Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » Brayston—The World's Crossroad (open)

Brayston, a quiet town mostly composed of farmers, blacksmiths, tailors, and various other tradesmen. They receive regular visits from merchants as they are situated on one of the main roads leading from Nilane and Tilios, two of the largest cities on the northern side of the continent. Due to its location there are always colorful individuals coming and going and despite being a small, rural place, there is enough business to keep food on the plates of all the families in Brayston.

The highest traffic of course runs through the town’s inn, Riverfell. Just a few paces away is, the center of Brayston’s market and also the setting for performers and storytellers. On any given day, a wanderer of sorts sets up shop right in the middle of the centre and charms the locals with their talents and tricks.

Among those that lived in the town was Teren. A young man in years but his presence and demeanor often led others to believe he was a man of many years and many places. Indeed the latter was true. Teren had been to many parts of the land and because of it he knew many languages and customs. He had come to Brayston in hopes of finding a simpler life; finding something to occupy his mind and hands. Teren assisted at Riverfell, he poured ale, ladled his master’s culinary experiments and happily served it to the inebriated men and women that flooded their inn every night. It was not below him to scrape up the drunkards at the end of the evening and escort them to their rooms. Then he’d spend the night with the moon, buffing tables, polishing glasses, folding rags and preparing for the new day that was only hours away by the time he finally retired to his own room. Most nights The owner of the inn spent hours preparing dinner and shortly after retreated to his cot for rest; leaving Teren to run his business. For those that returned regularly they began to assume the inn belonged to their loyal server but then they laughed at the thought. How could such a young man own a business of his own already?

It was a sweet summer night. The smell of road dust settled on the warm breeze flowing in and out of the bustling inn as the door opened with each new traveler. Teren greeted each new guest with a subtle but warm smile and a nod of his head. His patrons took their seat and couldn’t help but give even the smallest acknowledgement back. A small wave, nod of the head, hearty hello, or a tip of their hat. Teren’s long fingers were busy wiping a fresh glass as his azure gaze sifted through the room, taking count of the number of mouths to feed. He popped his head behind a slightly agape wooden door, “full house Ernis,” he murmured, his voice deep and calm. “I figured as much, ‘nuff said, yeah?” The stout man went back to leaning over the bubbling pot that held yet another stew. Teren disappeared back to the front, set his hands on his slender hips and let out a breath of excitement. “Who wants a drink?” His charming baritone inquired over the noise. A roar of affirmation washed over him from his patrons. Teren allowed himself a genuine smile, and on this rare occasion, actually flashed his teeth. Skilled hands slipped into the handles of bottles and efficiently pulled glasses onto the wooden bar before him, and he began to pour.

Francine had never been the same since her time with the militia. She traveled so many lands, far and wide. But her memories weren't pleasant. They still stung her like a bitter wind, even changing the expression on her face after all these years. She had seen and done things which shook her to the core. She had been let down by so many people in a way where little remained of her heart. All she cared about was business and business was good.

Fran earned her coin as a bowman. She was one of the few ladies to serve with the Army and proved that she was not only as tough as most men, she was an even finer archer. Her knack for precision translated well into making bows. An Ellsdotter Bow was a fine product indeed. They came calibrated with instruments like feathers, which Fran swore could help one with environment awareness. The thought was the feather could help an archer track the wind relative to their shooting position just by lifting their bow.

She operated out of Brayston, living in the back of her small storefront. When delievering larger orders, she had a cart she could run on the roads leading out of Brayston.

As the money came in, she had to find ways to spend this coin. She developed a liking for the tavern, Riverfell. She sat along the bar's side where she could keep her eye on the doors. The barkeep checked to see who was looking for another round.

"Keep... Keep! Another ale here", she said, jostling for attention with the crowd. She clapped an empty mug once on the table. The look on her face was worn and tired. It had been a long day of labor, working wood for a big project.