Cyren looks around Sword Swamp and decides that she's really going to have to do it. The heartbreak, the labor, the horror...the cleaning.
Oh well. It's got to be done.
She starts to sing songs to herself of the heroes and villains that graced these halls when they were...maybe not cleaner, but less dusty. The memories keep her company and she puts in some hard work, tying back her hair and putting some elbow grease into the things that...looks like they have had too many elbows and grease.
The windows open and fresh air comes in, she shoos the last of the vermin from the fireplace and chops some wood for the hearth. The dreaded task becomes an act of love and touchstones come clean in the tavern's wood and fixtures. Here she laughed so hard she had to lean. Here she stood in complete alienation and betrayal. Here she hid in the corner, cloaked and unnoticed.
Time passes and the layers of filth and neglect lift from the surfaces and sunlight meets gleaming wood and shining taps. The breeze sweetens with the scents of a crackling fire and baking bread.
It's not new to her that she spends time alone in the tavern, she used to do this all the time, waiting for friends, puttering about.
She starts to read about brewing. Where to get hops, where to put the still...if supplies are rare these days, she'll make do by making done. This might not be a bustling tavern any more, but it's her home.
With a little smile she puts a mat out on the porch. "Welcome" Knowing that this is the Swamp, though, there's fine print for those who look closely at the deceptive weave. "Here there be dragons"
She sets about trying to start on the path of brewing, starting small and gathering ingredients to put up her favorite first, mead. She reads down the list of ingredients...Honey...yeast...water...
She smiles "I can do that."
Her hair gets braided back more firmly and soon every pot in the place is in use, holding components and mixing in bits of herb and fruit in with different batches.
Oh well. It's got to be done.
She starts to sing songs to herself of the heroes and villains that graced these halls when they were...maybe not cleaner, but less dusty. The memories keep her company and she puts in some hard work, tying back her hair and putting some elbow grease into the things that...looks like they have had too many elbows and grease.
The windows open and fresh air comes in, she shoos the last of the vermin from the fireplace and chops some wood for the hearth. The dreaded task becomes an act of love and touchstones come clean in the tavern's wood and fixtures. Here she laughed so hard she had to lean. Here she stood in complete alienation and betrayal. Here she hid in the corner, cloaked and unnoticed.
Time passes and the layers of filth and neglect lift from the surfaces and sunlight meets gleaming wood and shining taps. The breeze sweetens with the scents of a crackling fire and baking bread.
It's not new to her that she spends time alone in the tavern, she used to do this all the time, waiting for friends, puttering about.
She starts to read about brewing. Where to get hops, where to put the still...if supplies are rare these days, she'll make do by making done. This might not be a bustling tavern any more, but it's her home.
With a little smile she puts a mat out on the porch. "Welcome" Knowing that this is the Swamp, though, there's fine print for those who look closely at the deceptive weave. "Here there be dragons"
She sets about trying to start on the path of brewing, starting small and gathering ingredients to put up her favorite first, mead. She reads down the list of ingredients...Honey...yeast...water...
She smiles "I can do that."
Her hair gets braided back more firmly and soon every pot in the place is in use, holding components and mixing in bits of herb and fruit in with different batches.