The interior of the inn is drab, dirty, and in moderate disrepair. Off to the left is a jumble of broken tables and chairs that seems to have been crudely shoved out of the way, to make room for furniture that's still capable of serving its purpose. While this occupies nearly a third of the common room, it doesn't seem to be much of a waste of space - what's left is barely even half full. Most of the occupants seem to be relatively ordinary locals and workmen, but a few stand out.
In the shadows of the back right corner, carefully watching the entryway, is a man in a dark green hooded cloak of moderately fine weave.
In the front right corner, a group of three chatters amongst themselves. One is a heavyset blond-haired man wearing shiny plate armor; the shield slung over his back bears a lightning bolt symbol. The second is a young Ailuris maiden, her fur set with bright red ribbons, perched on a high stool and punctuating her comments with animated gestures. The third is a thin old man in brown travel-worn robes and heptagonal glasses.
A second Ailuris is perched up at the bar itself, apparently intent on purchasing unconsciousness in liquid form. His tail twitches in time with the music.
In the middle of the room, their backs to a tangled mass of discarded chairs, are the musicians. One of them seems to fit the standard foppish bard stereotype - brightly colored clothing, a jaunty hat set with a decorative feather, blue eyes, long blond hair, and a mandolin. His partner, accompanying him on the flute, seems to (aside from the flute) match the burly barbarian stereotype. He's a huge bear of a man, with shaggy brown hair that seems to blend in to the animal furs he's wearing. Set carefully on the floor next to him is a sheathed greatsword.
The barmaid, a buxom young lass, takes one look at the two newest occupants of the inn, and advances on Ametrine.
"Oh, aren't you just the cutest little thing ever!"
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