Lancelyn Green — Middle Archenland
The Practice Pavilion is the perfect architectural blend between man and nature. A large awning extends over the hard packed dirt floor. It is supported by plain dark wood columns. The awning provides protection from most of the elements. Bits of straw are scattered about, but the floor is kept fairly clean by Nes, who constructs the targets and attends to the area. The lack of walls reveals a magnificent view of the rolling hills and various wildlife of the countryside, providing a stunning back drop for training. For a small fee, Nes will set up a target.
Lanisen is facing a target in an out of the way area of the pavilion, working on battering it with his fists. His attention is fully on the task in front of him.
Loc enters the Pavilion with a dwarf, mid argument about produce the dwarf refers to as ruffage. “I’m telling you, it’ll do the miners some good. They need a bit a green down there!”
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Sun and Moon Inn
Lanisen is sitting on the windowsill, considering the open window and the ground two stories below.
Loc is perched near the fire, watching it contently.
Colin is on the far side of the room, rifling through his satchel in boredom.
Lanisen yawns a bit. “Hey!” he addresses Colin. “Got anything entertainin’ in there?”
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Sun and Moon Inn
Loc sits by the fire pensively.
You hear a click as the door is locked from the other side.
Colin is quietly sitting in a corner, whittling absently at a piece of wood.
Loc looks over to the door.
Lanisen is flopped on the bed, since nobody else apparently claimed it. His expression is moody and distant.
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Sun and Moon Inn
Lanisen pokes absently at the embers in the fireplace, more out of boredom than because the room is actually cold.
Loc is curled up on the floor, covered by the blanket he’s using.
Lanisen lifts a smallish log out of the wire basket next to the hearth and tosses it into the fireplace, resulting in a small shower of sparks. One catches him on the hand and he jerks it back with a hiss of pain. “Blast it!”
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Sun and Moon Inn
You stand in a small but comfortably furnished private room of the Inn. The bed is made neatly with a plain but pleasant quilt, and several blankets can be found in a small trunk at the foot of the bed, should the room grow cold. There is a lit fireplace in one wall. A window looks out westward, revealing a pleasant portrait of the road out in front of the inn. A nightstand sits beside the bed, and a washstand beneath the window. There is a vase of dried flowers beside the pitcher and bowl on the wash stand. A woven rug by the door completes the cozy effect of the room.
Loc paces in front of the window, pausing occasionally to look out. His brow is knitted and his features grave.
Astor unlocks the door hesitantly, peeking in to make sure he isn’t ambushed.
Simetra follows him, looking rather displeased to be there.
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Loc lies on his cot, staring at the ceiling.
Lanisen sits cross-legged on his cot, propping up his chin with one hand. He appears to be playing a game of Foxes and Wolves with himself, using eight pebbles of vaguely similar shape and hue.
Loc turns his head to watch Lanisen.
Loc asks, “Having fun?”
Lanisen mms, squinting at the “board”. He sighs and sweeps the pebbles into an untidy pile, evidently irritated with his losing self. Or his winning self. Hard to tell. “I can’t stand this waitin’,” he mutters.
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The atmosphere of the tavern is warm and cheery. A few well-placed lamps hanging from the ceiling, accompanied by a glowing fireplace, attempt to throw light into the somewhat dim room. Serving wenches bustle in and out of the kitchen door to the north, clearing tables and serving food briskly, calling out orders to each other occasionally over the din. Prinn, the barman, polishes a rather antique-looking counter idly when he is not speaking with customers. There is a menu on the wall behind him, along with several bottles and glasses. There is a door to the south that leads back out into the Anteroom.
Lanisen is sitting at a table near the fireplace, in a corner. An uneaten slice of bread sits next to him, along with a cup of water. His head rests on the table, his face obscured by his messy hair.
Astor approaches the man cautiously. “Good evening. May I get you anything?”
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You stand in a spacious, dimly-lit room. It is quite plain, furnished almost solely with cots, and plenty of them at that. There are several people sleeping here, but it is rather dark to try discerning precisely who. Seems to be a comfortable enough place to sleep, by the steady breathing and occasional snores coming from the people resting on the cots.
There is a door to the north leading into the Anteroom.
Simetra looks into the hostel to see if the ill man is awake.
Lanisen is half-sitting up, staring around the hostel. He blinks at the woman in the doorway, then touches the glasses on his nose, completely, helplessly lost. “Um…”
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