Druides
11-09-09, 04:28 PM
She stood at the top of the stairwell. The hands pushed against her as gently as a lover pushing her down into bed. She stared in astonishment at the man, never having the chance to offer any resistance. She fell backwards. Their eyes met. She’d never forget the callousness in those eyes. Then, one foot left the ground. Lyrra did a dancer’s twist to try and get her feet back on the floor, but her foot found only unforgiving, terrible air. First she saw him, then the wall, then the ceiling as she toppled backwards. Everything seemed to slow. It was a pause in time. Then it rushed back in deadly force, and she hit the stairs. It felt as if every bone in her body had exploded. She…
…screamed. Lyrra jerked away, panting heavily. She was suddenly aware of where she was. She was staying in an inn called the Peaceful Promenade. It was the crossroad between realms. She meant for quite some time to travel there, but when she finally arrived, nothing had changed. The night haunts still tormented her. Always in her dream she fell. Lyrra’s hands moves frantically over her body, feeling for some hurt, but there was no scratch, not even a bruise. The fear was still there. It made her feel sick and sour. Bile rose in her throat. I am like some feeble child, cowering under the blankets. When will I ever be able to grow up? Her stomach roiled. She leaned away from her cot and wretched.
Lyrra realized someone was pounding on the door. The room was dimly lit, the knocks muffled by the thick door. How long have I been sitting here with the taste of vomit in my mouth? A hoarse voice called, “Sir, sir, are you unwell?” Even through the door she recognized the voice of one of the inn workers. Lyrra smoothed her hair and glanced down to see that she was decent. As ever, she was fully clothed.
“Yes,” she called out. “Nothing is amiss, sir.”
The door opened anyway. The blunt jawed innkeep peered in. A club was gripped in his hand. His anxious look turned to mild annoyance and concern when he saw Lyrra sitting there. She knew what he must be seeing. The vomit on the floor; her haggard and pale; the sheets twisted around her legs. She stood up, brushing down her druid’s robes. “Forgive me,” she blurted as she grasped for a reply. “I was at the mead too much last night.” Liar. “I am well now.” Liar!! She didn’t know why she lied; why not say the simple truth… that she’d had a night haunt? The man relaxed, however, and lowered his club. Likely he’d gotten half a thousand incidences when his patrons were too much in the beer. They did not lack for mead and meat at the Promenade, of which the guests partook liberally. “If you fetch me a washrag, I will clean this up at once,” she vowed.
“No, my lady,” he said gently. “I apologize for the intrusion. If you would be so kind as to go down to the main hall for an hour, I shall have a boy freshen and clean your room.”
Lyrra was too weak to refuse. She took her small purse from her bag. Everything was packed, she was dressed, and ready to leave in an instant. It struck her, however, that a drink of tonic water would be a good way to break her fast. Within minutes she was down by the table. It was early, dim morning so not even a quarter of the seats were filled. A great hearth contained a roaring fire that warmed the air, but brought out all the scents of sweat and odor and filth mixed with food. Lyrra sat at a generous booth against the side of a wall. A mug of mead and a glass of fizzing water stood before her, and Lyrra looked from one to the other. A tantalizing choice. She herself looked as if she might prosper from both. She was rumpled of hair, haggard and pale of face, unkempt of clothing, and under her robes her feet were bare. Occasionally her green eyes would raise, meet a person’s, then glance back down where she was using a knife to carve symbols into the oak surface of the table.
[OOC: Anyone is free to join me in the main room of the Promenade. We'll see where things go from there!]
…screamed. Lyrra jerked away, panting heavily. She was suddenly aware of where she was. She was staying in an inn called the Peaceful Promenade. It was the crossroad between realms. She meant for quite some time to travel there, but when she finally arrived, nothing had changed. The night haunts still tormented her. Always in her dream she fell. Lyrra’s hands moves frantically over her body, feeling for some hurt, but there was no scratch, not even a bruise. The fear was still there. It made her feel sick and sour. Bile rose in her throat. I am like some feeble child, cowering under the blankets. When will I ever be able to grow up? Her stomach roiled. She leaned away from her cot and wretched.
Lyrra realized someone was pounding on the door. The room was dimly lit, the knocks muffled by the thick door. How long have I been sitting here with the taste of vomit in my mouth? A hoarse voice called, “Sir, sir, are you unwell?” Even through the door she recognized the voice of one of the inn workers. Lyrra smoothed her hair and glanced down to see that she was decent. As ever, she was fully clothed.
“Yes,” she called out. “Nothing is amiss, sir.”
The door opened anyway. The blunt jawed innkeep peered in. A club was gripped in his hand. His anxious look turned to mild annoyance and concern when he saw Lyrra sitting there. She knew what he must be seeing. The vomit on the floor; her haggard and pale; the sheets twisted around her legs. She stood up, brushing down her druid’s robes. “Forgive me,” she blurted as she grasped for a reply. “I was at the mead too much last night.” Liar. “I am well now.” Liar!! She didn’t know why she lied; why not say the simple truth… that she’d had a night haunt? The man relaxed, however, and lowered his club. Likely he’d gotten half a thousand incidences when his patrons were too much in the beer. They did not lack for mead and meat at the Promenade, of which the guests partook liberally. “If you fetch me a washrag, I will clean this up at once,” she vowed.
“No, my lady,” he said gently. “I apologize for the intrusion. If you would be so kind as to go down to the main hall for an hour, I shall have a boy freshen and clean your room.”
Lyrra was too weak to refuse. She took her small purse from her bag. Everything was packed, she was dressed, and ready to leave in an instant. It struck her, however, that a drink of tonic water would be a good way to break her fast. Within minutes she was down by the table. It was early, dim morning so not even a quarter of the seats were filled. A great hearth contained a roaring fire that warmed the air, but brought out all the scents of sweat and odor and filth mixed with food. Lyrra sat at a generous booth against the side of a wall. A mug of mead and a glass of fizzing water stood before her, and Lyrra looked from one to the other. A tantalizing choice. She herself looked as if she might prosper from both. She was rumpled of hair, haggard and pale of face, unkempt of clothing, and under her robes her feet were bare. Occasionally her green eyes would raise, meet a person’s, then glance back down where she was using a knife to carve symbols into the oak surface of the table.
[OOC: Anyone is free to join me in the main room of the Promenade. We'll see where things go from there!]