanger me. So, I try to be as normal as possible. But his best? Why would I be given the best wine, if I can't even pay? There is something wrong, unless luckis shining on me for the very first time. I however do not trust on that, I have never been lucky in all my years. Not in such a way at least.
  
  But what can I do? Run away? They would catch me in an instance, and there are enemies everywhere. I look at this filthy man, Senn: "Where did this Gwen go?"
conversations: Raunchel: