As you make your way towards the Old Cassomir district, the streets become wider and the cobblestones more polished; and the simple wooden houses give way to imposing stone buildings. The inn itself is a solid establishment, with a marble staircase leading up to the massive mahogany doors attended by an impeccably groomed usher, who quickly suppresses a disproving look at your adventuring gear as he politely bows down, letting you inside.
Within, illustrious chandeliers illuminate a poshly decorated but largely empty hall. Evidently, not many guests of the city can afford to stay here. Stairs upwards are attended by two uniformed guards, while to the right a bored barman idly chats to the porter boy while polishing wine glasses, which the boy carries between the bar and the dining tables. They throw momentary quizzical glances at you before returning to their duties.
An aging man in a uniform with greying temples and immaculately trimmed sideburns quickly approaches you with a smile and a welcoming gesture.
”Please allow me to welcome you to Cassomir on behalf of the Sword Point inn! How may I be of service? Would you like to register your stay with us? Or have you perhaps come to enjoy our dining services?”