"Indeed we have, " commented Cynric as he handed off the reins of the his horse to the stableman. "Try not to get us thrown out."
Despite the failure of getting their supplies, the pirate was in a better mood than he had been in weeks.
"Aye, we'll scout us up a table and get the beer flowing. And perhaps that frosty witch will joins us and thaw out!"
While Horns tended the wagon, Cyrnic led Ataxia and Carver into the common of the inn and tavern.
Inside, you find a large common with several tables, chairs and benches. On the center of one wall, a fire crackles. Along another wall, the tavern's bar stands with kegs tapped and a burley bar man standing behind it serving out drinks. Yellow light is cast down from lanterns and iron chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Stairs leading up towards the guest room jut out from the back wall.
The atmosphere is somewhat merry, a mysterial or some such plucks his strings in the corner. Several of the tables are occupied by patrons. A game of chance is going on in the corner. Most have the look of the working class. At your entrance, some look up, and note your armor. Ataxia draws a few stares as gnomes are not common. But few give you trouble. This tavern isn't partial to the bickering of the army or the black company. The patrons have their own lives to worry about.
A very buxom tavern wench notes your entrance. She has a pair of tankards in each hand, but still can direct newcomers. She is one of a pair taking care of the patrons and perhaps are the inspiration for the inn and taverns namesake.
"Oi! Welcome to the Kilt! Take a seat some where! And I'll see to you in a bit!"
Cynric tries hard to keep from leering as you make your way to an empty table.