[The Crown Inn & Tavern] A Night of Haunting Tales

[Gossamer]

TS: 31st of Melora, Darkening, Spring, Era II, XIV (pf)

Every year it was the same... the Crown held a monthly contest of some theme or another. The announcement came via City Criers and postings in the Aelyria Prime Paper. However, this evening proved to be special. Tonight, there would be publicly told stories of hauntings, ghosts, and gouls. Even themes of witches and fae magic of the darker bent would be accepted. The crowd was encouraged to mingle, and drink freely. Then, one by one they would be welcome to sit up and tell one tale for the competition. At the end of the day, judging by the applause and effort, an award would be given for the first, second, and third place. Rumor had it... the rewards were wishes, granted by three powerful witches that had gathered just for the festivities.

The Crown Inn and Tavern

The oldest and most venerable tavern in all of Aelyria Prime - in all the Empire - remained the busiest location in the city. Once it had stood out from surrounding buildings; now, the Crown Inn and Tavern dominated the entryway to the city. The formerly haphazard, jutting additions and the original building had been drawn together and formed into a brand new structure unlike anything the city had seen before. No longer scarred red brick, it was an icosahedron, a twenty-sided shape, three stories high, made of cyclopean-sized stone that were painted red with accents of many colors. The weathered, heavy oak doors had become new again, with no sign of the damage that had been previously done. As always, the doors of the Crown stood open, and welcomed the people to come inside. Every other side of the icosahedron's first and second stories was occupied by arching, decorative windows. During the brightening, these allowed sunlight to fill the interior; at twilight, the setting of the suns made the last rays glow like ara outside the windows as the rooms grew darker, and the wall lamps were lit.

Guests entered first into the foyer, which was at once elegant enough to charm the most noble of patrons and comfortable enough to feel like home to any road-worn traveler. The foyer was empty but for a crescent table that curved out from the right hand wall, where the rooms on the third floor may be reserved. Behind it and to the side were the stairs to the third floor, with a private staircase to the largest, most expensive suite hidden in a more discreet location.

Directly across the foyer from the open front doors was a grand, open archway that lead into the pride of Prime: the Crown Tavern. Through it came the sounds of people determined to be alive - drinking, laughing, arguing, talking, singing. It remained the favored meeting place for all kinds of people. At the archway stood a very large, strong, and sober man, lightly armored in leather and wearing a deep cerulean cloak; the emblazoned sigil upon the front was, as it had been, the sigil of Zenthia Tilsaro, owner. The devoted woman had not abandoned the Crown in the darkest of times, and was now the proud proprietor of the finest establishment in the civilized world. Old-time patrons might note the absence of the former "no weapons" rule; Zenthia had found it nigh impossible to enforce (most simply hid weapons upon their bodies) and unrealistic to store all weapons and return them to the proper owners.

Inside, the new Crown Tavern was breathtaking. It was a large room, the main bar curving about the center of the room, angled to match the geometric shape of the unique building. Tables were fitted to all twenty corners and scattered throughout the open space of the floor. At the southern wall was the door to the kitchens, through which staff frequently traveled, and a great fireplace with a grouping of chairs and smaller tables, usually occupied. Stairs leading to the upper levels were found on both sides. The first story was entirely open to the second; patrons were now able to dine at tables around the interior balcony and watch the glorious commotion below through the intricate latticework half-wall. Candle chandeliers gracefully suspended from the ceiling of the second story softly illuminated the rooms, but allowed the many corner tables to remain in the privacy of shade. A dozen servers carried trays of food and drink throughout the crowds. Only the back wall of the second story was closed; this was a closed, private dining room, made available for nobles to secure absolute privacy, or for meetings requiring extra measures of security

As soon as the contestants gathered, the stories could begin. Until then, food and drink were free flowing and the crowd was thickening by the minute. Hopefully, the stories would be worthy this year.

ooc: All pcs in AP are welcome to join. Please post freely as often as you like, but for your actual story limit it to one or two consecutive postings.

[Banodin Lionheart]

A storytelling contest! Banodin sat quietly at one of the tables and smiled like a child in a candy store, cup of tea in hand. The young man munched and sipped his tea, scanning the crowd of patrons intently, 'sizing up his competition'. It would be an interesting task for the Lionheart, as he unfortunately, knew very little on ghost and ghouls, but that is what a story is about, elaborating on what is already known. Tapping a finger against his cup, the young man repeated the story over and over in his head, making certain to 'hear it outloud' in his mind, so that it would be as perfect as it possibly could, on top of keeping stuttering and long pauses out of the way.

Bringing the cup to his lips, he sipped on it again, his blue eyes excited for this event. He was not really sure what a 'wish' could be for a reward, but even the excitement of the unknown swelled up in the boy's chest, making his heart a little to fast for normal. At this rate of excitement, from one event in Prime to the next that he has experienced, the poor boy would have a heart attack in the next few eras. Regardless, Banodin was thrilled beyond words, which was why he was sitting alone, focusing on his story.

[Gossamer]

A waitress wandered over to Banodin, and grinned cheekily at him. "Are you here for the contest?" She set an ale down in front of him, as well as a bowl of peanuts. Peanuts flowed during these events, costing nothing to the patrons. Then she added a slip of paper and a stick of charcoal. It asked him his name, and the tale he would tell. It was obviously a sign-up sheet of some sort. "Sign that!" She said cheerfully.

An older man, with an eyepatch, sitting near Banodin swiveled around. He narrowed his good eye at him, and sized up his competition. Was the boy going to give a tale or two? Well... nothing could be as good as old Hugh's Tales. Nothing.

Laughter erupted in the far corner as a young girl wandered up onto the small dais in the corner of the room. She cleared her throat, and began a tale. It was hard to hear her, because the crowd was noisy, and it took a while to settle them. It seemed all the younger participants got to go first, giving the crowd a chance to wind down and settle in for the real competition that was coming soon enough.

[Banodin Lionheart]

His fingers continued to tap rhythmically against the side of the cup in hand, his eyes narrowed on the rim in thought, which was interrupted in time. Startling out of his focused thoughts, the young man turned his gaze to the waitress who was grinning at him. At that moment his hand began to shake slightly, the liquid vibrating within the cup as Banodin had to break his focus from the story, to actually responding. "Y-yes... I... I am. T-thank you." The 'thanks' was more in the direction of the ale, though he despised the liquid with great gusto, however, the peanuts he would most certainly devour in his nervous state.

As she laid a piece of paper, and charcoal stick in front of him, blue eyes broke away from the face of the girl to blink absently at the parchment, when it finally struck him... He didn't have a title! Of all the foolish things this boy has done, this certainly took the cake, for the time being, working so hard on a story, and not even having a title... Squinting his eyes, and furrowing his brow, Banodin took up the stick in a shaky hand and etched his name, 'Banodin Lionheart' onto the paper, before hesitating... Think! Think! But his mind continued to draw a blank, of all the times for writer's block.

Looking up from the paper, to the waitress, the young man let out an awkward chuckle, and held a finger up in silence to ask for a moment more of her time, while his other hand tapped on his temple, as if it would spurn his mind to working... Finally, after what seemed at eternity, the boy etched down, "The Witch and The Doom Bell, a Tale of Fate and Untimely Demise." before handing the paper over and forcing a smile as a red tinge overtook his checks to show his embarrassment at keeping her so long.

Banodin of course, was so focused on his cup of tea, plate of peanuts, and his own story, that he did not take notice of the older gentleman with an eye patch. Granted, that focus was distracted as the young girl wandered on stage, showing that the beginning had in fact, begun. Banodin set his cup of tea down, nudging the mug of ale out a little distance from his self, while pulling the plate of peanuts closer to him, and listened to the story, as best he could, of the young girl on stage. He wasn't 'sizing up competition', simply, enjoying the events of the evening, before being thrust upon the stage himself... God's help him.

[Gossamer]

The waitress grinned at him. "Oh don't worry. Everyone looks nervous at their first tale in the Crown. But remember, its only the Crown. At worst the crowd could heckle you.. at best they will love you." She smiled and took the paper and charcoal back. She carried it over to a registration table and seemed to sign him in with a wink.

On stage, the girl was finishing her story. It was backfiring though. Not scary at all, the story seemed to insight giggles and heckling from the crowd. They found her story amusing, not haunting. The next tale went better, the boy obviously more popular. He still lost his place in the middle, had to take a deep breath and a swig of ale, but soon he was back on target and getting some claps before his turn was done.

Hugh, in the mean time, looked the lad over. Then, finally after consideration, he seemed to make a decision. "You know, thats going to be you up there. You're going to crack. They all do, when they look as nervous as you do." With that he laughed, and then sobered a moment as someone else got on stage. He dismissed them out of hand, and went back to his heckling of the newcommer. "Where'd you get your story? Hear it second hand? Certainly it didn't come from you... you look like you've been nowhere other than here. Well, speak up boy... speak up." The man laughed heartily.

The boy was booed off stage. Hugh laughed, and another took the boys place. This was an older woman, refrined, acting liek a real lady. She launched into her story... and the crowd grew quiet. It was obvious she was a popular storyteller.

[Banodin Lionheart]

Banodin sat quietly, listening, and while many in the crowd heckled, or sat back mildly amused, the young man clapped his hands together to at least encourage his fellow participants. Banodin was a good guy, down to his core, even with such simple things as this. It never cost anyone two silvers to be nice, as his father would say, besides, you never know who you may be talking to... The boy's thoughts were snapped back to the present as someone addressed him, ironically, rather rudely.

Looking over his shoulder at the man, Banodin blinked his eyes, trying to figure out what he was saying, and soon realized, that he was being heckled, even before he got on the stage. "O-oh... Well... I... N-no,, the story is m-mine. I, I do not know much... B-but my father does. Just b-borrowed some of his knowledge... A-and... Well, t-thought of my own." Frowning slightly, he flinched at the sounds of 'booing' and looked over to the stage, watching the person exit the stage. Banodin never thought of how frightening it might be, to just be up there... In front of all those people... In fact... He didn't even think about it, until Hugh brought it up.

As the crowd got silent, well, so did Banodin, not due to the story, but because of the gentleman near to him. Cupping his fingers around his teacup, the boy's hands were visibly shaking now, and a nervousness slowly crept into his being... The story he had, was slipping through the grasp of his mind, things were certainly not looking good... In fact, Banodin looked a little ill himself.

[Gossamer]

Hugh clapped as the older woman finished telling her story. It was a good one, involving a group of wagon teamsters that got lost in a storm and kept reappearing over and over again as the years passed, helping lost travelers find their way in storms. It was unique, but it wasn't.... very original. Stories like that abounded around Prime, where the Khardran Mountains spawned them with some of the really unusual stuff that happened there.

Hugh, done listening, turned back to Banolin and nodded. "Eh? From you Da you say? Well it might be a good one then. Lad, its your turn... go on up!" He said, and gave the boy a shove, gently guiding him towards the stage... not bothering to even give him a chance to release the mug of hot beverage he had clutched in his hands.

"Go on up.. .tell us a tale, Lad!" He said, laughing heartily.