Zaros is hidden by the mountain range that shares its name, and a road one wagon wide is the only way in or out. Ever-obscure, even university students learning about Oria often forget the lodge. Its difficult location has isolated it from the rest of the world, and its envoys only appear reliably during the Housemeet.
That said, the lodge house relishes the chance to entertain visitors. The people of Zaros love to have strangers under their roof. Most Zarosi will ramble about the unique beauty of their home, insisting a listener come to see for themselves someday.
Zaros is weird. The local fashion is a mishmash of gaudy, clashing colors. Fads completely overtake the house’s people, only to be replaced by a new thing the next season. Currently, the Zarosi are obsessed with tiny candles, which burn in every window of every home. Elk even stab them into the points on their antlers.
Zarosi hold strong superstitions about the world. It does not house visitors who arrive in odd numbers on the first floor, for fear of upsetting the universe’s numerological balance. By law, no non-Zarosi is permitted to consume dill raised in the lodge’s underground fields (but any grown outside is fair game for anyone, and Zarosi pickles are the world’s most powerful pickles).
Thanks to the hotspot for Dungeon activity its mountains have become, Zaros is undergoing a sea change. Crews stop at the house after perform- ing their work, and entire caravans have begun to make the trip as well. Locals are undecided about this. Some older folks fear excessive visitors will force their way of life to change, but most are thrilled by the opportunity to share Zarosi customs with the outside world.
As long as they don’t eat the wrong pickles.