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A Night at the Inn
ArchivedUser
Guest
in Fan Stories
<strong>I've written this short a while back (Before I even knew of Ashes of Creation), and have been itching to use the two characters depicted for even longer. Then I found this game, and what little I have of the backstory of Ruvaen and Eris seems to fit pretty well so far. I figured I might as well post it and see how it's received. Maybe even turn this into a Forum RP while waiting for the game, in which everyone can introduce their characters, practice their interaction and maybe create some backstory involving other characters that can be referrenced ingame (Depending on how close to the Lore it remains).</strong>
<blockquote>There was a storm outside, but this mattered little to the merry audience in the Blinking Pony Inn. Listening to an amusing ditty of the bard in the corner, the raucous laughter of the guests drowned out the sound of a door opening.
A pair of travellers came in, their soaked cowls hiding their features for the moment. The first to notice them was the proprietress. With a smile she came to greet them, although her glance at the mud and water they trailed caused her to wince right after. Admittedly, she didn’t give much more of an indication of any displeasure, but that single moment was noted by both of the newcomers.
“Oh look at you…”, the woman tutted, mother hen tendencies shining through, “Take that soaked mantle of you two, it can’t be pleasant to keep wearing those. Both hesitated for a moment, before deciding to follow her ‘advice’.
The first one to do so turned out to be a ginger female on the cusp of physical adulthood. Her height often caused people to mistake her as a child, but she took it with grace. That was mixed ancestry for you. The build of a human, aside from the height of a dwarf.
Her clothes easily marked her as well-to-do, and the staff at her back signified her a mage of some kind, it was an odd design though. All in all, she would have been quite lovely, had it not been for a hideous scar marring her face. It seemed to continue on further downward, but her clothes hid the rest.
The second was an elf. A bit of a rarity in these parts. His smile was gentle, but his grey eyes held an edge to them. It was clear he was a warrior of some kind, even without the armour and the daggers and crossbow dangling on his belt. His hair was white, with a few remaining hints of grey. To a casual observer it would be clear that even by Elven standards, he was ancient.
Few would ever have the pleasure to know just how right they were in that assessment.
The proprietress stood a bit straighter upon seeing him. Her eyes taking on a somewhat strange shine as she looked at the elf.
At this his travelling companion send him a questioning look. She had seen this happen before, but that was usually when he was actually trying to charm people, not when he looked like a drowned cat.
It took a while for the proprietress to regain her bearing, and upon hearing what they expected out of their stay here, and taking a quarter of the money upfront, she led them to a room. It was nicer than they had expected upon being informed that only the attic room was still available. It was certainly more spacious than they had picture, even if the elf had to bow down his head slightly.
Upon being left alone, the elf’s shoulders sagged, before sighing.
His companion looked at him with mirth. “What was that about Teacher?”
Ruvaen sighed and answered, “Some people, like the woman before, look at us Elves, and see an ideal. They see our supposed beauty, our wisdom, grace and serenity and become infatuated with it.”
“A bit full of yourself, aren’t you?”
“I did say ‘supposed’ Eris.”, her teacher explained mildly, “There are very few elves that actually buy into the myth surrounding ourselves. Some even disdain mortals for it, as few of them care to think of the path that brought us to this point.”
“Oh?”, Eris asked if only partly for politeness’s sake. She sensed a story coming. Her teacher seemed to hesitate, but began talking after all, struggling to find the words at first.
“Our beauty is for the most part a… Well… façade. People know very well that our appearance belies our age, but they rarely think of what we’ve witnessed. What we’ve gone through. The bodies of Elves might rarely scar, but our minds…
Losing everything we’ve come to know again and again…
Our serenity is merely a form of escapism.”
At this point Ruvaen seemed far away with his mind.
“I’ve witnessed paradise, and saw it fall apart slowly, by the squabbling of Mortals and Gods alike. I lived through the rise and fall of civilizations, delightfully varied, but never lasting -despite the best of our efforts-. The Exodus… I… We…
I cannot…
Forgive me. This is a subject I’m loathe to touch upon, the scars being too fresh. The scale too great. For you it might be something of the distant past, a legacy of your ancestors, but for Elves…
This wisdom, this grace she foolishly long for, it’s a product of experience. Of living too long. Of seeing too much.”
Eris remained quiet after his words. What else could she do at hearing something like this? Truthfully, she herself did not particularly like Elves in general, particularly for the so-called myth surrounding them her teacher had just talked about. That stereotype.
She realized she herself was just as guilty for not looking past that idealized image though.
Ruvaen took a moment to compose himself, and smiled at her, although it still seemed a bit wan.
“Shall we head down for dinner?”, he asked her.
It was a contemplative Eris that followed him down, mulling over his words and all that they implied.</blockquote>
<blockquote>There was a storm outside, but this mattered little to the merry audience in the Blinking Pony Inn. Listening to an amusing ditty of the bard in the corner, the raucous laughter of the guests drowned out the sound of a door opening.
A pair of travellers came in, their soaked cowls hiding their features for the moment. The first to notice them was the proprietress. With a smile she came to greet them, although her glance at the mud and water they trailed caused her to wince right after. Admittedly, she didn’t give much more of an indication of any displeasure, but that single moment was noted by both of the newcomers.
“Oh look at you…”, the woman tutted, mother hen tendencies shining through, “Take that soaked mantle of you two, it can’t be pleasant to keep wearing those. Both hesitated for a moment, before deciding to follow her ‘advice’.
The first one to do so turned out to be a ginger female on the cusp of physical adulthood. Her height often caused people to mistake her as a child, but she took it with grace. That was mixed ancestry for you. The build of a human, aside from the height of a dwarf.
Her clothes easily marked her as well-to-do, and the staff at her back signified her a mage of some kind, it was an odd design though. All in all, she would have been quite lovely, had it not been for a hideous scar marring her face. It seemed to continue on further downward, but her clothes hid the rest.
The second was an elf. A bit of a rarity in these parts. His smile was gentle, but his grey eyes held an edge to them. It was clear he was a warrior of some kind, even without the armour and the daggers and crossbow dangling on his belt. His hair was white, with a few remaining hints of grey. To a casual observer it would be clear that even by Elven standards, he was ancient.
Few would ever have the pleasure to know just how right they were in that assessment.
The proprietress stood a bit straighter upon seeing him. Her eyes taking on a somewhat strange shine as she looked at the elf.
At this his travelling companion send him a questioning look. She had seen this happen before, but that was usually when he was actually trying to charm people, not when he looked like a drowned cat.
It took a while for the proprietress to regain her bearing, and upon hearing what they expected out of their stay here, and taking a quarter of the money upfront, she led them to a room. It was nicer than they had expected upon being informed that only the attic room was still available. It was certainly more spacious than they had picture, even if the elf had to bow down his head slightly.
Upon being left alone, the elf’s shoulders sagged, before sighing.
His companion looked at him with mirth. “What was that about Teacher?”
Ruvaen sighed and answered, “Some people, like the woman before, look at us Elves, and see an ideal. They see our supposed beauty, our wisdom, grace and serenity and become infatuated with it.”
“A bit full of yourself, aren’t you?”
“I did say ‘supposed’ Eris.”, her teacher explained mildly, “There are very few elves that actually buy into the myth surrounding ourselves. Some even disdain mortals for it, as few of them care to think of the path that brought us to this point.”
“Oh?”, Eris asked if only partly for politeness’s sake. She sensed a story coming. Her teacher seemed to hesitate, but began talking after all, struggling to find the words at first.
“Our beauty is for the most part a… Well… façade. People know very well that our appearance belies our age, but they rarely think of what we’ve witnessed. What we’ve gone through. The bodies of Elves might rarely scar, but our minds…
Losing everything we’ve come to know again and again…
Our serenity is merely a form of escapism.”
At this point Ruvaen seemed far away with his mind.
“I’ve witnessed paradise, and saw it fall apart slowly, by the squabbling of Mortals and Gods alike. I lived through the rise and fall of civilizations, delightfully varied, but never lasting -despite the best of our efforts-. The Exodus… I… We…
I cannot…
Forgive me. This is a subject I’m loathe to touch upon, the scars being too fresh. The scale too great. For you it might be something of the distant past, a legacy of your ancestors, but for Elves…
This wisdom, this grace she foolishly long for, it’s a product of experience. Of living too long. Of seeing too much.”
Eris remained quiet after his words. What else could she do at hearing something like this? Truthfully, she herself did not particularly like Elves in general, particularly for the so-called myth surrounding them her teacher had just talked about. That stereotype.
She realized she herself was just as guilty for not looking past that idealized image though.
Ruvaen took a moment to compose himself, and smiled at her, although it still seemed a bit wan.
“Shall we head down for dinner?”, he asked her.
It was a contemplative Eris that followed him down, mulling over his words and all that they implied.</blockquote>
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