Opening the door produces a small squeak as if the hinge needs a little oil. Once inside you'll see that the home like atmosphere continues with a sever lack of typical inn decorations. There are no buck heads stuffed and mounted on the wall and there certainly are no swords above the mantle.  The fireplace of which gives off a nice, cheery glow that lights up the room while casting shadows from the duck roasting in it.<br/><br/>To the left as you enter there is a long bar taking up most of that wall. Beyond which, from the sounds and smells drifting outwards, is the kitchen and most likely living quarters for the innkeeper and his family. Spread out over the floor are six tables with a like number of chairs each. Only a few of these are in use at the moment and the male occupants only give a casual glance at the newcomers. They are more interested in the young, curvy bar wench coming to serve their meal. One goes so far as to pinch her bottom and gets a smack in turn. The offender rubs his face and smiles ruefully while his friends laugh heartily. In the back and front right corners appear to be some sort of privacy booth. The details of which are hard to tell as both curtains are drawn closed.<br/><br/>At the bar stands a middle aged man with a slight gut watching his daughter closely, lest any of his patrons take things too far. Currently drying out a mug he turns to see the group at the door. As he turns its not hard to see that, while going a little soft in the middle, he is a sturdily built man with only a touch of gray in his black hair. "Welcome to the Black Stallion Tavern!" His voice rolls out in a husky baritone that matches his frame while still holding a measure of cheer. "Please, have a seat where you will. My daughter will be with you shortly."