- Joined
- Aug 2, 2009
- Location
- here
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(closed)
- Thread starter Rudolph Quin
- Start date
- Status
Zaila
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Feb 18, 2009
RE: Fantasy Adventure Rp
The town that Rek stepped into was a small one. The population was a measly 300 people, but that created a close-knit, friendly, cozy atmosphere. As he walked down the main road towards the square, which was inevitable since the dock roads led directly down to the main area, he would notice groups of people happily chatting and gossiping about the latest news. Despite there being a dichotomy between nobility and cityfolk, here in Ramsdell the people seemed to blend cohesively without worry of caste or birthright. Finely dressed men and women gladly interacted with paupers and middle class citizens without care nor worry of being criticized or ostracized by their kin.
Located in the center of Ramsdell was an inn called "The Gilded Rose." The inn had been standing for years and was dilapidated making the name no longer applicable to the actual establishment. A wooden sign hung above the door on two heavy chains that were mostly brown and rusted at this point due to the abrasiveness of the saltwater breeze that was carried from the docks. The rose emblazoned on the sign, that had once been gleaming gold, was now a dulled yellow and spotted with rust stains on the petals, stem, and leaves. Inside, surprisingly, it was quaint and cozy. There were tables set up in a random pattern throughout the main floor and a fireplace burned brightly on the right side. Surrounding the fire were two, red armchairs that had been sat in so many times they sank down when one sat upon them. That sinking, though, lent to the feeling of the chair hugging the person and, combined with the fire, people found it difficult to stay awake. As such, it wasn't unusual to find someone fast asleep in one of the arm chairs.
The owner of the inn, Bartemus Wilson, was a big, burly man with a heart of gold. He was fiercely loyal to his regulars and had no problem dispensing of trouble makers that dared start a fight in his inn. Now, he looked fondly on his daughter, Melanie, as she cleaned every table, with a lemon and vinegar soaked cloth, to ready the establishment for the day's customers. Melanie was growing into quite the alluring and attractive, young woman he mused. He would need to find someone to court her soon so he could have grandchildren and carry on the family heritage. As he looked at her now he could see his baby girl had blossomed into a womanly figure that would be sublime for bearing children. Her hips swelled to the sides slightly more prominent than her waist affording her the hourglass figure all women dreamed of and men craved. The forest green corset cinching her waist made this factor even more apparent and filled his heart with glee. Chestnut hair, with flecks of dirty blonde intermixed, swayed gracefully along her back as she leaned over the table. Every night she would brush her hair 100 times with the silver-backed horsehair brush her mother had left her before passing.
A few years ago, her mother had fallen ill, Bartemus recollected, and died within days of becoming sick. The illness was never identified, but it had wreaked havoc on the poor woman's body and that vibrant, bright personality that he had fallen in love with slowly withered away into a grey pallor of sadness and despair. Melanie, he could see now, was growing up to look exactly like her mother and, like her mother, was kind and compassionate, always putting others' needs before hers. She would make a fine wife. Grinning, he finished cleaning off the bartop, since he'd gone off into a revery without realizing it during his task, and called out to Melanie. "Make sure you sweep the floor by the fireplace too." Melanie yawned and stood, stretching her back which was stiff from bending over so many tables. "I always do, Father," she said with a smile knowing he was just finding a reason to talk to her. He was a friendly man, but she'd noticed that after her mother passed interaction between them became awkward. Now that she was getting older, sixteen currently, she needed to be taught the life of a housewife and the tasks she would be expected to perform. Her father, having always been a businessman, didn't know anything about that and just surmised on a lot of things. In an effort to help her along he had laden her with a ton of responsibilities throughout the inn including preparing the rooms.
When she rose this morning she set to work making the beds in the three rooms that the inn offered, since the town didn't get many visitors, and tried to make them look presentable. They were sparsely decorated, more by necessity than anything. Flush against the adjacent wall to the door was a wooden dresser about four feet across with four deep drawers. Ten feet from that was a bed with simple sheets and grey blankets, thick enough to keep one warm at night, but not lavish enough to be expensive. Beside that was a small nightstand with a bud vase that held one, lone daisy that was a personal touch by Melanie since she felt flowers brightened up a room. On the left wall was a seaside painting, inspired by the sights that the dock brought since the town was so close and on the right wall was a painting of a pink carnation; it didn't necessarily fit, but there was empty space and it added a pop of color to the otherwise drab decoration. Each room was decorated in this way, with different paintings of course, so the maintenance of them could remain uniform.
After having tidied the rooms (fluffing the pillows, smoothing out the blankets, and replacing the daisy) Melanie had descended the stairs, since the rooms were on the second floor, to the main area to begin her tasks down there. Two hours later, her father was telling her to sweep the floor in front of the fireplace. Any time now the customers would be arriving and, having finished her sweeping, Melanie collapsed into one of the chairs and exhaled deeply. Since it was a small inn her father didn't see the need to hire more workers so it was up to both of them, and them alone, to keep the patrons happy. "Let's get ready then!" he called and Melanie groaned. Soon, she would be married and tending to children and her housekeeping would be for her own home instead of the inn.
The town that Rek stepped into was a small one. The population was a measly 300 people, but that created a close-knit, friendly, cozy atmosphere. As he walked down the main road towards the square, which was inevitable since the dock roads led directly down to the main area, he would notice groups of people happily chatting and gossiping about the latest news. Despite there being a dichotomy between nobility and cityfolk, here in Ramsdell the people seemed to blend cohesively without worry of caste or birthright. Finely dressed men and women gladly interacted with paupers and middle class citizens without care nor worry of being criticized or ostracized by their kin.
Located in the center of Ramsdell was an inn called "The Gilded Rose." The inn had been standing for years and was dilapidated making the name no longer applicable to the actual establishment. A wooden sign hung above the door on two heavy chains that were mostly brown and rusted at this point due to the abrasiveness of the saltwater breeze that was carried from the docks. The rose emblazoned on the sign, that had once been gleaming gold, was now a dulled yellow and spotted with rust stains on the petals, stem, and leaves. Inside, surprisingly, it was quaint and cozy. There were tables set up in a random pattern throughout the main floor and a fireplace burned brightly on the right side. Surrounding the fire were two, red armchairs that had been sat in so many times they sank down when one sat upon them. That sinking, though, lent to the feeling of the chair hugging the person and, combined with the fire, people found it difficult to stay awake. As such, it wasn't unusual to find someone fast asleep in one of the arm chairs.
The owner of the inn, Bartemus Wilson, was a big, burly man with a heart of gold. He was fiercely loyal to his regulars and had no problem dispensing of trouble makers that dared start a fight in his inn. Now, he looked fondly on his daughter, Melanie, as she cleaned every table, with a lemon and vinegar soaked cloth, to ready the establishment for the day's customers. Melanie was growing into quite the alluring and attractive, young woman he mused. He would need to find someone to court her soon so he could have grandchildren and carry on the family heritage. As he looked at her now he could see his baby girl had blossomed into a womanly figure that would be sublime for bearing children. Her hips swelled to the sides slightly more prominent than her waist affording her the hourglass figure all women dreamed of and men craved. The forest green corset cinching her waist made this factor even more apparent and filled his heart with glee. Chestnut hair, with flecks of dirty blonde intermixed, swayed gracefully along her back as she leaned over the table. Every night she would brush her hair 100 times with the silver-backed horsehair brush her mother had left her before passing.
A few years ago, her mother had fallen ill, Bartemus recollected, and died within days of becoming sick. The illness was never identified, but it had wreaked havoc on the poor woman's body and that vibrant, bright personality that he had fallen in love with slowly withered away into a grey pallor of sadness and despair. Melanie, he could see now, was growing up to look exactly like her mother and, like her mother, was kind and compassionate, always putting others' needs before hers. She would make a fine wife. Grinning, he finished cleaning off the bartop, since he'd gone off into a revery without realizing it during his task, and called out to Melanie. "Make sure you sweep the floor by the fireplace too." Melanie yawned and stood, stretching her back which was stiff from bending over so many tables. "I always do, Father," she said with a smile knowing he was just finding a reason to talk to her. He was a friendly man, but she'd noticed that after her mother passed interaction between them became awkward. Now that she was getting older, sixteen currently, she needed to be taught the life of a housewife and the tasks she would be expected to perform. Her father, having always been a businessman, didn't know anything about that and just surmised on a lot of things. In an effort to help her along he had laden her with a ton of responsibilities throughout the inn including preparing the rooms.
When she rose this morning she set to work making the beds in the three rooms that the inn offered, since the town didn't get many visitors, and tried to make them look presentable. They were sparsely decorated, more by necessity than anything. Flush against the adjacent wall to the door was a wooden dresser about four feet across with four deep drawers. Ten feet from that was a bed with simple sheets and grey blankets, thick enough to keep one warm at night, but not lavish enough to be expensive. Beside that was a small nightstand with a bud vase that held one, lone daisy that was a personal touch by Melanie since she felt flowers brightened up a room. On the left wall was a seaside painting, inspired by the sights that the dock brought since the town was so close and on the right wall was a painting of a pink carnation; it didn't necessarily fit, but there was empty space and it added a pop of color to the otherwise drab decoration. Each room was decorated in this way, with different paintings of course, so the maintenance of them could remain uniform.
After having tidied the rooms (fluffing the pillows, smoothing out the blankets, and replacing the daisy) Melanie had descended the stairs, since the rooms were on the second floor, to the main area to begin her tasks down there. Two hours later, her father was telling her to sweep the floor in front of the fireplace. Any time now the customers would be arriving and, having finished her sweeping, Melanie collapsed into one of the chairs and exhaled deeply. Since it was a small inn her father didn't see the need to hire more workers so it was up to both of them, and them alone, to keep the patrons happy. "Let's get ready then!" he called and Melanie groaned. Soon, she would be married and tending to children and her housekeeping would be for her own home instead of the inn.
- Status