The Wayfarer's Rest

[stormwell]

The mist swirls round you as you travel along a lonesome road, turning the world into half-glimpse silhouettes that loom out of the gloom as you draw near. Ahead the mist begins to part to reveal a feeble glow that shines like a beacon through the murk. A rambling old coaching inn gradually takes shape as the mists draw back like curtains upon a stage. A sign above the door swings lazily, squeaking on rusty hinges as it proclaims the name of the inn as 'The Wayfarer's Rest'.

Light shines brightly from all the windows as the muffled sound of voices, laughter and music seeps through the glass. Opening the door the buzz of the bar-room hits you like an onslaught, briefly quietening as the bar's patrons turn to glance at the latest arrival before resuming their conversations. A fire blazes fiercely in a large fireplace, chasing away the mist's chill and warming your weary bones as the bartender places tankards on the bar ready for drinks to be served

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This is an Open RP area, no die rolls here. Just RP as you interact with each other and occasionally a stranger.

[Jason]

A gnome strides in and stamps a bit of dirt from his boots. He removes his wide brimmed hat and straightens the feather in the band before hanging it and his cloak on a peg. Blinking a bit in the sudden brightness he'll scan the room to see what sort of crowd is gathered here, then make his way to the bar. He'll opt to stand at the bar rather than find a stool he can climb onto. He'll drop a couple coins on the bar and request a spiced wine or warm cider, grousing about the chill and the fog.

[Samuel Cooper]

Samuel is exhausted from a long, restless night hidden away from the rest of the city. Haste and befuddlement see him travelling down a mist-shrouded alley en route to sheriff Finhallen's.

'I must make haste or I'll surely be missed...'

Suddenly, the mist thickens, forcing Samuel to stumble forward blindly for several moments before it gradually swirls away to reveal an inn's sign.

'The Wayfarer's Rest'

With a drawn out sigh of resignation, Samuel shakes his head open's the door and walks into the establishment. The patrons see an average sized man with dark hair and grey eyes. He's clad head to toe in leather armor with his Lamplighter's symbol displayed prominently on his chest. A well-worn pistol hangs from his left hip and rifle of exquisite craftsmanship is slung across his back.

There are few patrons this time of day, but Samuel nod's nonchalantly to those he passes. He takes a seat opposite the door and orders a mug of ale to clear his head while he considers his predicament.