A storm raged outside the inn. Raindrops shattered on the cobbles, pooling between the stones that made up the roads coiling around that village. A savage wind whipped in the air, drowning out the sound of anyone or thing that was caught in it. Not that there much sound to drown out. Few dared to venture out under such conditions; even the beggars hid under whatever cover was presented to them. Tonight, the outdoor world belonged solely to the Gods, as it had all those years ago.
Such storms were actually unusual in these parts. The village was normally shielded from such conditions by the surrounding folds and mountains, with rainfall rarely even reaching torrential-level. It was to little surprise, then, that most of the village's houses, shops and taverns weren't faring all too well under the hellish winds that battered down on them. Reed was torn from thatched rooftops, some wooden doors were left whipping on their hinges. There would be need for severe reparations when the morning came.
That is, if the storm had let up by then.
Flint had not intended in staying in the village overnight. He'd been travelling for months, and yet still had a strong desire to put Elbion even further behind him. It was as though something sinister had driven the man from the city. Daily work began to feel painfully monotonous to him, something that had not been an issue before. Beyond that, well, there were those damned nightmares. Vivid imagery that felt more like clairvoyant visions than tricks played on him by his own troubled psyche. He'd not spoken of these visions... or whatever they were, to anyone, tried to push them from his mind. Yet, they returned every few nights, and had only gotten worse. A weekend away from the city at his hometown had relieved him of the nightmares, and he'd decided to take some time to travel.
He pushed the visions from present thought, lifting a mug of ale to his bearded lips. The inn was packed, tenants packed into seats at the bar, a few beggars huddled by the hearth (the innkeep was a charitable man, it seemed). Spirits were high, as travellers exchanged stories, but Flint was uneasy. He'd grown accustomed to movement, to travel. Right now, he felt trapped. and feared what that meant for tonight's attempt at sleep. Taking a long swig of ale, he signaled the innkeep for another round, casting his eyes across the room.
(Bit of a return post! My character is on the road, so this can hypothetically begin anywhere that suits your character, once its not too close to Elbion. Potential for some weather-related monster, or some crazy dream related stuff. Drop in and see where it takes your character!)
Such storms were actually unusual in these parts. The village was normally shielded from such conditions by the surrounding folds and mountains, with rainfall rarely even reaching torrential-level. It was to little surprise, then, that most of the village's houses, shops and taverns weren't faring all too well under the hellish winds that battered down on them. Reed was torn from thatched rooftops, some wooden doors were left whipping on their hinges. There would be need for severe reparations when the morning came.
That is, if the storm had let up by then.
Flint had not intended in staying in the village overnight. He'd been travelling for months, and yet still had a strong desire to put Elbion even further behind him. It was as though something sinister had driven the man from the city. Daily work began to feel painfully monotonous to him, something that had not been an issue before. Beyond that, well, there were those damned nightmares. Vivid imagery that felt more like clairvoyant visions than tricks played on him by his own troubled psyche. He'd not spoken of these visions... or whatever they were, to anyone, tried to push them from his mind. Yet, they returned every few nights, and had only gotten worse. A weekend away from the city at his hometown had relieved him of the nightmares, and he'd decided to take some time to travel.
He pushed the visions from present thought, lifting a mug of ale to his bearded lips. The inn was packed, tenants packed into seats at the bar, a few beggars huddled by the hearth (the innkeep was a charitable man, it seemed). Spirits were high, as travellers exchanged stories, but Flint was uneasy. He'd grown accustomed to movement, to travel. Right now, he felt trapped. and feared what that meant for tonight's attempt at sleep. Taking a long swig of ale, he signaled the innkeep for another round, casting his eyes across the room.
(Bit of a return post! My character is on the road, so this can hypothetically begin anywhere that suits your character, once its not too close to Elbion. Potential for some weather-related monster, or some crazy dream related stuff. Drop in and see where it takes your character!)
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