Otakuforreal
Scrawl Banditta
Iracebeth
Esailia
Simply Not Real
Durandals
icmasticc
Neziul
Ezekiel
PrinceAlexus
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22/12/21
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For as many times as he had left this place it seemed that the universe, fate, chance, destiny, or what ever you might want to call it, kept drawing him back. He simply named the power that drew him here dumb stubborn luck.
His hand rested on the ornate steel handle of the entrance door. The metal cold and almost unfamiliar to his touch, like the tavern was pouting about his absence. For this time he had been gone longer than ever before and it showed on his near ageless features.
Around him shadows grew and stretched only to fade away again, a thousand sparkly eyes opened in a darken sky to watch him but eventually faded away in boredom. It was only when the light of the morning sun chased away the mist that had settled around his sturdy leather boots did he move.
He let out a long tired breath, it was born of memories and expectations of what was to come, it carried on it a mix of sorrow joy and pain. His lips caught somewhere between a smile and a frown, indecisive about which way to go.
If the steel handle was a house cat, grumpy for being left alone, the wooden door was a loyal dog, creaking with an overly loud excitement at his return.
The noise echoed out throughout the establishment echoing off barren walls and through empty rooms.
It was as dusty and decrepit as one would expect. It appeared as though in his absence it had been looted, used for shelter, had seen battles, used for some other nefarious purposes and maybe even been a home for some large creature.
The sight of the damage did not pain him as one might expect. The old man simply rolled up his sleeves and made his way to behind what used to be a bar. Although only now half existing he couldn’t determine its latest purpose if it had one at all.
Amongst the rubble there he found a single glass still miraculously intact. He picked it up steadily, raising it to the light to examine its dusty surface.
Pulling a kerchief from his pocket he got to work cleaning the drinking device. While his old bones didn’t respond as they used too the motion was still more familiar to him than anything in the world.
He couldn’t hold back the floodgate of memories that were attached to this familiar motion or the emotions attached to them.
He cleaned it beyond clean, like it was the most prized possession in his life. He got in deep and continued to examine his work. It was spit shined so bright that it no longer belonged in the place he had walked into, but that was not the same place as to which he put it down.
Although he moved nowhere the glass landed on a long exotic dark wooden polished bar. No dust to be seen. Above it finely crafted cup trays held an assortment of different sized drinking materials. Behind him were sturdy shelves packed with eating implements and a working wash station beside that.
Out before him the room was filled with tables and fine chairs. An alluring smell wafted from behind a door where there was none before. The smell of an inviting stew simmering on a fire.
His hand slid the glass across the bar top to be nimbly caught in his other hand. Strong agile athletic fingers on his young hands. From a rack beside him he pulled forth a long narrow bottle. A second latter a deep red liquid splashed forth into his glass. An aroma of berries filling his nose before his sipped at the wine. Finally he smiled.
“Open” Dorian whispered and the large entry doors obeyed. The tavern continued to regenerate around him into the fancy establishment he remembered. It felt.... right.... to be back on business.
RE-Re-re RE OPENING DAY
22/12/21
———————————————————————-—————————-
For as many times as he had left this place it seemed that the universe, fate, chance, destiny, or what ever you might want to call it, kept drawing him back. He simply named the power that drew him here dumb stubborn luck.
His hand rested on the ornate steel handle of the entrance door. The metal cold and almost unfamiliar to his touch, like the tavern was pouting about his absence. For this time he had been gone longer than ever before and it showed on his near ageless features.
Around him shadows grew and stretched only to fade away again, a thousand sparkly eyes opened in a darken sky to watch him but eventually faded away in boredom. It was only when the light of the morning sun chased away the mist that had settled around his sturdy leather boots did he move.
He let out a long tired breath, it was born of memories and expectations of what was to come, it carried on it a mix of sorrow joy and pain. His lips caught somewhere between a smile and a frown, indecisive about which way to go.
If the steel handle was a house cat, grumpy for being left alone, the wooden door was a loyal dog, creaking with an overly loud excitement at his return.
The noise echoed out throughout the establishment echoing off barren walls and through empty rooms.
It was as dusty and decrepit as one would expect. It appeared as though in his absence it had been looted, used for shelter, had seen battles, used for some other nefarious purposes and maybe even been a home for some large creature.
The sight of the damage did not pain him as one might expect. The old man simply rolled up his sleeves and made his way to behind what used to be a bar. Although only now half existing he couldn’t determine its latest purpose if it had one at all.
Amongst the rubble there he found a single glass still miraculously intact. He picked it up steadily, raising it to the light to examine its dusty surface.
Pulling a kerchief from his pocket he got to work cleaning the drinking device. While his old bones didn’t respond as they used too the motion was still more familiar to him than anything in the world.
He couldn’t hold back the floodgate of memories that were attached to this familiar motion or the emotions attached to them.
He cleaned it beyond clean, like it was the most prized possession in his life. He got in deep and continued to examine his work. It was spit shined so bright that it no longer belonged in the place he had walked into, but that was not the same place as to which he put it down.
Although he moved nowhere the glass landed on a long exotic dark wooden polished bar. No dust to be seen. Above it finely crafted cup trays held an assortment of different sized drinking materials. Behind him were sturdy shelves packed with eating implements and a working wash station beside that.
Out before him the room was filled with tables and fine chairs. An alluring smell wafted from behind a door where there was none before. The smell of an inviting stew simmering on a fire.
His hand slid the glass across the bar top to be nimbly caught in his other hand. Strong agile athletic fingers on his young hands. From a rack beside him he pulled forth a long narrow bottle. A second latter a deep red liquid splashed forth into his glass. An aroma of berries filling his nose before his sipped at the wine. Finally he smiled.
“Open” Dorian whispered and the large entry doors obeyed. The tavern continued to regenerate around him into the fancy establishment he remembered. It felt.... right.... to be back on business.