"Room 8," the innkeeper said, handing Valcroy a small iron key.
"Thanks."
Valcroy nodded and made his way toward the narrow staircase. Each step creaked when stepped on, the groan of the old wood echoing in the inn. He couldn't help but wonder why the stairs were made of wood when everything else was built from sturdy stone, but the thought quickly faded as he ascended. On the second floor, he found Erik leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, waiting for him.
Stopping before the door, Valcroy slid the key into the heavy iron lock and turned it with a soft click. Pushed open the thick stone door, revealing the room inside.
The room was moderate, practical, with bare stone walls that were cool to the touch. Two low, sturdy beds with their heads sat against the wall, their iron frames creaking slightly as if to remind the new visitors of its age.
