The interior of the inn is immaculately clean, and brightly lit by numerous lanterns, improving the illumination from the rain-filled sky beyond the windows.  A fire burns in the hearth, and the room is warm.

The common room is not crowded, containing only about half a dozen other customers, all of whom look as though they might be seafarers - clothes which don't match the styles worn by the people in the city's streets, and two of them have bare feet.  They are all sitting around the same table, which bears six tankards, and the remains of a loaf.  At the arrival of a group of strangers, they all look towards the door, then turn back to their own conversation.

There is no sign of anybody who might be the innkeeper, though there is a clanking sound, coming from an open doorway behind the counter at one end of the room.

James decides to join those stopping at the inn.  Pushing the door open he steps in and immediately to one side to let those behind him enter as he surveys the room.  Six men are seated together and James instinctively checks for any obvious weapons.

A moment later James is mentally berating himself.  Pull yourself together, James.  Stop looking for conspiracies.  There's nothing wrong with a ship's crew drinking together.  Probably known to Donovan, too, if he'll leave them the run of the common room.

Cyan enters the inn tentatively at first, Berd perched on her shoulder like a pirate's parrot.  She steps in beside James and takes a deep breath, glancing around the room with topaz eyes, searching for the familiar.  It has been two years, nearly, but she can still see Morgan and Duncan at a table, with the tall form of Otandal joining them.  Lexy and I sat there and traded thoughts on music, she realizes.

A quick glance at James, and she raises an eyebrow.  "I hope the innkeeper has changed as little as this room."  One hand pushes back her rain-soaked cloak - upon their arrival at the city, Berd has been forced to release his protection.  It might, after all, attract attention; a little rain could hurt far less than the wrong kind of observation.

Berd chirrups, staring around the room with wide, burning eyes.  The rain steams from his body, drying at record speeds.  He squawks in irritation as Cyan abruptly walks for the fire, then stands, turns about several times, and lies down again.

Roman follows James and Cyan, content to let others take the lead in this strange city.  Too close to Amber.  The presence of the seafarers is less suspicious than the absence of others.   If this place is so good then where are the locals, the crews of other vessels ?  The more so, since the damage to the city is likely to have lead to the removal of at least some competing establishments.

The suspicions go unvoiced, for now.  Wait and see

From the open doorway, a voice calls out, "It's nearly ready, lads."

"Just a couple more minutes, and then... "  A man wearing a white apron, steps through into the room, and stops speaking as he notices that he has more customers.

"Good day, my friends.  I'll be with yer in just a moment."  His attention goes back to the group already seated, "Like I said, lads, just a few more minutes, and yer pie'll be ready."

He turns back to the newcomers, and looks them over, smiling broadly, "So, then...  What'll it be, my friends?"  His eyes lock with Cyan's, and he adds, "Though I'm sorry ter say, I've got none o' that fine brandy left just now, Miss.  Hopefully yer'll forgive ol' Donavon fer that?"

Relief washes over Cyan.  With everything that had befallen this city, she had feared something amiss had occured with Donovan.  It seems it is not the case...and better yet, it seems his memories of her are pleasant ones.  Cyan bows to him, and slowly straightens.  "Sir Donovan."  Her amythest eyes are bright, as is her smile.  "A pleasure, a true pleasure, to see you again.  No mere brandy could compare to your hospitality.  With your words, your kindness, sour mash is pure honey-mead."

She hurries ahead with the introductions, giving each of her compatriots their due*.  "I know not how long we shall be in the city, Donovan, but I am certain we would appreciate a meal and, if you have time, news of what has transpired in the-" two years "-half-year or so since I last laid eyes upon you."  Of course, she has been to the city since, but only briefly, and does not know how that situation had been viewed.

"Only if you have time," Cyan repeats, with a quick glance toward the waiting sailors.

*OOC - I didn't know who exactly is coming to the inn.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:32, Mon 23 Apr 2007.