InnTended Consequences

Perched on thick, salt-stained pylons above the creaking wooden planks of the Stormhaven boardwalk, InnTended Consequences rises like a weathered ship run aground. Its warped shingles, faded paint, and crooked windows speak of years spent weathering sea gales, pirate raids, and the occasional sea monster. The scent of brine and roasted fish hangs in the air, mingling with wood smoke and the faint perfume of sea-lilies that grow in baskets along the railings. Nets and lanterns dangle from the eaves, swaying gently in the ocean breeze. Wind chimes made of polished shells and bits of drift metal whisper songs from distant places.
  Inside, the common room feels like a ship’s hold made cozy—planked floors still slick with seawater from travelers’ boots, barrels of pickled eel stacked in corners, and sails repurposed as wall hangings. A long, barnacle-crusted bar dominates one side, where Old Matthias, the innkeeper and former tidal-hunter, serves steaming sea-spiced cider and mugs of frothy kelp ale. Fresh fish as well as imported delicacies are found on a menu that changes daily and with the seasons. The food at InnTended Consequences is fine fare that doesn't seem to fit the inn's decor, but food connoisseurs from all over Erythe come to dine here.
  A low stage sits near the hearth, where bards perform tales of sunken empires and seaborne heroes. The hearth itself is a curious piece—a brass brazier ringed with enchanted still-living coral that glows with warm, dancing ocean-colored light.
  Guest rooms upstairs overlook the moonlit waves. Rumor has it that the shutters are carved with protective runes to keep out siren song and salt-spirits. Some rooms come with spyglasses and maps left by adventurers long vanished into the Deep Blue.
  Below the inn, a trapdoor in the kitchen leads to a hidden dock where smugglers, sea witches, and cursed sailors occasionally do business when the fog rolls in thick and the tide is high