A wooden sign proudly announced that we were at The Roseguard Inn. We were in a small village called Sycamore, which was known for its production of ink and dyes. It wasn't a tourist area, but it was important in the field of fashion, for creating dyed fabrics.
The three of us were escorted in by one of the knights, and a bell chimed as the door opened. We were greeted by the smell of freshly baked bread and the savory aroma of chicken. A woman turned and her eyes landed on our small group. She dodged past the few customers who were drinking rowdily at the bar to welcome us.
"Welcome to Roseguard, how can I help you?" She smiled brightly.
"I'll need four rooms for the night, and enough food for eight," I told her, my tone friendly.
"A group of travelers, aye? It'll be twelve silver.
