<div class="floatleft">(http://orig15.deviantart.net/e698/f/2011/048/7/d/7d432764399c8d1359ee5326fdac1537-d39rayp.jpg)</div>In great contrast to the chill mire outside, the Old Boar tavern is warm, even welcoming on the inside. The place is obviously old, the floorboards worn to a sanded smoothness by decades of feet, the bench tables carves with initials and little bits of graffiti that the proprietor seems to have given up on removing. A fire burns in the large hearth, helping a few oil lamps brighten up the place. The walls are lined with paintings and small trophy cases displaying knickknacks, memorabilia, and the like. over the hearth is a massive stuffed boar's head, broad enough that Raz could recline on it with room to spare, with tusks like scimitars.<br/><br/>And amid it all are people; it's lunch time, and fragrant mutton stew, crusty still-warm bread, and beer stout enough you might need a spoon are being served to the chattering, gossiping patrons by a trip of halfling girls. Behind the bar two older halflings - one would guess the parents and proprietors, are working their their best to keep everything going. The male of the two, head set with ginger curls around a bald spot sees the new entrants.<strong>"Ahoy! Welcome to t' the Aul Boar. me gells'll be widdyae inna spot!"</strong>The man's accent is thick and From Far Away, but you still get what he's saying.<br/><br/>Finding a spot is easy enough; despite the bustle, there's only so many townsfolk to go around, and it's a big place with long tables. The pretty, if short girls bring the crew what they asked for... more or less. Mutton Stew and bread for any who will accept it, beer for those who ask, and a cup of cream - no cinnamon, sorry - for the Tabaxi - who is at the moment getting a few suspicious stares from other patrons. In fact the group seems to be of interest to most of the patrons, though no one seems inclined to pester them just yet. Oakhurst isn't quite so far-flung that their sort draws too much attention.<br/><br/>At Terengrath's mention of the goblins though, one man, with the burly shoulders and rough hands of a ploughman turns and spits on the sawdust-covered floor. This earns him solid smack on the shoulder from one of the barmaids. which he flinches from as if dealt a mighty blow.<strong>"Sorry little miss."</strong>he grins at her, before turning to Terengrath.<strong>"Them little robbers? I'd choke 'em myself, if I could. Pelor alone knows what the hell they do with the gold."</strong>he sops his bread into his stew, scarfing it down with the relish and manners one might expect.<strong>"Mark my words, if I ever catch one of them near teh seedlings, I'll swing him on a rope myself!"</strong>The sentiment earns a few nods from other locals.