Smoke gently rises over the horizon and foreshadows the presence of civilization. The Roosting Griffon Inn is a bucolic thatch roofed two-story inn under the proprietorship of Farl Longhorn¹, a man of good breeding, a noble nose, an easy smile, and a contented demeanor.  Unlike many innkeepers he more projects the sense that he is an inn-owner, his servants keep the inn for him.  His wife sports a proper double chin, and they are better attired than many families in the rural hospitality business.  A well kept wooden stockade surrounds the inn--prudent given the wild environs.  Outside the walls are a few patches of vegetables to add variety for those that stop and dine or lodge.  A thick shouldered fellow with a cudgel leans against the gate, and nearby rest a spear and shield, the one providing security from rowdy customers and the others security from what dangers the wilds may conjure.

No man in the North would consent to part with his arms this far from a proper stone wall and well-trained watch, but a mousy haired girl advises travelers to loose their arms only in defense of the Roosting Griffon.  There are no enemies within.

---

¹If you possess the Heraldry proficiency, you may make a check.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:07, Sat 09 May 2020.

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 1):

Uktar 01, 1357

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Temperature:
Low: 15
High: 40

Winds: From Arctic at 40 mph.

Precipitation: Moderate snow becoming rain or sleet

Relative Humidity:
Morning: Moderate
Evening: High

Dawn is at: 7:00

Number of daylight hours: 10.00

Selûne: 3rd Qtr

---

The past two times the party has traveled this way they have rushed past this establishment to arrive in either Liam's Hold or Bowshot after the sun has set.  The Roosting Griffon is typically slightly less than a full day's travel from either--but today?  With a strong North wind and demoralizing sleet?  The comfort within beckons strongly--will you give answer?

Tolantra leaned forward against the wind and rain. She's lost track of number of times she'd been grateful that she had taken the sable cloak as part of her share of the treasure. It was lying under her existing, more water-proof cloak, and had been keeping her warm throughout the day. Well, warm-ish. There was only so much even a great cloak could do on a day like today. She looked around at the others. "This seems pleasant enough, and we have no need to exert ourselves unduly. I think we should stay here tonight. Any objections?"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:05, Sat 09 May 2020.

The sturdy priest looks a bit chastened by the weather and adds his thoughts, "We've never stayed here yet, and all our fortunes have been favorable.  I'm as miserable as the rest of us, but why challenge our string of good favor? The best things are seldom easy."

Celadhel regards her companions' chattering teeth and shivering forms.  "Perhaps that would be for the best, Tol."

The young scholar, so frequently withdrawn and humble looks with fury at Olaf.  "We should stop here."

The ice in her voice makes the wind seem positively tropical in comparison.

Heluvianal is cold, so cold that he starts to think of bears, bears hibernating or curling up with each other sharing the warmth of a shared need.  Others may not have noticed how often he went into the woods in one place and returned when they stopped in another, nor did they notice the light brown mouse climb into a saddle bag as they journeyed to where they were now.  But the wind had blown freezing water in, so when the group stopped at the Inn, he climbed out as soon as he could and made no show of it as he reappeared.

Can we get hot food please, out of the wind.  I remember why I prefer the forest, the animals there would share their warmth with you.  This wind is biting
This message was last edited by the player at 16:02, Wed 13 May 2020.

Tolantra nodded. "We'll stop here. I doubt Sherlen would appreciate it if we turned up for our militia duty and promptly fell over with lung sickness. A roof and a warm fire is exactly what we need right now."

Nudging her mule's flanks, Tolantra led the way towards the inn, looking for the stable. She was just as interested in getting the animals under cover. Mules might be tougher and smarter than horses, but even they had their limits.

The guard at the gate asks cursory questions, and waves you in.  "The Griffon roosts soundly tonight--just travelers, no caravans.  See it stays so."

The Inn itself is built in the fashion of a longhouse.  A large roasting pit sits in the midst of the room with a stone chimney venting the smoke out.  Six tables surround the pit in a circle, and wooden barrels lines the walls, two are tapped.  Horn carved mugs hang on leathern thongs from nails struck in nearby support timbers.  A black pot hangs and bubbles over tidy coals. One could wish for a larger fire in this weather.

Beyond the hall lie carved doors and a stair that leads to an upper living area. A gold banner hangs from the upper railing featuring a ram's head with abnormally long and thick horns.  The proprietor, Farl, a thick shouldered man with a blonde but graying beard sits at a table with a local farmer and his son.  Beside them are several woven baskets of winter squash.  His coloring reveals him to be of Illuskan descent, like Olaf.  Not fart removed from what Southron Tethyrians and Chondathans would regard as barbarism. Perhaps a few centuries ago his ancestors would have sat in a house similar to this with round wooden shield and broad cold iron swords assessing their strengths and planning for Spring raiding.

At another table sit two men and a woman that wear layers of animal hides, carry coarse jute sacks.  They are black of hair and light of eye--Uthgart.  They have been permitted to keep their arms, hand axes, belt knives, bows, and spears leaned against freshly tarred wooden walls.

Finally, three men sit at a table--their staves and packs laid against the wall behind them. Five odd bottles sit between them as they take to their trenchers.  These bottled seem to have their bottom halves wreathed in straw of some kind.

Longhorn family members are happy to help you make your arrangements (standard rates apply) and you soon sit staring into a hollowed rye loaf, the center removed and filled with what is mostly vegetable and barley soup likely flavored with a beef bone, and a horn mug of steaming spiced wine.

What do you do?

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 9):

Heluvianal isn't quite sure what to make of this place, spacious yet filled.  Cold but warm, especially around the fire where they are now.  He assesses the food, nibbles, thinks the hollowed rye bread a little too hard yet perfect if used as a bowl.  He tucks in. Uuuummm, this is good he says with a full mouth, feeling the warmth course through his body, reinvigorating it.

((To be clear--you're signaling that you're not planning on interacting with any of these folks? That's fine, I just want to make sure that I don't advance things when really you're setting up for a nuanced and lengthy conversation.))

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 11):

Heluvianal listens intently to the talk that is taking place, making note of who said what and why, taking special note of anything going on further along their route.  after a while when the conversations around him turn to farming and how much a chicken costs these days, he decides it is time to just drink and be company for those he is with.
((ooc:  You are correct))

Tolantra sighed in relief as they got in from the rain. She'd heard that surfacers only liked to travel during part of the year; she was learning why. This had been a new kind of misery.

When the food arrived she tucked in with a vengeance. The soup spread a pleasant warmth through her body. She was looking forward to tending her armor and weapons and then her bed. Perhaps if Marthammor was kind, the storm would blow itself out while she slept.

((ooc: I'm also not looking to strike up a conversation, but will respond if any of them come to us.))

Olaf, after a time goes to the farmers, who are thrilled to see him.  He gives them a blessing, and they give him a bottle.  Olaf pours the wine with the rest of his party.

"An odd thing.  These fellows claim to be vine dressers, and tend vineyards near Tosti's Tower.  I've never yet seen or heard of the grape that could endure a Northern winter."

He drinks his cup of the wine, raises it to the farmers, who raise theirs in turn.  "Northern hands are as unaccustomed to the tending of vines as Northern soils are to hosting them.  But this is not bad."

In reply to Olaf Stoutsheaf (msg # 14):

On being addressed, Heluvianal looks around at the others in the group before he speaks.  Maybe there is a protected valley here abouts where the weather is milder or the vines and their fruit hardier!  If either is the case, would we benefit from visiting the place for a short time, it may be warmer and drier!

Olaf stroked his golden beard thoughtfully. "This weather can't really hold out." Whether prayer, prophecy, or pronouncement is unclear.  "Too early in the season.  But it is an intriguing prospect, and one worthy of investigation after we check into Daggerford."

Tolantra shrugged. Weather wasn't exactly something she knew much about, having less than a year of experience with it. "Odd things are often interesting. We can make a list of places we want to explore."

Edrie opens a journal, scribbles a few notes and nods indicating that the list has begun.

“Tosti’s Tower—oddly warm. Grows grapes in winter in uncommon latitudes.”

In reply to Edrie Graf (msg # 18):

Don't forget to put this place on the list, it's nice, worth visiting again