The Wind’s Call Inn stood squarely in the middle of an often busy square on the eastern side of Kewen Port.  Its short and wide, aged wooden build, with holes in the steps and cracks in the windows, not to mention the apparently very worn out sign that hung from thread thin chains, waiting for an unsuspecting drunk to drop on, gave the illusion of quite an undesirable place.  Yet, there was never a time in which it was not bustling with travelers and seamen alike for the reputation of this nearly ancient inn outweighed any other in the square, or for that matter, all of the Glyssal Islands.
Upon first opening the door, thick, rich smells of roasting meats and fresh made breads wafted from the kitchen, compelling any wary and hungry traveler to promptly take a seat at one of the many round tables that curved around a large and merry red brick hearth.  The serving girls charming tunes mixed with men’s gruff laughter. The ground shook slightly as the occasioned man took a fancy to try his luck with one of the girls.  It often ended with the maiden dancing her way back through the kitchen door as her partner was left huffing for breath on the floor.  Not to mention the ale that flowed as freely as syrup from a Mayble tree.  
This was all thanks to the proud, and frightful, owner Mistress Johannan.  Mistress Johannan had opened the inn as a way of providing for herself after her husband had, as she said, “gone running off to the mainland to fight some blasted Cymician and got his head lobbed off.”   Her looks were just as crude as her speech.  She was tall enough to match any man in length or width.  Her face was heavy set with age and eyes that seemed more like dots stuck beside a bulbous nose.  Her hair always stayed in a round ball on the nape of her neck with two tiny blue feathers sticking in it.  When asked about them, she would mumble some incomprehensible phrase and inform the questioner that it was none of their concern.  Many people attributed the strange behavior to the fact the she was originally from Jeriah.  Not that it really mattered where she was from, however it was a long standing fact that all mainlanders were strange.  
Though a bit hard, Mistress Johannan was a friendly woman.  She could certainly jest, and drink, with the best of them.  Still, she knew how to keep her stead.  Surprisingly enough, in all of its years of establishment, The Wind’s Call had seen but only one fight. It was to the great misfortune of one traveler in particular, who managed to pinch a serving girl, punch a guest, and worst of all, insult the food, that made for a bit of legend.  No one can honestly say what happened, but that night the guest went missing from his bed.  It was not until late the next day that they saw the traveler hobbling towards the docks with welts the size of apples covering his face and arms and several missing teeth.  That was the first and last trouble the inn ever saw.
It was a particularly busy day as travelers bustled in and out looking for a place to stay. The Eneoth Festival didn't begin till tonight, but that didn’t stop anyone. The Eneoth Festival always attracted a great many people; just as many being from neighboring islands as the mainland. Mistress Johannan had much to do and not much time to do it in. The beds needed turning, the floor needed to be swept, wood for the fire needed to be chopped, the chickens needed plucking and the ale needed to be brought up from storage. There was just too much to do before tonight, especially when several of her hands had gone missing in the past several days. Of course that wasn’t unusual. Younger girls these days had the silly notion that all they needed to do to get by was sit there and look pretty. Well, they certainly learned how untrue that was when one worked under Mistress Johannan. It was only a matter of time before the girls decided to try puckering their lips elsewhere. She would have to find some decent help, and by the evening. Clucking her tongue in annoyance, she descended the stairs, through the main room, into the kitchen.
"Jali, has Grena cleared out the stables yet?"
"No miss. I sent him out to get some fish and potatoes," Jali replied stolidly.
Had it been any other woman that statement would have gotten them a good thumping, but Johannan withheld her tongue and merely nodded passively. Jali was a plain, unintimidating woman, always hidden behind a dull brown apron with smudges of flour on her face. It was a well known fact, though, that she was the best at what she did: cook. It was an unspoken rule that one never insulted the cook. That would be disastrous.
"When he gets back then, tell him to come and see me. We have almost no rooms left. We’re going to need all the space we can get," that said, she promptly turned and left. Jali would make sure it was done. It was also an unspoken rule that one always did what was asked by the mistress.
Upon returning to the common room, a few stray guests had occupied the tables. One in the corner caught her eye in particular. Mistress Johannan briskly walked towards the lone figure resting peacefully at a table near the window. Sunlight had illuminated thick auburn hair that half covered the face of Avelyn Thariel. So, the little cretin thought she could sleep here for free did she?

"Avelyn Thariel you get your rump out of my chair or I’ll hang it by the ceiling!" her voice seemed to shake the room. The girl shot out of her chair, knocking it over and nearly hitting a nearby guest in the process.
"What do you think you’re doing’ in here? Or should I say what you’re not, and that’s paying."
Avelyn turned abruptly, standing on nearly equal height with Johannan, a sleepy grin on her face.
"Is that any way to treat a guest at your table? And who said I wasn’t paying," her hand reached to jingle a small leather purse hanging by her side. Johannan eyed it closely. It seemed simple enough, but she could see a part of a symbol that was burned onto it showing from the corner half hidden by Avelyn's hand.
"And how did you happen by that? Picked it off a Shilly Tree? Found it lying on the side of the road? Or maybe the mayor himself gave it to you?"
"And if he did?"
"Then I'm fit to inherit the crown jewels of Bemori any minute." Her patience was beginning to wear. It did not help when Avelyn, in a perfectly respectful voice spoke, "My queen," bowing slightly.
"You will return that purse- don't give me that look, and close your mouth, you look like a gutted fish- to whoever you stole it from by noon or I will do it myself and have you in the stocks for the day for my trouble," she spoke slow, sucking in through her teeth in an attempt to calm herself.
"I won it fair and square! It's not my fault if the man has the wit of a goat!" And that was the end of her thin thread of patience "Taking a liking to gambling', eh?" She drew herself up, her huge callused hands grabbing Avelyn's ear, and began to drag her towards the door. She didn't bother to move any of the chairs or, for that matter, avoid any of the many holes in the floors. Avelyn twisted under her grip, trying to regain her footing after stumbling, but Johannan never stopped. She kept walking until, arriving at the door, she flung it open and proceeded to drop the girl on the front porch.
"Here's a gamble for you, return that money and get back here for work within the hour and maybe I'll let you keep that flapping' tongue of yours!" If any of the guests had been sleepy during the argument, they certainly woke upon hearing the thundering close of the door. Some stared open-mouthed at her, while others found something very interesting about their porridge. A few of the locals grumbled, putting their heads back down in a different direction.
Huffily, she walked back up the stairs, mumbling under her breath. From the day she had taken that girl in she knew she would be a hand full; and so far her hunch had not proven to be wrong. From the time she was very young, Avelyn was more trouble than a cat in a chicken yard. She put Reef Root in several of the guards clothes, which spread to all of them, that left them itching for weeks. She let the pigs out into the streets on several feast days which took some very angry farmers the remainder of the day catch. One of the worst of her little pranks was when she had painted the mayor's prized white stallion red. And all of this happened within a year!
What's worse is she rarely did it alone. Kids seemed to swarm around her. The only reason they would know she was up to something was because all of the children would just disappear. One in particular never left her side, causing almost as much trouble as Avelyn. Avelyn was not much of a child anymore and her games faded, or rather changed, with her age, but those two girls were rarely apart. Her anger had subsided by now, but she paused on the top stair, pursing her lips thoughtfully. One was never without the other, so why had Avelyn been alone this morning? And, actually, this had not been the first time. Several times in the past few months Avelyn had been the only one here. She just had not noticed till now because she had been to busy throwing Avelyn out.
A large crash coming from below her scattered her thoughts. She sighed heavily and slowly turned back down the creaky old stairs, holding on to the shaky hand railing as she went. It was not even mid-morning and already she had had more than her fair fill of problems. At least I have one more serving girl, even if it's Avelyn. Another crash sounded and this time the windows rattled with it followed by a loud thud. Twilight guide her or she would not make it to tonight!