[OOM: On the trail.]The man who strides through the door is tall and broad-shouldered, with a sword on his hip and the thoughtless, deadly grace of a fighter. Black hair, turning to grey at the temples, hangs to his shoulders, held back by a braided leather cord around his forehead. The cloak over his shoulders hurts the eyes to look at; it shifts between shades of brown and grey and green, never quite steadying, so that parts of him almost seem to disappear as it moves.
Lan gets one step in before his eyes narrow, and his head rises fractionally, and something in his posture changes.
(Leopard in High Grass: the walking stance used when there are enemies on all sides. Falling into that prowling gait is long habit, and unconscious.)
This isn't the Red Badger. This isn't any inn he's seen in his life; this room couldn't
fit inside the Red Badger, and most of these people are wearing jarringly unfamiliar clothing.
The hows and whys will come later. For now, Lan Mandragoran's first priority is to figure out what's happened, and what kind of danger it poses, and what needs to be done.