- Genres
- Fantasy Romance, Scifi
~ 5th of the Month of Lantafana ~
The day was young. It was early morning, and the sun had not even breached over the horizon. Nor would it this day, as the morning had started off with a full on blizzard. Snow was pilling high in front of the doorstep, a poor look for an inn with plenty of vacancy. While there were many others, most of them of the entertainment sort, one of the permanent residents of this town was making her normal rounds, starting with that pile of snow out in the front. Armed with only a shovel and a long list of to-do's Eliza was prepared for battle. She took a quick look around the bar.
There were round tables five feet long spaced about three feet apart, each with the appropriate number of chairs which were still left up from closing up shop last night. The fireplace was burning away at logs chopped a few days ago in case of this exact scenario. There was a piano standing upright near the bar, with sheet music scattered about, somewhat messy from the recent influx of activity it has seen in recent weeks. The bar stools, like the chairs, were sitting atop the bar after the slow night they had last night. The oil lamps were all aflame, providing the bar with a warm glow, which stood as a stark contrast to the dark blue light that shown in from outside. To top off the cozy, homey feel of the lodge house, she could smell stew in the back. It seemed that Nana was already awake, and cooking. She truly loved this place. In turn, Eliza loved this place. But she wasn't about to let her grandmother go outside and start shoveling snow. She let out a sigh before declaring to a currently empty room,
"Time to get too work..." She opened the door, and was immediately assaulted by the harsh winds and flurry of snowflakes, letting out an exasperated "Argh!"
After she had already closed the door and gotten to work, one of the guests who had been staying with them for a while stepped out of his room, a lute strapped to his back. He grabbed hold of one of the chairs atop a table and pulled it aside next to the fireplace. He picked up the poker, stirring up a few embers that swirled up and into the chimney. Once the logs were all settled in place, he pulled out his lute, and strummed a simple tune, while humming to himself. Occasionally he'd shake his head and start back up, making a few changes to his current train of thought. Occasionally he'd mutter to himself, repeating the lines,
"We stand we Stand
For Aiden of Mand
He smites the defilers
Of our fair land..."
in various orders and iterations and variants, though nothing really seemed to stick with him.
The day was young. It was early morning, and the sun had not even breached over the horizon. Nor would it this day, as the morning had started off with a full on blizzard. Snow was pilling high in front of the doorstep, a poor look for an inn with plenty of vacancy. While there were many others, most of them of the entertainment sort, one of the permanent residents of this town was making her normal rounds, starting with that pile of snow out in the front. Armed with only a shovel and a long list of to-do's Eliza was prepared for battle. She took a quick look around the bar.
There were round tables five feet long spaced about three feet apart, each with the appropriate number of chairs which were still left up from closing up shop last night. The fireplace was burning away at logs chopped a few days ago in case of this exact scenario. There was a piano standing upright near the bar, with sheet music scattered about, somewhat messy from the recent influx of activity it has seen in recent weeks. The bar stools, like the chairs, were sitting atop the bar after the slow night they had last night. The oil lamps were all aflame, providing the bar with a warm glow, which stood as a stark contrast to the dark blue light that shown in from outside. To top off the cozy, homey feel of the lodge house, she could smell stew in the back. It seemed that Nana was already awake, and cooking. She truly loved this place. In turn, Eliza loved this place. But she wasn't about to let her grandmother go outside and start shoveling snow. She let out a sigh before declaring to a currently empty room,
"Time to get too work..." She opened the door, and was immediately assaulted by the harsh winds and flurry of snowflakes, letting out an exasperated "Argh!"
After she had already closed the door and gotten to work, one of the guests who had been staying with them for a while stepped out of his room, a lute strapped to his back. He grabbed hold of one of the chairs atop a table and pulled it aside next to the fireplace. He picked up the poker, stirring up a few embers that swirled up and into the chimney. Once the logs were all settled in place, he pulled out his lute, and strummed a simple tune, while humming to himself. Occasionally he'd shake his head and start back up, making a few changes to his current train of thought. Occasionally he'd mutter to himself, repeating the lines,
"We stand we Stand
For Aiden of Mand
He smites the defilers
Of our fair land..."
in various orders and iterations and variants, though nothing really seemed to stick with him.