The first thing I noticed as I entered the quaint inn was the sweet aroma of Barad stew- a stew made with spices that can only be found deep in the caves of the Kharolis Mountain range.
As my eyes adjusted in the dimly lit room, I looked around at my surroundings. The room was clean and tidy. Sturdy, wooden tables were sporadically placed throughout, with equally sturdy chairs around them. A long table sat parallel to the cozy fireplace on my right side. Across the room from the fireplace was a long, oak bar-well oiled and clean. Behind it there were shelves, cluttered with bottles. Different sizes and shapes, the bottles were filled with liquids of various colors. A human barkeep whistled as he cleaned glasses while an attractive, exotic looking barmaid served drinks to two half-elves sitting across the bar from her. Along the far wall from where I stood another long table sat in front on a large bay window. The spectacular view of the snow capped Kharolis Mountains filled most of the view.
Immediately to my left, along the same wall as the door I came in, a staircase headed to an upper level. There were numerous doors up there, each with a wooden sign attached to it. (I would later learn that those doors lead to the different forums that the inn offered access to.)
Back on the main floor, I watched the barmaid exit through a door behind the bar, which I presumed lead the kitchen, the source of the great smelling stew.
I strolled around the room, observing the different classes and races of people, chatting and enjoying each others company. Five men (of at least three different races) sat around a table playing a tile game I wasn’t familiar with.
“Want to sit in?” One asked, smiling up at me.
“No thanks. I’ll just watch, if that’s okay,” I replied back.
“Not a problem. Always room for one more if you change your mind.”
I watched them for a few minutes more, enjoying the friendly banter that passed across the table as they played. I found an empty table in the corner of the room. I sat and looked around again. The inn had a warm, inviting ambiance about it. I decided this was a good place to sit back and relax. I pulled out my parchment and writing stick, anxious to meet, learn and write about the friendly patrons of The Red Dragon Inn.

The front door swings open slowly, and a woman walks in. Merideth.
The woman makes a beautiful silhouette in the doorway. She is thin with a delicate figure, tight brown pants hugging her legs, heavy boots on her feet, a loose white shirt tucked into a thick brown belt at her waist, twin silver six shooters hanging on her hips, over her shoulder she carries a long brown leather jacket. Her skin is pale, wild red hair falls down her back, and except for the large engraved belt buckle the only jewelry she wears is a wedding band on her left hand.
Today her nose is pink, her bright blue eyes are bleary, and the hand not holding her jacket is propped against her head as if the pressure of it could stop the pounding. She sniffles slightly and then steps inside.
Once inside with the door closing behind her she plops into the nearest empty chair, legs splayed out unlady like (there is a reason she’s in pants), and cradles her head in her hands. When the barmaid comes by she looks up at her and moans her order to the woman softly.
“Chicken noodle soup… bread, soft bread… a cup of hot tea…”
Then she sneezes, loudly, and pulls out a handkerchief and wipes at her nose. The barmaid makes a slight face and walks off, likely going to wash her hands as soon as she gets in the back.
Merideth waits, sniffling, sneezing, blowing her nose, and moaning now and then for her food to arrive. When it does she sets to eating it with some determination, actually looking a little pleased as the hot liquid moves down her throat and the warm steam rises up her face.
The cold does not seem to have affected her appetite and she finishes off the soup, tea and most of the bread before settling back in her chair and muttering some kind of curse about summer colds.

((Well it is in third person, but that's kind of how I write. Hope this is what you were looking for If not let me know and I can always edit to fit your vision more))

"Alright! Did anything happen while I was in the other room?" A young woman's voice trails from upstairs, clapping her hands as she speaks.

"Not yet; I'm working on it!" a male voice responds, "Oh, and because I haven't said it yet today, you're insaaaaaaane!"

"I know." The woman, Reralae, replies cheerfully, "Many people would probably say that, if they haven't already."

I need a drink. Reralae thinks, and so she heads toward the stairs.

Appearing at the bottom, Reralae can be seen in her entirety. She wears a simple, flowery kimono coloured with several shades of purple and blue. On her feet are Chinese slippers, with a matching purple to her kimono. She has long brown hair, so dark it is nearly black, braided down her back so as to be out of the way of her face and pointed ears. Her eyes are a gentle brown, glancing about quickly, much like someone slightly in a hurry. She is slightly tall, and is neither thin nor fat. Her face appears younger, but her eyes seem to shimmer with an age that is older than she appears. Her hands are slightly ink-stained, and she carries several, larger sized books with her, as well as a quill and ink set.

Upon her back rests a long, elegant staff, with a shaft that appears to be made out of multiple braids of metal wire, at the bottom ending with the individual strands folding outward appearing like a flower's guard leaves, with a oval, green stone extending from beneath, appearing like a closed flower bud. At the top, the shaft ends in a solid metal circle, within which is held an oval shaped aquamarine stone. Jutting out from either side of this circle are two wing shapes, seemingly made out of carved opal, and at the top of the circle is a small flower made of amethyst. Besides this staff, on either side of Reralae's waistband is a sword, encased in a simple sheath. Both swords look identical in shape, with a curved guard and a diamond-cut pommel with the flat side facing away from the hilt. However, the one on Reralae's right has a golden guard, a light leather bound hilt, and a marble pommel while the one at her left has an silver guard, a dark leather bound hilt, and an obsidian pommel. The blades are likely different as well, but as they are sheathed, you cannot tell for sure.

"Waitress, one hot chocolate please!" Reralae calls toward the kitchen. She really should try to remember the waitress's name, but it always slipped her mind.

Seeing Merideth, Reralae wanders over and sits at the same table, carefully placing her staff on the ground, and her books and writing set on the table first.

"Oh dear, you don't look so good." Reralae says, "You should take it easy for a while; don't push yourself too hard, Meri!"

Merideth looks over at Rer as she joins her at the table.
“Thanks dear. I’m trying. Let me give you some advice, stay away from small children, they appear to be cute and innocent but they carry the plague.” She nods slightly and takes another sip from her tea.
“I’m trying to rest up though. It’s harder than it sounds though… the cats keep biting my toes when I try to sleep, and the boss keeps wondering when I’m coming back in, something about my paycheck… and one of these days I gotta clean up that room…” she nods over toward a door with ‘Borden’ written on it and a dark sticky substance seeping out from under it, “It smells, but I’m too afraid to go in there right now. But it doesn’t smell as bad as my kitchen, but it’s like pulling teeth trying to get the husband to do anything about it, which is why I am here, at least this kitchen is clean.” Small smile.
“But enough of my woes…” stops to sneeze and dab at her nose with the kerchief again, then looks up toward the door Rer came from. “What have you done that is so insane?”

Reralae giggles, "Oh, he just calls me insane because of all the things I'm doing..."

She turns and looks toward the stairs, "Well, the number of games and such I'm working on or doing anyway."

Reralae then turns back to the table, thanking the waitress for bringing the hot chocolate, before taking a careful sip. Setting down the cup, she then opens one of the tomes in front of her, and her writing set. On the pages opened to, one side has a picture of a dragon-like being, however, it has iridescent, violet eyes and its body appears translucent, with the mountainous background appearing through it, wavering with the colours of the entire spectrum. On the other page is a partially filled statistics block.

"Let's see... what do I have yet to do today?" Reralae murmurs, thinking aloud, "Auguries of Destruction, Glory's game, maybe Kaelyn's... that's it?"

Reralae takes another sip of hot chocolate.

"Well, I'll deal with those in a little bit. Right now, I'm taking a break." She says, smiling.

Reralae closes the book in front of her, and opens another one to the first page. It is just about blank, with only about a paragraph or so on it. It is titled The Diamond Maker. Dipping her quill into the ink jar, Reralae pauses for a moment, the tip of the feather touching her mouth, before she begins to add more words to the story.

"I want to write stories, but for some reason I don't seem to finish any of the books I start." Reralae says, perhaps slightly sadly.

Draco Desierto's first impression when he entered the establishment was that of class. He felt no qualm about leaving his bardiche, bolos, backpack, and bag on a table near the door. He was simply certain that they would be safely undistrubed until he either obtained a room here or left. In the desert-dwelling society of which he was a product, you simply didn't trust until it was proven you could do so. And yet this place immediately over-rode that mistrust of strangeness, both inborn and societal. Magic? Possibly. Dangerous? Maybe, but not enough to jangle any alarms in him.

He got up from the tiles, excused himself for a round or two of play, and meandered over to the bar to obtain a drink. He didn't have to. Once he joined the Donjon Tiles game, not long after he arrived here at the Inn, he arranged for his drinks to come to him. It had already been in progress for some time. Both men seemed amiable enough toward each other, so Draco assumed that is was just a friendly game. The amiability seemed a bit less when he accepted an invitation to join. Good-natured banter and jokes were passed during the game, but the demeanor became more business-like. Which migh not have been so bad if Draco hadn't noticed that he was losing more than he was winning. And the Other two seemed to be passing any leading gains back and forth between them.

Draco, at first attributed that to a lack of familiarity with the game. But as his experience and expertise grew, so did his losses. It seemed that he was only being allowed to win enough to keep him interested.

Ah, well. If he couldn't have afforded to lose a few coins, he wouldn't have joined in. And he hoped, at some point, that the others would allow him to change the game, and thus his luck. He was pretty good at Dragonchess and Goblin Dice. Or cards? The child's game of Old Orc could be maddening to some, and Kings Men was a decent challenge and good for up to eight players.

His drink ws already poured when he arrived at the bar. He downed it quickly and set the glass down for another re-fill. This he returned with to the table and re-joined play, but from a different seat, one where he could see who else entered the Red Dragon Inn.

Everyone called her Dragon Mistress, it fit. At first glance, everything about her was Eldritch. She was tall and slender with whipcord tight muscles that showed under the shimmering sapphire blue of her skintight pants, tucked into her tall boots. The boots were crimson with blue and scarlet accents, were intricately overlaid, inlayed, and stitched in graceful patterns reminiscent of Elven work. A scarlet silk shirt was open provocatively to her breasts, revealing a tantalizing look at her feminine globes, just enough to tease. A vest worked like her boots was over her shirt, and a wide scarlet belt studded with white and yellow gold encircled her fine waist from which hung a stunning swept hilt long sword in a scabbard of matching leatherwork.

She had a long-standing agreement with the proprietor, she got her meals free when she played and sang. She was Bardic trained and had a repertoire of all manner of music including quite a few bawdy ballades. A favorite was the “Near Sighted Knight and the Old Whore.”

She stopped in the doorway and took in the layout of the room and its occupants. Then she moved in, her walk was graceful and cat-like, yet she was poised for any possibility. She swung her head to the side to throw back an errant braid of shimmering metallic silvery-gold hair. Today the sides were braided and the rest of her very long, slightly wavy tresses hung free down her back passed her tight tush. Her skin was flawless and honey biege in color, with an almost metallic sheen to it. The plains of her face were exquisite, her large eyes set well apart without seeming misplaced, her nose was slightly upturned and her brows winged up towards her temples. There was a point to her ears, not a much as a pure elf but more so than a half-elf.

She gazed about the room with her unusual eyes; anyone meeting her look felt the intensity that bided its time behind the strange hazel eyes. For those who knew her, who had been close enough to view her large eyes set in a slant on her finely boned face, knew how strange they were. The centers looked to be a pastel yellow that faded out into a silvery-gray rim, between the yellow and gray the middle area of the eyes appeared to be pale hazel green, and the rim of the iris was a dark bluish-gray. Inside the irises were metallic gold flecks. Woe be the man, women or creature that caused those flecks to turn fiery red, and dead were those who caused the flecks to turn golden flamed black.

She moved up to the bar. "Excellent," she sighed looking at the hand written Bill of Fare on the slate board. "Your have my favorite dish, the 5B Burrito. I'll take one now and a mug of apple juice." (For those who are new to the tavern, that is a Belly Busting, Bug Bear Burrito. Moreover, for your own sake, do not tease her about the apple juice.)

Today she carried a case on her back in it was her favorite harp. After ordering, she went to the dais to the side of the room where entertainers could perform. She pulled out a chair and set it in the center of the stage and opened the case to draw out a stunning masterpiece, an Elven sung triple stringed harp of red gold wood. The song-carved main piece was covered with the bas-relief images of all sorts of real and magical animals. Some said that when she played the animals moved about or turned to look at members of the audience.

Dragon Mistress did not need the money, but she put out a cup all the same, what she earned was testiment to her artistry and musical abilities. She tithed her donations to the Temple of the Light or to the poor of the town, or the widows and orphans of adventures who did not come home.

Elegance, eldritch, finery...nah.

Our next contestant to enter the foyer presents a scruffy, unshaven coutenance; lean frame wrapped up in a patchwork red-brown cloak over blue and brown. Kinked walking-stick is flipped to rest on his shoulder, off-key whistling trailing off as the lad cracks a lopsided grin. Muddy grey eyes sweep the room with practiced ease, while the toe of one boot prods at a floorboard.

"...'s no well-house, but 'twill do. Strange is as strange ways does, after all. Now then..."

And off to the bar he goes, trinkets and tankard clattering from his overcrammed backpack and numerous pouches, tossing jaunty bow to one lass (the Dragon Mistress, had he heard?) in passing. The ruffling of cards also catches his attention for a moment, a coins or three suddenly flipping in the air before disappearing as he makes a mental note on which shaded corner that table seems to be in - there are an unusual number of such, it seems.

Dragon Mistress inclines her head to the newcomer, a bit scruffy looking, but practiced in his assessment of the common room.

Time to play. She lifted her harp and started with a lively tune the got feet stamping, and hands clapping in time with the rhythm.

The lively tunes of a well played harp drifted through an open window of the Red Dragon Inn. A smile crept across Lyskhala’s mouth as the aroma of baked bread and homemade stew made her mouth water. She closed her emerald eyes and took a long deep breath as her Dapple Grey mare snorted her impatience.

“Settle down Cameo” she cooed and lovingly patted the horse’s silver mane as she dismounted . “The day is at end and our work is done. Nothing to do now but enjoy the company of friends and a mug of mead.” Pulling an apple from the saddle bag, she offered it to her tired mount and lightly kissed her velvet muzzle before venturing through the giant Oak door of the Inn.

The cumbersome door creaked a familiar greeting as the curvaceuos woman pushed her way into the welcoming abode. The regulars nodded voiceless salutations as she paused here and there to watch a game in play. The day had been full and though she would have liked to join in a game she was much too tired after working with self-aggrandizing colleagues for hours on end.

After several minutes of general perusing she made her way to the bar and ordered a cup of mead.
Tapping the toe of her soft black sueded boot to the rythym of Dragon Mistress’ tune she tugged an ornate leather band from her hair. A mass of wavy copper fell seductively about her shoulders as she pushed a stray lock from her emerald eyes. This day she wore form fitting teal leggings and a muslin poet shirt with a wide black belt cinched a bit tighter than she would wear at her place of employ. The strings of the shirt had been loosened, revealing more cleavage than she would normally be comfortable sharing. Having to work mainly with the male gender she didn’t allow herself the pleasure of dressing as feminine as she would like at work and was often found attired in loose fitting tunics which hid her voluptuous figure.

From across the room, she saw Meri and Reralee engaged in conversation. Meri looked under the weather, not quite her usual bright self. Reralee on the other hand was as happy go lucky as ever.

The barkeep slid her drink down the long expanse of the shiny oak bar and winked at her. She smiled slightly and mouthed “tab please” as she made her way to Meri and Reralee’s table.

Merideth grabs the barmaid on one of her rounds and orders another cup of hot tea, with honey and lemon.
She laughs a little at Rer, “Aren’t we all a little insane on that side?”
Then watches as the other woman seems to try and organize herself some, “Ohh… books. I know how that goes. I’ve got like twenty in the works, it’s awful, between all the games I play and the books I’m trying to write I’ve got a full house of interesting characters running around in my head constantly… maybe it was them and not the kid that got me all down with the plague… hmm… I wouldn’t put it past them, rascally fellows the whole lot of them. The Diamond Maker huh… I’ve been working up some diamond related plot twists in one of my stories, but not alchemy.” She laughs a little, then notices Lysk enter, she waves at her and offers a smile.
“If your not too worried about catching the plague please do join, although I think I’m past contagious stage now…” she pushes out a chair with one of her boots while covering a cough with her hand.

DM launches into the Ballade of Ivan Skavinski Skavar and Abdul Abulbul Amir.

The Sons of the Prophet and brave men and bold
And quite unaccustom to fear,
But the bravest of these, is a man I am told
One Abdul Abulbul Amir.

When the needed a man to encourage the van
Or harrass the foe from the rear.
Storm fort or redoubt they had only to shout
for Abdul Abulbul Amir.

........

Meri pushed a chair out with her boot “If your not too worried about catching the plague please do join, although I think I’m past contagious stage now…”

Lysk laughed and set down her cup of honey mead. “I’ve survived a day in purgatory” she said with dramatic flair…”I’m not overly worried.” Pulling in another chair from an adjacent table Lysk propped her booted feet up and lifted the cup to her mouth. As she savored the amber hued liquid and enjoyed Dragon Mistress’ Ballade of “ Ivan Skavinski Skavar and Abdul Abulbul Amir” she surveyed the room. A few newcomers were testing their luck against seasoned regulars in games of chance and fantasy while others were fully engaged with the tune the beautiful songstress was performing.

It was a normal evening at the Inn and Lysk settled back into her chair and took it all in.

Suddenly a rapid footfall comes from the stairs, and Almerin comes running into the common room. His eyes are wide and an expression of horror edges his face. Seeing the faces of the regulars, the newcomers and the pieces of furniture, he calms a bit, and takes a moment to catch his breath.

Taking a few steps into the room so that everybody can see him, he holds up his hand in a request for silence. He is still breathing heavily and pale as a ghost.

"Somebody stole Alacrity's Birthday Cake!"

The playing stops. "Gracious, how could anyone lift it with all those candles on it."

"When did you notice it was missing?"

"Oh, Goddess!" DM exclaimed, "Has anyone seen Grugg about?"