Post by Arcady on Nov 9, 2006 14:48:34 GMT -5
Some might not think of this as much of a Tavern. There's no building to speak of, just a circular stone slab of a floor in a natural grove surrounded by an almost perfect circle of trees, a few archways, and a single walled off room to one side with a door at the rear, but no roof, and the walls only rising as high as an average elf's sternum, where cooking impliments are kept, and a locked off storage unit for food and supplies to discourage stealing, and yet, there is something intricate and careful about this large space. The thick cover of trees here keeps out all but a few patterings of rain most days, and the wide stone floor is decorated circle upon circle with painted gold arrows with a warm hearth at the center.
Despite the obvious frequency of use, the gold does not seem to fade or discolor by any stretch of the imagination. There are no seats or cusions to speak of, but food is served in the grassy knoll around the central platform--a place that seems specially designed for dancing--of which Zhoan from the Grand are most fond.
Nightly a small group of minstrels play song on flute, harp, and drum, and currently a rather jaunty tune is the choice of the hour. Many an elf spins about the golden arrowed dancing floor, yipping and hollering as if tonight is some grand festival.
It is no festival in particular, but the Golden Arrow has ever been a place of much joviality. The Grand elves call this place a tavern and inn, because, while there are no rooms to speak of and you needn't pay for a place to sleep, if you fall into slumber about the place, someone will undoubtedly come by, pull a blanket over you, and make sure your horse has been fed.
The caretaker of this establishment --we hesitate to call him a proprieter, as there's not much to appropriate about the place--is an middle-aged Zhoan with wrinkles beside his eyes from years of laughter and mirth. Once a sentinel of the Watchpeak, he has since retired to a calmer occupation, cooking nightly feasts and supplying revels for all those who wander upon the Golden Arrow. His name is Ashan, and his tanned features seem ever-full of mirth. Assisting him are two of his four daughters--the eldest, Giya, a widow of some five hundred years who remains now as lovely as she was when she first wed, with waves of ebon hair and eyes of a deep, midnight blue, and the youngest, Naina, practically a babe yet at a mere twenty years with lovely cinnamon eyes and dark hair that barely kisses her shoulderblades as yet.
It is Naina who greets you, looking up from where she's just placed a meal before one of the Arrow's patrons. She smiles and curtsie's politely saying "Welcome to the Golden Arrow. Please make yourself at home. If you have need for anything, either Giya or myself would be glad to be of service. Tonight, father is cooking pheasant with a side of potato soup. It's rather good, but if it doesn't suit your tastes I'm sure we can come up with something else."
Despite the obvious frequency of use, the gold does not seem to fade or discolor by any stretch of the imagination. There are no seats or cusions to speak of, but food is served in the grassy knoll around the central platform--a place that seems specially designed for dancing--of which Zhoan from the Grand are most fond.
Nightly a small group of minstrels play song on flute, harp, and drum, and currently a rather jaunty tune is the choice of the hour. Many an elf spins about the golden arrowed dancing floor, yipping and hollering as if tonight is some grand festival.
It is no festival in particular, but the Golden Arrow has ever been a place of much joviality. The Grand elves call this place a tavern and inn, because, while there are no rooms to speak of and you needn't pay for a place to sleep, if you fall into slumber about the place, someone will undoubtedly come by, pull a blanket over you, and make sure your horse has been fed.
The caretaker of this establishment --we hesitate to call him a proprieter, as there's not much to appropriate about the place--is an middle-aged Zhoan with wrinkles beside his eyes from years of laughter and mirth. Once a sentinel of the Watchpeak, he has since retired to a calmer occupation, cooking nightly feasts and supplying revels for all those who wander upon the Golden Arrow. His name is Ashan, and his tanned features seem ever-full of mirth. Assisting him are two of his four daughters--the eldest, Giya, a widow of some five hundred years who remains now as lovely as she was when she first wed, with waves of ebon hair and eyes of a deep, midnight blue, and the youngest, Naina, practically a babe yet at a mere twenty years with lovely cinnamon eyes and dark hair that barely kisses her shoulderblades as yet.
It is Naina who greets you, looking up from where she's just placed a meal before one of the Arrow's patrons. She smiles and curtsie's politely saying "Welcome to the Golden Arrow. Please make yourself at home. If you have need for anything, either Giya or myself would be glad to be of service. Tonight, father is cooking pheasant with a side of potato soup. It's rather good, but if it doesn't suit your tastes I'm sure we can come up with something else."