Lambor's Hold

"Good woman, Lathander be praised" smiles Belathor, approaching with his hands in the air, "We are friends. I come with healing herbs sent from my church to yours. We also seek shelter, if you will have us."

"As long as they have a warm bath and a place to dry my clothes." Narissa says bitterly. "Oh and a bed, the memory of sleeping in a bed is so far in the past."

She looks about the town as they head towards the large building, "Also, what things? What things would we be with?"

Father Belathor shoulders his backpack, hoping the herbs have remained dry in this poor weather.

Narissa stomps the mud from her hooves before entering and shaking herself off. She wrings water from her hair as she stalks across the inn towards the largest fireplace where she can at least warm up. The chains and ornaments on her horns are tangled together and her tail twitches anxiously as she warms her hands.

Taking quick stock of the situation she puts her pack down, and leans her spear against the fire place before crouching down and warming her hands, sticking them as close to the fire as her demonic resistance to flames lets her. The half devil woman glances about looking for a serving girl, she’s so very very hungry.

"My goodness," Taz whispers to herself, once the party enters the tavern and finds such a dour air. She offers a smile and the occasional, cheery wave to any who meet her gaze as she looks over the room, and ultimately can't resist trying to pull someone into conversation.

"Afternoon!" she chirps to the woman behind the bar, as she slips onto a stool there. "I have to tell you, your tavern here is such a welcome relief. This weather is not fit for anyone to travel in. How's the day find you, friend?"

Seeing some of his companions go inside the tavern, Arphaxad double-checked on the caravan animals, waved at the unfortunate group ordered to stay behind to guard it then strode toward the warmth of the building. Before he set foot on the threshold however he noticed something odd. It was quiet. too quiet. granted it's already in the middle of the night but that didn't stop people from carousing in taverns like this. Where was the noise of mugs, plates, spoons, and forks clinking? where's the music? where's the raucous laughter usually attached to this kind of place? The Dragonborn fighter shrugged thinking they must be having a slow day and entered.

The heat from the room assailed him like a dwarven smith's furnace. But where that was harsh and scalding, this warmth was like a lover's caress after a week-long spat. He closed his eyes and breathed the familiar scent of an establishment shaped by repeated custom: the scent of wood smoke from the fireplace, food cooking in the kitchens, ale spilled inside throats as well as floors, and the remarkable tang of unwashed bodies. Ah, at least some things never change, he mused to himself. Then he opened his eyes.

Everything he imagined what the establishment would look like in his mind was properly in their order. mise en place as his culinary mentor Dorgon Seymar would have said back in Blackstone hold. Everything is in place except for two things:

First, all the eyes of the dozen or so patrons were on him and his companions. That wouldn't be an issue in any other places like this but the people here are pointedly looking at them rather than just taking a glance.

Lastly, all of them were armed. Sure most of those ''weapons'' look more like farming implements or tools for cooking but seeing common folk armed to the teeth was a little weird if not disconcerting.

As he surveyed his surroundings he notices the tiefling mage warming up at one of the fires in the room. The bard is being her usual cheerful self again, already chatting up with the innkeeper who was a large woman for a human. Arphaxad shrugged and decided to sate his thirst with whatever spirits the tavern could offer. besides, the atmosphere was pregnant with violence. like a candle left inside a room of black powder. He wouldn't want to ignite it with him just standing there looking intimidating and all.

''Hullo! a mug of your finest please and what do you have here in means of provender?'', He said all that in a lowered voice so as not to antagonize the locals. It's good to be in a place where you're not bartering for your life or struggling against the elements. He won't do anything to change that for the worse if he could help it.

Narissa chuckled from the fire, "Weather fit for neither fiend nor fowl." She snickers ever so slightly looking at Taz. "As the song bird you’re the fowl and which makes me the fiend." Narissa grins showing just the barest hint of her oversized canines.

She stands, still dripping water from her cloak and tail, picks up her pack and spear and heads across the room toward the bar where Taz and Arphaxad. "Food first, then mead then bath." She thinks a moment, "Maybe bath then mead." She shrugs and begins untangling the decorations in her horns.

Taz flashed a smile towards Narissa in response to her comment. "How clever you are," she said. "You ought to pen some poems, the way you like to turn phrases. Ooh!" She paused to flutter her hands briefly in excitement. "We could set them to music, even. That would be a way to pass time, wouldn't it? We could write our own songs."

Arphaxad took a seat nearby, and Taz shot him a smile as well, though she let him inquire about the available menu uninterrupted.

"Oh, some hot soup sounds like just the thing," she said. "I'll have a bowl of that, and a cup of that wine, too, please, when you have a moment." She folded her arms atop the edge of the bar and leaned over them a bit, fairly happy to just be out of the weather and in a warm and dry place, even if the atmosphere was less-than-welcoming. She looked around at the rest of the room, but didn't comment on the stares or the hesitance she saw in the natives.

"What're you called, friend?" she asked, turning back to the barkeep. "My name's Taz. This is Arphaxad!" she added, with a nod towards the dragonborn at the end.

Belathor avoids the bar itself, instead heading to the fire. He removes his back pack, placing it down the dry and stands drying himself, taking in the smells. He nods and smiles as locals catch his eyes, "Blessings of the Morninglord upon you."

Narissa digs through her pouch and produces 4 silver coins, "Fresh water," she says tapping her hooves on the floor as she leans over the bar, "warm soup sounds amazing, but do you have any meat to go with it?" Narissa smiles showing off just enough of her teeth for the inn keep to see her canines again. "Oh and a mug of whatever he's drinking if you don't mind."

"I've never thought about writing down the stray thoughts that pass through my mind," She says turning to look at Taz, her tail swings back and forth lazily, "never occurred to me that people might like what I have to say." Narissa smirks, "Most folk look at me, clutch their purses and head quickly off down another street."

She glances about the room. "I wonder if they have a smithy, I'd really like to get some jewelry for my tail."

Arphaxad tasted the soup and found it to be very good much to its appearance. granted the ingredients were sparse and he would like some bread or a little meat to go along with it, but he learned a long time ago to never look a gift soup by its recipe. He overheard Taz and Narissa talking about making music together which he found not too bad. This tavern would really use a little merriment. Taking a sip from a glass of that purplish wine (has a nice kick and full-bodied flavor to it) he decided to make inquiries about Lambor's Hold as a whole. He slipped a couple of silvers toward the Inkkeper and asked, ''What can you tell me about this town? and why are the people here armed like they are expecting to fight a dragon? yes, I'm dragonkin but you don't need to worry about me burning the whole village to the ground I'm housebroken! Har!!''

Seeing the dour expression of the innkeeper never changing despite his poor attempt to build rapport, Arphaxad almost turned to a pinkish shade of obsidian. ''Ahem, if you don't mind that is...''

"What things?" Narissa asks tucking into her soup with vigor, "The woman outside with the pig sticker mentioned them as well." She reaches into her pouch and pulls out yet more dried meat and dips it into the soup.

She glances past Darney wondering where exactly the room with the bath might be and then turns to look over at Erheim the smith. Craftsmen have to begin somewhere, she thinks to herself. Could definitely use some more meat on his bones thought. She takes the soup moistened meat and pulls it apart with her teeth.

"Well their loss, then, I say," Taz said, in response to Narissa's comment about people running at the sight of her. Food was served, and the bard's attention was pulled forward and towards Darney again. She listens, and takes in the names and details the woman offers while dipping into her soup and wine.

"Is Leffint here now?" she asks, brows lifting in interest.

"Did Mayor Durlim happen to mention what's going on in town?" Narissa asks handing a length of jerky to Mork.

She sips her wine as she waits for an answer. The tiefling blinks and then frowns as she tastes the wine, flat and watered down, she quickly enchants the contents of her mug to taste like something a little more to her liking before doing the same with her soup. It doesn't actually look any different but it suddenly smells a whole lot more wholesome.

"I can make yours better too if you'd like." She says with a grin, "Chowder or even a cream of potato." She points at Taz's biscuit, "I can make that taste like cheese or even sourdough if you want. It's really no trouble."

Narissa thinks a moment before clarifying quickly, "I have to have a frame of reference though, don't ask for something I've never eaten because I won't know how it should taste."