A bitterly cold wind wrapped itself around Gilba Gilba and sent the residents o’ the town fleein’ for the comfort of their fireplaces. The common room of the RAGGED MAIDEN was a-flurry with the patrons today. Blom was overworkin’ hisself gettin’ everybody satisfied with the ales and ciders and teas (for those especial fancy folk who could afford it). The servin’ girls whose names are LONG forgotten in this mess were traipsin’ in ’n out o’ the kitchen bringin’ boiled meat, cooked lard, preened salt, farbled rawhide, fried apples, baked apples, flamebroiled apples, beached apples, and honeyed caramel brickabracks to all the guests who ordered ‘em. Even Rogorogormrmrin the inn-tern was workin’ double today, keepin’ the fire stoked and the guests’ horses safe in the adjoining stable (the inn had a stable which all inns do).

Ok that was good. That was a good setup. Blom marched through the common room, limp barely noticeable in the high energy, keepin’ tabs on the order o’ things. “How we doin’ there, Brambler?” he asked before asking the same to Hargman and waiting for neither’s answer as he said “Keepin’ warm, eh, Freeklin?”

The chorus of “aye”s was nearly lost to him as he plowed on through the establish. It was this insane attention to hospitality that earned the Ragged Maiden the reputation it had, even outside the borders of Gilba Gilba! WORD COULD SPREAD RIGHT SWIFT IN THE ASSOL OUTLANDS. Travelers and adventurers and even land merchants from out past Marmarmar often hoofed it a couple extra plorpers, past Marmarmar and Blumberdan, just to book a room at the Ragged Maiden.

With that popularity came a cost. There came notoriety and therefore ATTENTION. All manner o’ folk found themselves a benefactor of the hospitality at the Ragged Maiden, including fellas from the CROWN, a fact Blom had not anticipated when draftin’ his Inn Philosophy with Glen when they settled in this town nigh on a decade ago now. If he’d’a known of these effects of his excellent innkeep acumen he mighta toned it down a mite bit, but ah well that’s the way o’ the world for ya and the best you got is what you got at the time.

“Oy, innkeep,” a man of unfamiliar accent called from the counter.

“Aye laddie what’s it you need here if you don’t mind me askin’,” Blom answered, wipin’ his brow in an imitation of exhaustion (he was only fairly tired… exhaustion would hit on the morrow).

“Just an ale o’ some sort if ya please,” the man answered. He was wet and shakin’ with the cold. No small wonder given the racket goin’ on out there on the other side o’ these walls. His cloak was a deep dark red.

Color o’ the Crown, thought Blom.