Building out in the untamed plains of Pormont had been ill-advised to start with. To the surprise of none of the workers involved, the construction of the Crying Lamb inn had been wracked with tragedy. Built to accommodate adventurers out on the frontier, its owner never once considered the logistics of actually having the structure built by non-adventurers. Once completed, The Crying Lamb never saw much in the way of actual use. Adventurers who usually ventured far out into the Pormont, usually didn't have to worry about shelter, they were usually more than capable and prepared to handle themselves. However, pride did not allow him to accept the failure of his business venture. While it might not have gotten any use as an inn, the least it could be was an inconvenient home. It had seemed that once its construction had concluded, the gnolls wanted nothing more to do with the inn. Something was off. Even the owner could feel it. During the day, he did the whole pantomime of pretending he had an inn to run, during the nights, he suspected he wasn't alone. Sadly, they were not the guests he desired. What had started as vague sensations of a presence, became the clear indicators of rage. As prideful as he may have been, he did not suffer so much pride as to actually stay inside after the first frightful encounter. If those gnolls were ever to come back, they were undoubtedly preferable to what waited within the establishment. On this night, the fateful owner laid wrapped up in a thin blanket some 100 meters away from the inn Ms. Magpie had initially found to be empty. Being quite the vagabond herself, the adventuring witch quickly discerned that he wasn't some drunkard cast out from the inn in the middle of the night. After some unfortunate encounters with the rowdy denizens of the plains, the yladian had come to realize that her usual approach of leaving her avatar in the wildest parts of the wilderness, was only to end in the disaster. She was going to need a room, and the rolled up man was one to put her on the right course towards safe lodging. Without wasting any time, she began digging her heel into the sleeping man's side, "Awake you." She suggested. Having been spurred awake by the witch, the innkeeper let out a bloodcurdling shriek into the plains. Her pale skin, glowing in the moonlight, mixed with her morose expression, had led to innkeep to believe that the haunting presence had followed him, and likely intended to follow him to the grave. However, Ms. Magpie placidly broke such illusions, "Sorry to bother you." She greeted, having just awoken the innkeeper in a needlessly uncomfortable manner. Before even giving him a chance to respond, she quickly got down to business, "I would like to request a room for the remainder of the evening." Catching his breath, the innkeep fought against the kneejerk reaction to state the horrid nature of the place, "Pay up. No refunds." He blurted, voice still strained from screaming. Facing the problem of his complete unwillingness to actually go inside, he gave some rather concise instructions, "Keys are on the wall by the desk... take whatever room you'd like." Before attempting to slump on back to sleep in the safety of the gnoll infested planes. Not off-put by the innkeeper's increasingly suspicious behavior, "Very well." She shrugged. Dropping enough for a night's stay by the man's head, she offered a curt bow, "My thanks." Outside, Pormont had been swept by the humid warmth of the coast. Ms. Magpie's harrowing journey had been a one of great discomfort. For a moment it was a relief when she grasped the doorknob of the decrepit inn--bone-chilling cold to the touch. Once opened to a hairline crack, the door so kindly did the rest of the work. Swinging open with the force to knock the witch back, a frigid blast of stale air barreled out from the inn. Although difficult to hear through the tempestuous gale, there was certainly the faintest tinges of a voice, "...we...died...here...so...too..shall...you..." Donning her cloak, Ms. Magpie did not heed the watchful, concerned voice within the innborne winds. She had already paid for a room, and she wasn't about to test her luck with the rampaging gnolls. Once both of her heels had clicked into the dusty ground, the inns door slammed shut, its pure force shaking the foundation of the already groaning building. Kindly, the long faded candles--and only the candles--were suddenly blaring with light. These faint glimmers were hardly enough to penetrate the choking, supernatural darkness. Not one to deny hospitality, Ms. Magpie gently took one of the candles into her possession. Every spark of light mattered, especially in the cold. Against the nature of the cloudless calm that had blessed the night, a bolt of lightning snuck its way across the sky. In the flash stood the towering shadow of one of Pormont's very own beasts. Its hot, carrion infused breath belted the back of the witch's neck, with each of its rasping growls. Guiding her fingers along the darkened row of keys, she sought out a particular room: 4. Streaking across the pale earthy tones of the wood was a splash of red. In every flash of lightning, the reds grew in their vibrancy, as the shadow drew ever clover. Upon making contact with the cursed key in question, it finally struck Ms. Magpie. Cold steel from her nape of her neck, biting every inch of the way to her liver. She paused, looking behind her to the astounding sight of absolutely nothing. Filled with contempt, she yanked her key from off the hook. She would not bother to read the message inscribing itself along the stained wall-face as if an axe was been dragged along. Given everything that she had already been exposed to, she felt like she had the idea. Once she made it past the winding, improbably long hallway, she had every intention of simply going to sleep, restless spirits be damned. @Comet
