The inn was called The Wanderer's Rest.
I had named it during a late-night world-building session when I had been trying to create the impression of a place that had existed before players arrived, that had a history independent of the game's mechanics. The sign above the door was painted wood, slightly faded, a traveler silhouetted against a setting sun. The interior, when I pushed the door open, was warm and low-lit, firelight moving across exposed beams, the smell of something cooking in a back room that my olfactory system had apparently decided to render in full.
The innkeeper was a broad man named Aldric who I had written as a former soldier turned reluctant businessman. He had a scar through his left eyebrow that mirrored the bandit leader's, because I had reused the facial damage
