I find myself appearing just outside a roadside tavern with a sign over the door that proclaims it as "Laman's Ladle.” It's a small, shabby sort of place, but cheerful. As I enter, there's a stone fireplace blazing on my right, and to my left is a rickety-looking staircase that presumably leads to rentable bedrooms. At the back is the bar, behind which is a burly (but somewhat overweight) man with a large beard and a dirty apron. He is friendly and roars a loud, friendly greeting to every customer who comes through the door.
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