Camilla go the distinct impression that outsiders were a rarity in Kennenburg. There was a sudden lull as the pair of sellswords stepped into the Traveler's Rest. The tavern itself was a sight familiar the length and breadth of the Empire. Dark wooden beams interspersed with aging flaking plaster, a floor of straw that was cleaned out every so often to keep the smell and the lice to a minimum, a roaring fire in a stone fireplace over which a pot of something hot bubbled perpetually. The place seemed to be doing a fair business already, men and a few women, sat at long wooden benches sipping ale and eating breakfasts which ranged from porridge to bacon, depending on their means. Winter in rural places was a social time, there was nothing to be done in farm and field and the locals tended to pass the time socializing and gossiping.

For an awkward moment there was silence as they collected villagers took in the sight of the two strangers. A quiet amazed whisper broke out as they debated why anyone in their right mind would travel in weather like this. A moment later the unity of the conversation broke down into more general conversation which slowly returned to normal. Camilla unwrapped her face and shook out her hair, earning several speculative glances from men and accompanying scowls from their wives. One young man of twelve or thirteen summers audible gasped but was cuffed over the ear by a well meaning elder. 

"Welcome welcome," piped a voice and Camilla turned to see a plump barmaid crossing the floor towards them. She wore a cotton dress with a green wollen apron and had a bust that seemed almost nonsensical. Camilla blinked, the voice seemed too high pitched to have possibly come from so stout a matron.

"Welcome to the Traveler's Rest strangers!" she made a prefunctory curtsey and gestured them down to a bench. Camilla and Cydric allowed themselves to be seated gracefully.

"What will you be having dearies? Ale? Breakfast? A room for the night?" the woman gushed.

"Uhh... all of the above," Camilla replied quietly. The woman seemed to start back.

"Not from around here are you dearie, Bretonnia?" she pronounced the word Bree-ten-yah.

"Tilea, actually," Camilla replied dragging the words out in a deliberate purr that thickened her accent. She pushed forward several silver shillings by way of good faith. THe coins vanished into the apron like a conjurers trick. Few patrons in a place like this would have anything as valuable as actual currency.

"Aint never heard of it," the barmaid replied and hurried off to fetch them ale and some fried eggs.

"So how do you want to start looking for your friend?" Camillia asked Cydric. Her eyes swept around the room, slapping the gazes of gawking onlookers back to their proper business. In the corner of the room she caught the eye of a forbidding looking man in clothing mutch finer than the standard. A sword, nearly as tall as Camilla stood propped against the fireplace beside him. The stranger did not look away as the others had but instead raised a pipe to his lips and drew in a mouthful of the aromatic smoke. His face looked contemplative but Camilla recognized a hard man when she saw one. 

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