grimorian
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Dec 12, 2008
- Messages
- 51
I've been lurking the forums for a while now and decided finally to sign up. Just looking for a few thoughts on the beginning part of my story here. Punctuation is not really my strong suit, so I'm sure there are some problems there. But other than that, flow wise, interest wise, anything anyone wants to throw at me would be more than welcomed.
Had Lain known that by the end of the night he would be a wanted man, he'd have never stepped foot inside The Singlewood Inn. But as it was, this night marked the end of the harvest season. And as always, this meant a night of celebration. On any given night, Paloff's inn would be the only place in the town of Terrin where one could get a home cooked meal and a good story. Or at least an entertaining story, depending on who was the most drunk that particular night. On this night though, Paloff had really outdone himself. 'A feast fit for kings', had been the opinion of more than one patron this night. A fact that was easily confirmed as the inn had almost reached it's maximum capacity. Not an easy feat by any means.
Carved out of the center of a Hollandos Tree, the inn was one of the biggest structures in town. For the Hollandos Trees themselves stood hundreds of feet high and would take a man at least two minutes to walk a complete circle around it's base. These monstrous black barked wonders, topped with their deep red and purple leaves, brought many a traveler to Terrin, for this was the only place in the world where such a tree grew.
The night started out like any other end of season celebration. The locals all gathered in their respected groups, while a few mingled with the passing adventurers who were lucky enough to be bedding down there for the night. That in itself was a rare occurrence. For despite being the one of the bigger trading towns, most of the locals rarely mingled with travelers outside of a business transaction.
The delectable smells emanating from the kitchen filled the entire inn, coaxing even the most stuffed of patrons to order another plate. The minstrel sat in his usual seat by the fireplace, playing his sanguine songs of love and loss, while the towns heavy drinkers crowded around their usual stools at the bar. One particular drinker though, stood out from all the rest. Garret Windsong. A well built, scraggly blond haired man barely in his twenties; who was reciting one of his many adventures like an aged veteran. Though the extravagant tales he spewed forth—which was an almost nightly occurrence—were generally looked upon as giant fables by most of the town, all the usual suspects gathered around and cheered him on.
“So there I was, knee deep in putrid swamp water. Surrounded by almost certain death. My sword the only thing willing to stand with me against my wretched foes.” The brash young adventurer boasted loudly, waving his mug around as if re-enacting the battle that would most certainly end with him single handedly slaughtering every last thing within five miles of the swamp.
Lain sat towards the back of the inn, half in, half out of the dancing shadows from the flickering fireplace. He never was much for drinking, even in his younger days. Now almost forty, he instead chose to spend his time quietly by himself.
“Enjoying the nightly tale?” A shapely young woman asked, as she approached Lain's table. He brushed his long black hair out of his face and stared over at young Garret, who had now stumbled across the small room and taken a seat, rather unwillingly, at one of the passing adventurers tables.
“He does tell a good tale. I'll give him that. But of course that only applies to when he's far away from my table.” Lain replied jokingly. “Although I do sometimes wonder if the kids really as proficient as he boasts.”
““Why not go find out for yourself?” The woman asked with a playful smile.
“You know I'm far to old to be playing 'who has the bigger sword' Tabitha.” Lain replied as he turned his full attention towards the bar maid. Though staring up at her reminded Lain just how old, too old was. For it seemed like only yesterday that Tabitha was just knee high, running through the inn with all the reckless abandon and energy for five children. And now here she stood, a grown woman, waiting on the man who most would call the father she never had. And indeed, Lain looked back at Tabitha as the daughter he never had. Or never knew, depending on who you asked.
“Shall I get you the usual?” Tabitha asked, already knowing what the answer would be.
“Yes. Thank you.”
She smiled and started back towards the kitchen. Lain couldn't help but stare as she disappeared behind the large wooden doors that hid the secret recipes which brought many a patron back to the inn. 'You've done a good job old man,' he thought to himself with an inward smile. His delight however, was short lived as the almost nightly rapport with his drunken—and he would use the term lightly—friend, begins once again.
“Now this guy here, now he's a real hero. Aren't you there Lain?” Slurring his words, Garret fell into the chair next to Lain, who sighed dejectedly at the unwanted company.
“You know I'm not a god of the sword like you are Garret.” Lain retorted. For he knew that the quickest way to rid oneself of Mr. Windsong was to play to his ego.
“God of the sword.” Garret mumbled to himself with a smile. “You hear that people? God of the sword!”
Garret got up from the table, much to Lain's relief, and slowly staggered back towards the bar. Lain was lucky this time. It was a short confrontation, and the need to ramble to every patron about his newly bestowed title would more than likely keep Garret occupied for the remainder of the night.
Slowly stroking his short goatee, as he always did whilst thinking, Lain stared intently at the stumbling Garret. There was a time when Lain would surely have made a go at refuting a man like Garrets claims. Whether it be through a superior show of skill, or a well crafted and tactical verbal assault, Lain would have made sure the high and mighty Garret fell flat on his face.
But those days were long gone. Nowadays Lain was content to live a quiet, solitary life. The thrill of adventure and trouble making having died many years ago. But as it's been his whole life, no matter how hard Lain tried to avoid it, trouble always seemed to find him. This time though, it came in the form of a young woman. Tumbling headlong through the front door and crashing to her hands and knees.
Untitled Story
Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Had Lain known that by the end of the night he would be a wanted man, he'd have never stepped foot inside The Singlewood Inn. But as it was, this night marked the end of the harvest season. And as always, this meant a night of celebration. On any given night, Paloff's inn would be the only place in the town of Terrin where one could get a home cooked meal and a good story. Or at least an entertaining story, depending on who was the most drunk that particular night. On this night though, Paloff had really outdone himself. 'A feast fit for kings', had been the opinion of more than one patron this night. A fact that was easily confirmed as the inn had almost reached it's maximum capacity. Not an easy feat by any means.
Carved out of the center of a Hollandos Tree, the inn was one of the biggest structures in town. For the Hollandos Trees themselves stood hundreds of feet high and would take a man at least two minutes to walk a complete circle around it's base. These monstrous black barked wonders, topped with their deep red and purple leaves, brought many a traveler to Terrin, for this was the only place in the world where such a tree grew.
The night started out like any other end of season celebration. The locals all gathered in their respected groups, while a few mingled with the passing adventurers who were lucky enough to be bedding down there for the night. That in itself was a rare occurrence. For despite being the one of the bigger trading towns, most of the locals rarely mingled with travelers outside of a business transaction.
The delectable smells emanating from the kitchen filled the entire inn, coaxing even the most stuffed of patrons to order another plate. The minstrel sat in his usual seat by the fireplace, playing his sanguine songs of love and loss, while the towns heavy drinkers crowded around their usual stools at the bar. One particular drinker though, stood out from all the rest. Garret Windsong. A well built, scraggly blond haired man barely in his twenties; who was reciting one of his many adventures like an aged veteran. Though the extravagant tales he spewed forth—which was an almost nightly occurrence—were generally looked upon as giant fables by most of the town, all the usual suspects gathered around and cheered him on.
“So there I was, knee deep in putrid swamp water. Surrounded by almost certain death. My sword the only thing willing to stand with me against my wretched foes.” The brash young adventurer boasted loudly, waving his mug around as if re-enacting the battle that would most certainly end with him single handedly slaughtering every last thing within five miles of the swamp.
Lain sat towards the back of the inn, half in, half out of the dancing shadows from the flickering fireplace. He never was much for drinking, even in his younger days. Now almost forty, he instead chose to spend his time quietly by himself.
“Enjoying the nightly tale?” A shapely young woman asked, as she approached Lain's table. He brushed his long black hair out of his face and stared over at young Garret, who had now stumbled across the small room and taken a seat, rather unwillingly, at one of the passing adventurers tables.
“He does tell a good tale. I'll give him that. But of course that only applies to when he's far away from my table.” Lain replied jokingly. “Although I do sometimes wonder if the kids really as proficient as he boasts.”
““Why not go find out for yourself?” The woman asked with a playful smile.
“You know I'm far to old to be playing 'who has the bigger sword' Tabitha.” Lain replied as he turned his full attention towards the bar maid. Though staring up at her reminded Lain just how old, too old was. For it seemed like only yesterday that Tabitha was just knee high, running through the inn with all the reckless abandon and energy for five children. And now here she stood, a grown woman, waiting on the man who most would call the father she never had. And indeed, Lain looked back at Tabitha as the daughter he never had. Or never knew, depending on who you asked.
“Shall I get you the usual?” Tabitha asked, already knowing what the answer would be.
“Yes. Thank you.”
She smiled and started back towards the kitchen. Lain couldn't help but stare as she disappeared behind the large wooden doors that hid the secret recipes which brought many a patron back to the inn. 'You've done a good job old man,' he thought to himself with an inward smile. His delight however, was short lived as the almost nightly rapport with his drunken—and he would use the term lightly—friend, begins once again.
“Now this guy here, now he's a real hero. Aren't you there Lain?” Slurring his words, Garret fell into the chair next to Lain, who sighed dejectedly at the unwanted company.
“You know I'm not a god of the sword like you are Garret.” Lain retorted. For he knew that the quickest way to rid oneself of Mr. Windsong was to play to his ego.
“God of the sword.” Garret mumbled to himself with a smile. “You hear that people? God of the sword!”
Garret got up from the table, much to Lain's relief, and slowly staggered back towards the bar. Lain was lucky this time. It was a short confrontation, and the need to ramble to every patron about his newly bestowed title would more than likely keep Garret occupied for the remainder of the night.
Slowly stroking his short goatee, as he always did whilst thinking, Lain stared intently at the stumbling Garret. There was a time when Lain would surely have made a go at refuting a man like Garrets claims. Whether it be through a superior show of skill, or a well crafted and tactical verbal assault, Lain would have made sure the high and mighty Garret fell flat on his face.
But those days were long gone. Nowadays Lain was content to live a quiet, solitary life. The thrill of adventure and trouble making having died many years ago. But as it's been his whole life, no matter how hard Lain tried to avoid it, trouble always seemed to find him. This time though, it came in the form of a young woman. Tumbling headlong through the front door and crashing to her hands and knees.
