Herr Murmann gave Amal a skeptical look. A crossroads Delbertz might be but the appearance of a strange looking merchant from an unknown land was still an unusual thing. The Innkeeper reached up and stroked his mustache, a wary look in his eye suggesting that he feared some scam or trick.

“Very well Herr Baba, we do have such a room upstairs, the Graf Von Boflinger and his entourage patronize my inn you know,” he said puffing up proudly. The effort was wasted on Amal who didn’t know what a Graf was and his lack of reaction seemed to irritate Murmann who no doubt expected the eminence of his tavern to impress.

“I must warn you that it isn’t cheap, ten silver pieces a night,” he smirked, clearly intending to take the foreigner and his bimbo down a peg. Ten silver was an outrageous price for a room even in the very best of coaching inns.

“That includes food and wine I assume,” Emmaline replied, allowing the bright enthusiasm in her voice to cool several degrees. Murmann grinned.

“All the food and drink you require frauline,” the innkeeper said patronizingly, “now I can offer you a cheaper room…” 

Emmaline pulled a pair of gold pieces from her pouch and slapped them down on the bar. Murmann’s mouth worked for a moment and he looked suddenly crestfallen, either because his plan to put an uppity foreigner in his place had failed or because he hadn’t thought to try go gull them for more money.
 
“A deal then,” she said brightly. Murmann sighed and swept up the two gold pieces.
 
“Yes a deal, we have a beef stew with wild vegetables in the pot and ale,” he made a gesture towards the casks behind him.

“Do you have any dwarven ale?” Emmaline asked eagerly. Murmann’s mouth worked sourly for a moment.
 
“I’m afraid not frauline, this isn’t Altdorf afterall,” he groused. In truth it would be a rare inn even in Altdorf that could boast of the rare and expensive Dwarven Ale, but hope did spring eternal.

“Wine then, two bottles of your best, and fetch us a roast chicken and some bread,” she commanded. The innkeeper flushed, clearly regretting his offer to provide them with all the food and drink they wanted for the scandalous fee. Emmaline suspected he would still make a tidy profit from the transaction but it certainly wasn’t going to be the near robbery he had intended.
 
“Fine, Greta!” he yelled. A tall somewhat lanky woman in a grease spotted smock and cream colored dress appeared from the pantry behind the bar. She looked to be in her early twenties, a daughter or niece rather than a wife, although one never knew. 
 
“Take these fine folks up to their room, the Graf’s room if you will,” he called to her and then produced a brass key from beneath the bar. He passed the key to Amal though Emmaline doubted it opened any lock that the thief couldn’t have sprung himself in less time than it took to fumble a key.

“Yes Dev, right this way Herr…”

“Baba, Ali Baba,” Amal provided, picking up on the nuances of the language quickly now that he had more direct exposure to it than Emmaline’s occasional tutorials. The followed Greta up the dark wood stairs at the rear of the taproom and down a long hallway lined with doors. The Graf’s suite was at the end of the hallway set off from the rest of the inn by a large and sturdy looking door of polished oak. A brass lock was fitted into the door, but it apparently wasn’t routinely locked because Greta pushed it open with a theatrical flourish. Emmaline and Amal stepped inside. It was a nice room with a large window with glass panes looking out over the square beyond. In one corner stood a large four poster bed hung with silks in the Brettonian fashion. Artworks, oil paintings of unknown figures and a few landscapes hung from the walls. There was a table and an upholstered settee and several mirrors of polished silver.

“Thank you this will do nicely,” Emmaline told the serving girl. Greta like Dev seemed a little nonplused by the lack of response. To her it doubtlessly seemed a very grand thing, but both Emmaline and Amal had seen the splendor of Araybian palaces. This was a very nice room for the Empire but it couldn’t compete with the opulence of the rich south.

“Do you have any baggage?” Greta asked after a moment, more for something to say than any actual concern.

“No,” Emmaline and Amal answered at once. Greta blinked in confusion but covered it quickly with a smile.

“Well I will bring your food up to you in a few moments if you want to get settled in!” she declared brightly before vanishing to leave the two strangers alone. [@POOHEAD189]