The young prince entered the town with no problems as he kept the hood of his cloak draped over his head. He moved into the square looking for the inn but paused in the middle of the square and looked in awe of the different mythics who moved about. He saw lamia, cyclops, halflings, dwarves, and a few other races moving about the town looking for food, items, or just chatting comfortably with friends. The sight put a smile to joran’s face as he felt hope for what could happen to the rest of orano. He then found the inn called the wandering drake and went inside to look for a warm meal and a soft bed. The Wandering Drake stood as the heart of Vandren’s Rest, its sturdy wooden frame reinforced with dark stone foundations, a testament to the resilience of the town itself. The inn’s name was etched into an aged wooden sign above the entrance, a faded carving of a dragon coiled around a tankard beneath it. Warm light spilled from its windows, and the scent of roasted meat, spiced mead, and freshly baked bread drifted into the evening air.


    Inside, the inn''s main hall was a grand yet rustic space, its atmosphere thick with the mingling scents of oakwood smoke, mead, and the faint hint of damp leather from weary travelers. A great stone fireplace dominated one side of the room, its flames casting flickering shadows across the timbered walls. The mantle above the hearth bore a collection of relics—old blades, battered shields, and a preserved drake’s skull with jagged horns curling toward the ceiling, its empty sockets staring into the bustling room.


    To the right of the fireplace stretched the dining area, a long communal table made from solid oak, its surface scratched and dented from countless feasts and rowdy nights. Smaller, round tables were scattered around, their mismatched chairs occupied by travelers, mercenaries, and merchants. The scent of roasting venison and seasoned potatoes wafted from the kitchen beyond, where cooks worked tirelessly behind a half-open wooden counter. Worn iron chandeliers hung overhead, their glow-crystals emitting a soft, steady luminescence that never dimmed, even in the dead of night.


    Opposite the dining area was the drinking hall, where a polished wooden counter ran the length of the room, lined with sturdy barstools that had seen their fair share of drunken mishaps. Behind the bar, shelves stocked with an impressive selection of spirits—honeyed dwarven mead, deep crimson elven wine, and potent orcish fire-brew—shimmered beneath the glow of enchanted lanterns. A few private booths lined the far wall, each separated by heavy drapes for those who preferred their conversations unheard. The murmur of hushed deals and whispered secrets blended with the lively hum of patrons raising their tankards in laughter or slamming fists over lost bets.


    At the front, positioned near the entrance, was the reception desk, where an elf with an air of effortless grace managed the inn’s affairs. She possessed an ageless beauty, as many of her kind did, with long silver hair braided elegantly over one shoulder and sharp, pale green eyes that carried both wisdom and weariness. Her deep blue tunic, embroidered with silver patterns of intertwining vines, marked her as someone of refined taste, though the many rings adorning her slender fingers and the ledger in her hand suggested she was far more concerned with coin than status.


    She moved with quiet efficiency, her keen gaze scanning guests with practiced precision. Every newcomer was noted, every drunken patron subtly monitored, and every deal struck under the glow of enchanted lanterns recorded in the back of her mind. Though poised and graceful, there was a sharpness beneath her smooth exterior, a quiet authority that kept even the roughest mercenaries and troublemakers from overstaying their welcome.


    Above the main hall, a wooden staircase led to the guest quarters, the second floor lined with private rooms, each offering simple yet comfortable accommodations. The walls bore faded tapestries depicting old mythic legends—battles between beastmen warriors, elven archers striking down sky-serpents, and even a mysterious cloaked figure standing before a dragon, their intentions lost to time.


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    Joran looked about the inn before nervously moving toward the front desk, stumbling a bit every couple of steps. The elf was eyeing two dwarves who were gulping down drink after drink causing her to worry that they might start a ruckus soon. “Ummm…. E-excuse me?” a meek voice spoke, causing her to turn her attention to the young man in front of her with a raised eyebrow as her right ear twitched slightly out of irritation at having her attention pulled away. “Yes. how may i-” she paused as she looked the traveler up and down and her ear twitched some more. “If you’re trying to blend in… you’re doing a horrible job.”


    Joran’s eyes widened before he quickly tried to regain his composure. “I-i don’t know what you mean…” he reached up and pulled the hood to shadow his face a bit more while the other began to instinctively stroke his amulet. The elf rolled her eyes and suddenly jumped over the desk with great ease. She lands right in front of him and leans forward causing a blush to form on joran. “Oh please. Anyone who is paying attention will notice that you are not like the other travellers who come through here.” she began to circle around him as she spoke. “The amulet is too pretty for someone coming from Orano, even a merchant. Your body is tense and awkward as if you have something to hide. Obviously, we are close to the border and anyone coming from orano may be nervous due to the challenges they faced but you aren’t from orano, as we have established, so that means you are from lothara. No sane person, man or mythic, would be caught dead this close to the border which means you are here with a purpose and no regular civilian would be trying as hard as you are not to stand out so I have to assume you are a noble of some sort travelling incognito.” she stopped in front of him and leaned forward so her face was inches from his.


    “Am i correct?” Joran''s cheeks were blushing immensely from how close the elf’s face was to his. Her face was sharp, sculpted with the elegance and precision characteristic of her kin, yet softened by the weight of experience rather than privilege. High cheekbones framed a slightly upturned nose, her skin bearing a smooth, porcelain quality that seemed untouched by time, yet her pale green eyes—keen and assessing—held the sharpness of someone who had seen much and forgotten nothing. They flickered with amusement, curiosity, and a quiet authority, as if she could peel away every lie with a single glance.


    Her long, silver hair was immaculately braided over one shoulder, its metallic sheen catching the soft lantern light, the plait secured with a delicate silver clasp in the shape of intertwining vines. The braid swayed slightly as she moved, betraying a practiced elegance, yet it was also practical—meant to keep her hair from interfering with her work rather than for vanity''s sake. A few loose strands framed her face, softening her otherwise striking features.


    She wore a deep blue tunic, finely woven and adorned with silver embroidery of twisting vines and leaves, hinting at either noble origins or an appreciation for craftsmanship. The fabric draped comfortably over her form, fitted enough to suggest refinement but loose enough for easy movement. A dark sash cinched her waist, over which hung several small pouches, no doubt filled with ledgers, keys, or the tools of her trade. Her sleeves were snug around her forearms, the cuffs lined with silver thread that caught the dim light of the inn’s lanterns.


    Joran quickly averted his gaze and glanced around as he worried about others overhearing what she said but nobody seemed to be paying attention. She took notice of how worried he seemed to be and stood up straight before leaping over the desk once more. She turned to face him and said, “you’ve already confirmed it for me but i don''t really care too much. I would just be more careful about your appearance starting with that amulet. Now how may I help you?” Joran stood there for a moment before he cleared his throat and replied, “i-i would like a room if one is available and maybe something to eat?” the elf gave a soft smile that caused joran’s heart to skip a beat and his cheeks to blush some more as he shyly looked away before she said, “lucky for you, we have both.”