Linken gazed out of the window, his ponytail waving slightly in the coming breeze. Bernin, the innkeeper, bustled behind him, preparing the bar.
"It looks like a storm." said Linken.
The halfing turned away, closing the shutters and casement windows.
"Aye, you better prepare the stable for the travelers that'll be coming." said Bernin from the keg room.
Linken sighed, trudging to the stables as the wind began to blow; horses frightened him worse than thunder.
Rain and darkness poured down on the Farithas town of Thistleridge. Six travelers in particular, each from his own country and race, fought through the storm, guiding frightened or tired horses to the oasis of the inn's stable. They entered the warm confines of the Half Silver Inn; each eating a silent supper separately. When true night fell and the dancing orange lights of the many candles reflected off the deep blue of the night windows; each of the five sojourners paid Linken the appropriate three silvers and he took them, as each had paid, to the communal room they all would happen to share. The wind howled like a hungry beast in the darkness and the rain battered against the windows of the room. As the night wore on and none of the six could sleep, they decided to pass the time by sharing stories and tales thet they had experienced or heard. The first, Erath Arionsson, was a Narenian soldier with dark hair and a map of scars on his face; second was Geril, a gnome from the Marches; third was Narakos Ulekon, a magician and scholar from the Arannis Empire; fourth was Kaasym, a Dran hailing like most of his kin, from Alerond, he was a skilled mapmaker and lover of ruins and history; fifth was Ûsjmir Khazeirth, a dwarf merchant; and sixth, and most intriguing, was a travel-worn ranger, who seemed both elfin in gait but man in voice and build. Geril, a skilled bard from the halls of the gnomish king, volunteered to go first in the circle of tales. As he plucked his lyre, he began in the vivid, image-weaving voice of his kind, to tell the elven Epic of Rílaren.
"It looks like a storm." said Linken.
The halfing turned away, closing the shutters and casement windows.
"Aye, you better prepare the stable for the travelers that'll be coming." said Bernin from the keg room.
Linken sighed, trudging to the stables as the wind began to blow; horses frightened him worse than thunder.
Rain and darkness poured down on the Farithas town of Thistleridge. Six travelers in particular, each from his own country and race, fought through the storm, guiding frightened or tired horses to the oasis of the inn's stable. They entered the warm confines of the Half Silver Inn; each eating a silent supper separately. When true night fell and the dancing orange lights of the many candles reflected off the deep blue of the night windows; each of the five sojourners paid Linken the appropriate three silvers and he took them, as each had paid, to the communal room they all would happen to share. The wind howled like a hungry beast in the darkness and the rain battered against the windows of the room. As the night wore on and none of the six could sleep, they decided to pass the time by sharing stories and tales thet they had experienced or heard. The first, Erath Arionsson, was a Narenian soldier with dark hair and a map of scars on his face; second was Geril, a gnome from the Marches; third was Narakos Ulekon, a magician and scholar from the Arannis Empire; fourth was Kaasym, a Dran hailing like most of his kin, from Alerond, he was a skilled mapmaker and lover of ruins and history; fifth was Ûsjmir Khazeirth, a dwarf merchant; and sixth, and most intriguing, was a travel-worn ranger, who seemed both elfin in gait but man in voice and build. Geril, a skilled bard from the halls of the gnomish king, volunteered to go first in the circle of tales. As he plucked his lyre, he began in the vivid, image-weaving voice of his kind, to tell the elven Epic of Rílaren.
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