Laura
2020-12-30, 09:21 PM
The tavern of Rauri's Rest stood three stories high, made of pine timbers with steep thatched roofs and a foundation of stacked stones. A large accompanying stable had been constructed across the muddy courtyard a a number of outhouses and storage cellars completed the complex. Behind the tavern rose the steep imperious slopes of the mountains, still crowned in ice and snow, even in the middle of summer, and before the inn lay the open valley of Serpent’s Pass. Serpent’s Pass, the one and only known pass between Wider Tarandi and The Elven Coast of the west, a lifeline connecting east to west. The rest of the town seems small and quiet compared to the massive complex of the tavern. Cottage homes and a meager market place stood around roads of hewn cobbles and packed mud crisscross their way through town. Around them, Watchtowers with shingled sides and battlement of pure white ivory scales of massive side were constructed at main the highway and at the town gates.
Summer was a busy season, with a lot of trade traffic and pilgrims passing through while the weather was good. The smell of horses and the bark and bickering of dogs filled the air and Rauri's Rest was full to bursting. Mouthwatering aromas of sizzling meat wafted off a board roasting on an open spit over the largest of the fires in the main hall and a half dozen side halls spilled over with voices and music. Bone dice clattered on wooden tables, laughter and curses rose in bursts and shouts over the common hubbub of noise and sunlight and torches flittered from narrow windows and high sconces through the smoke and deep shadows of the rafters.
The owner of the Tavern, Acindi of the Dreamspeaks, was seated up on a interior balcony overlooking the first floor a few other Dreamspeakers and some trusted friends were gathered there as well, betting emeralds on dice at a small table. Acindi herself was leaning back in her chair, facing out toward the open hall, with her feet kicked up on the balcony rail. Her nimble fingers strummed softly over a small lute made by the finest of Sangar artisans, but it was impossible to hear her light cords over the noises rising from below. As she sat and watched a little smiled spread crooked over her wide lips.
“Sandvi,” she said, addressing one of the younger Dreamspeakers at the table, “Go ask Lekahni’Cai to send up more cranberry wine an’ an extra bowl of figs. I’ve has a vision o’ stories to come.”
“Stories to come Siah?” asked the young speaker slightly confused. Acindi’s meaning and intentions were always difficult to fathom, a curse of being both a shaní and a Speaker he assumed.”
“Stories to come, o mayhap soon t’ be made,” she said dismissively, still strumming at her lute, “It starts here, I kin, though here is not where it shall end. Narry…” she stared over the inn for a moment, “I sense destiny stirring , preparing the way fer great kaí in near and distant places.”
“Siah?”
“I am only an observer, Sandvi an’ observer an’ a teller of tales. But hush’ye now Sandvi an’ fetch the food an’ drink. Fate stirs in visions an’ dreams and I shall harken there.”
The young speaker stared at the elf as bewildered as ever, but then left to do as she’d ordered.
Behind the large wooden bar in the hall below Lekahni’Aki’Letuah - New-Song-Chasing-New-Horizons – pushed her curling brown hair from her brow and directed the cooks to begin carving and serving the roast boar to the patrons. Acindi and her Dreamspeaker ilk may have owned the inn, but everyone knew it was truly Lekahni who ran it. Throwing a clean rag over one shoulder she moved to the front of the bar to greet new travelers and help the two barmaids in making and serving drinks. She smiled and laughed, greeting regulars by name and newcomers with a warm smile. Her green eyes continually scanned the hall, taking in the faces and the many exchanges and her shan ears listened, picking out certain words and voices. She was always on the watch for news, for tiding from a far, no matter how busy things become, Lekahni never stopped waiting.
Summer was a busy season, with a lot of trade traffic and pilgrims passing through while the weather was good. The smell of horses and the bark and bickering of dogs filled the air and Rauri's Rest was full to bursting. Mouthwatering aromas of sizzling meat wafted off a board roasting on an open spit over the largest of the fires in the main hall and a half dozen side halls spilled over with voices and music. Bone dice clattered on wooden tables, laughter and curses rose in bursts and shouts over the common hubbub of noise and sunlight and torches flittered from narrow windows and high sconces through the smoke and deep shadows of the rafters.
The owner of the Tavern, Acindi of the Dreamspeaks, was seated up on a interior balcony overlooking the first floor a few other Dreamspeakers and some trusted friends were gathered there as well, betting emeralds on dice at a small table. Acindi herself was leaning back in her chair, facing out toward the open hall, with her feet kicked up on the balcony rail. Her nimble fingers strummed softly over a small lute made by the finest of Sangar artisans, but it was impossible to hear her light cords over the noises rising from below. As she sat and watched a little smiled spread crooked over her wide lips.
“Sandvi,” she said, addressing one of the younger Dreamspeakers at the table, “Go ask Lekahni’Cai to send up more cranberry wine an’ an extra bowl of figs. I’ve has a vision o’ stories to come.”
“Stories to come Siah?” asked the young speaker slightly confused. Acindi’s meaning and intentions were always difficult to fathom, a curse of being both a shaní and a Speaker he assumed.”
“Stories to come, o mayhap soon t’ be made,” she said dismissively, still strumming at her lute, “It starts here, I kin, though here is not where it shall end. Narry…” she stared over the inn for a moment, “I sense destiny stirring , preparing the way fer great kaí in near and distant places.”
“Siah?”
“I am only an observer, Sandvi an’ observer an’ a teller of tales. But hush’ye now Sandvi an’ fetch the food an’ drink. Fate stirs in visions an’ dreams and I shall harken there.”
The young speaker stared at the elf as bewildered as ever, but then left to do as she’d ordered.
Behind the large wooden bar in the hall below Lekahni’Aki’Letuah - New-Song-Chasing-New-Horizons – pushed her curling brown hair from her brow and directed the cooks to begin carving and serving the roast boar to the patrons. Acindi and her Dreamspeaker ilk may have owned the inn, but everyone knew it was truly Lekahni who ran it. Throwing a clean rag over one shoulder she moved to the front of the bar to greet new travelers and help the two barmaids in making and serving drinks. She smiled and laughed, greeting regulars by name and newcomers with a warm smile. Her green eyes continually scanned the hall, taking in the faces and the many exchanges and her shan ears listened, picking out certain words and voices. She was always on the watch for news, for tiding from a far, no matter how busy things become, Lekahni never stopped waiting.