Had an idea for a public 1x1 rp where it acts on a first come first serve basis! So, here are the rules:
- One person or party into the inn at a time.
- High fantasy setting.
- Match my length please, I will request deletion of any replies I am not satisfied with.
- Be quick, be fast. You're holding up a line, this isn't meant to go on forever. The characters won't be best friends by the end, just treat Drake like any ol' innkeep.
- Drake can kick anyone out.
- Don't toss in two characters in a row! At least wait for one other person.
And without further ado...
---
In the south side of the Holy Empire of Landor, there sits a peculiar inn: The Dragon's Inn. It's known for only allowing one person in at a time and only opening in the evenings, making it and the man inside rather mysterious. Rumors in the nearby towns spread about it, about how he's cursing his mead, that the beds are the most comfortable ones in the universe, about how he's secretly in cahoots with the god of death. However, the only known 100% truths are the ones mentioned previously and that it's run by someone with medical knowledge, making him one of the only nearby doctors for some towns.
Drake was his name, a blond, red and yellow scaled dragon. A rather tall, thin man who dresses casually and a bit warmly (he's a bit close to the northwestern border, so a colder part of the empire). Some say he's a sorcerer in disguise, a spy for Magicka or Malimore, working for the Red Suns, etc etc.. He doesn't care much about these accusations, however. He is here for one thing only: his business.
Drake exits out of his inn sometime as the sun was setting. He is not one for rigid schedules and set times. He acts when he feels the time is right. He looks across the horizon, inspecting the familiar hills and fields of the empire. His eyes seem to settle on them with a look of mourning that one would give at the image of one's beautiful childhood home that is to be torn down the next morning. He sighs, and flips a sign outside from "Closed" to "Open", before heading back inside.
He begins inspecting over everything one last time: the beds upstairs are clean, the stew is on the fire, the ale and wines are under a cooling spell, and all the glasses and counters are clean. He sharpens a golden Flamberge, it's blade shining with the orange glow of a fire enchantment, just in case. Once all is made through, he sits at the counter and waits, reading a book to pass the time.
- One person or party into the inn at a time.
- High fantasy setting.
- Match my length please, I will request deletion of any replies I am not satisfied with.
- Be quick, be fast. You're holding up a line, this isn't meant to go on forever. The characters won't be best friends by the end, just treat Drake like any ol' innkeep.
- Drake can kick anyone out.
- Don't toss in two characters in a row! At least wait for one other person.
And without further ado...
---
In the south side of the Holy Empire of Landor, there sits a peculiar inn: The Dragon's Inn. It's known for only allowing one person in at a time and only opening in the evenings, making it and the man inside rather mysterious. Rumors in the nearby towns spread about it, about how he's cursing his mead, that the beds are the most comfortable ones in the universe, about how he's secretly in cahoots with the god of death. However, the only known 100% truths are the ones mentioned previously and that it's run by someone with medical knowledge, making him one of the only nearby doctors for some towns.
Drake was his name, a blond, red and yellow scaled dragon. A rather tall, thin man who dresses casually and a bit warmly (he's a bit close to the northwestern border, so a colder part of the empire). Some say he's a sorcerer in disguise, a spy for Magicka or Malimore, working for the Red Suns, etc etc.. He doesn't care much about these accusations, however. He is here for one thing only: his business.
Drake exits out of his inn sometime as the sun was setting. He is not one for rigid schedules and set times. He acts when he feels the time is right. He looks across the horizon, inspecting the familiar hills and fields of the empire. His eyes seem to settle on them with a look of mourning that one would give at the image of one's beautiful childhood home that is to be torn down the next morning. He sighs, and flips a sign outside from "Closed" to "Open", before heading back inside.
He begins inspecting over everything one last time: the beds upstairs are clean, the stew is on the fire, the ale and wines are under a cooling spell, and all the glasses and counters are clean. He sharpens a golden Flamberge, it's blade shining with the orange glow of a fire enchantment, just in case. Once all is made through, he sits at the counter and waits, reading a book to pass the time.
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