An ancient timber building of well worn white painted walls with a single swinging blue painted door allowing entry. Built even before the great guildhalls, as well much of the surrounding town, the antiquated inn roof seems slowly buckling under its own weight. The interior is no less well worn, a taproom for the weary herdsman and lonely traveler the Shepherd’s Staff does not contain much beyond quaint hardy smelling food and spirits, along with the availability of a few upstairs guest rooms. Paintings of the nearby mountain ranges and lakes frame a lonely bar as well as a smattering of tables to greet new visitors, while a staircase near the back winds its way up to the guest rooms. The quarters themselves are meager at best, offering little comfort in the straw-filled mattresses and pillows, as the sounds of passing carts and people can be heard from below. Belaying the cheap atmosphere and adding to the humble bed and breakfast character is the owner and bartender Leanor who is like a mother to her many rough and tumble patrons.