The door and floorboards creak. So do the joints of the spindly old woman behind the counter. "If it's information y're after, there's plenty in the racks," she says, her voice soft but high-pitched. "Take what y'need. Leave new when y'ave it." She pauses to gesture towards an area off to the side of the half-lit and half-warm common room. "Bunks're empty there if y'plan to rest. Don' snore neither."

Revolving racks line the common room, filled with leaflets, pamphlets, flyers, and notes. A guestbook lies open on a table near the hearth, filled with scrawled entries: "Ask the Gearsmith about the escape hatch." and "The Beastmarket unofficially closes at dusk."

The old woman points towards a shelf jampacked with tattered guides. "Them. Take one. Y'll find 'em useful to figure out where y're going next."