The weather was tempered; itβd been pleasant these past few weeks. Nathaniel decidedβfor the second time this weekβheβd like to take a longer trip around the outer skirts of Baldurβs Gate, closer to the seaside and the salty zephyrs tickling his cheeks, rather than to beeline for his abode deep within the cityβs heart.
As he walked, quite a leisurely pace, he came to a gradual halt. A few moments passed, the cogs of his brain churning: forced into a double-take, he snapped his head to the leftβto this clifftop inn. An inn around these parts wasnβt necessarily a shocking happenstance, but what was, was the fact that this inn definitely didnβt sit here approximately two days ago when he took the same dragged-out route to his house. Everything was prim and proper, and alien flora sat about, beautiful and hugging the infrastructure in a way that felt simultaneously pretty and also protective.
The land had once been cleared; swept down. What sat prior was a humble home of a fisher, but, as the cliff began to chip away, it became too dangerous for them and their family to stayβthey left some time ago, hoping to set up elsewhere. The land had been up for sale for some months, flirting with a year, before all attempts were naught but sadly scratched away. The cliffside flanks had been lashed down, the maws of the relentless seaside dragging down piece by piece of rock and rubble. What was once a modest home of this fisher and their family, had been decimated to a few, scraggy piles of wood and other mediocre leftovers. Every time Nathaniel walked by it felt like the land got narrower still just by a lick.
Now stood this innβand if he wasnβt mistaken, it seemed to have reconstructed some footing of this here cliff, extending its chin enough to form something safe and sturdy for the inn to sit upon. Nathaniel stepped closer to it; curiosity piqued.
Commotion ran amuck inside.