The Inn was a simple enough affair, and rather cheap for the accommodations; it seemed as though they got few visitors, for it only had a handful of rooms for rent. A room, however, did come with food, cooked in their small kitchen, and served at the dinner table, where patrons ate with the family.<br/><br/>The tavern was a boisterous, but small place, made to fit the needs of their small village. A dozen tables lay scattered about, primitive, well-worn, but comfortable stools stood around them; similarly, most of the patrons stood, talking and drinking in small knots. The main topics discussed seemed to be fairly pedestrian; the weather, crops, game hunting around the edges of the forest, the war to the north, families, pregnancies, marriages, all of the usual talk of a small town, where everyone knew each other. The words were well-worn, old trails, as grooved and weathered as the stools they stood next to, but they seemed more warmed by the companionship than by the subject; and whatever warmth that lacked, the roaring fire in the hearth made up for.<br/>