The inn they duo decided to stay at was relatively modest, but sturdy.
Hitchock's Inn sat at the far edge of the village. It was made out of half wood and half stone and its foundation dug deep into the earth using Earth Magic, made to brace against a history of harsh winters and harsher times.
Warm light spilled from its windows, and the smell of bread and roasted meat lingered pleasantly in the air.
Inside, the atmosphere was calm. A few villagers sat at rough-hewn tables, mugs in hand, laughter low and unforced. No one stiffened at the sight of strangers as they were used to seeing them here. Everyone just minded their business.
Jax took it in at a glance.
Escape routes. Structural weak points. The subtle signs of reinforced doors and recently repaired beams. This was a village that had been burned once and refused to be helpless again.
They were given a room on the second floor. One bed. A small hearth. Clean linens that smelled faintly of pine ash.
