A forum for the Port Luskan role play

Alyra walks into Ye Olde Book Shoppe. It is much as she remembers it, although time has woven a few changes and surprises, most of which she will notice later. For now, she smiles approvingly at the warm fire, the familiar volumes lining the shelves, her desk, and, silent in the corner, the printing press.

She goes to the last and caresses it, turns the handle slightly but not enough to lower it; it is enough to know it still works. She goes to her workstand behind it, fingers the blocks of type still laid out in their trays. Her hand lingers over one set which reads, in backwards Common, "The Port Luskan Beat."

Oh, yes: the paper will be printed again.

The shop itself will take almost no tidying; it is ready for business. She hopes she will be here when the first customers arrive, but with all there is to do on the island, she suspects she will miss seeing many of her friends in person. An idea occurs to her, and she seizes on it.

Why did I never think of this before? she muses. She rummages the shop for ink and a blank journal, considers the best placement for her new project, and then sets to work.

At her desk, she takes quill in hand and pulls the empty volume to her. On the first page she pens, in her efficient hand, the following words:

Ye Olde Book Shoppe Guest Register

Please sign in.

While the ink dries she goes to the bookstand in the corner and drags it to the front of the shop, just to the left of the entrance, turns it slightly, and stands back, considering. She nods, retrieves her new guest ledger and places it carefully on the stand.

She examines her work, then frowns slightly. Swiftly she retrieves ink and quill and adds below the initial lines:

I like to know who my customers are, so that I can better meet their needs. In addition to your name, please tell me a little about yourself.

She thinks a moment, then signs in herself:

Alyra Moondancer. I am a bard, specializing in creative works of music and dance. I run Ye Olde Book Shoppe, publish a newspaper for the port, and perform works both traditional and of my own composition. I am also a mage, with an affinity for the magic of sound. I have long been the port's historian, and I intend to continue in that role. My home for now is here, above the shop, as it was of old. If you are of my House, or ever were, I welcome your company.

Archie walks into the book shop just to see if his friend is around, sees things much as they were, and smiles. Noticing the guest book signs in: Archie Kiranov, I am a monk and loyal friend

Still struggling with confusion, Lacy wanders through the quiet paths of this place that looks so much like her home of long ago. There are tears on her face as she pauses at first one familiar spot, then another. She brushes her tears away with her hand, and mutters quietly to herself about the vividness of what is surely a dream.

As she rounds one more corner, shivering slightly, she stops suddenly as she sees Alyra's bookshop. The tears flow harder as she runs to the door and tugs on it, calling Alyra's name urgently.

As she enters, she finds the shop silent, but as warm and friendly as she remembers it. She sits on one of the familiar seats and struggles to compose herself and make sense of all this. As her tears begin to stop and her breathing begins to calm, she notices the stand with the book and the quill pen. She frowns slightly, trying to remember that book on the stand, and then she gets up and walks over to it, confusion still evident in her face.

Reading the first entries, she blinks and then gingerly picks up the quill.

Lacy Carpenter, priestess of the Lady Moon, formerly High Priestess of Port Luskan, healer, traveler

She smiles, reading Alyra's words and Archie's words, and returning to the bench, sinks into the familiar cushions, letting the warmth and comfort of this room soothe her.

Wandering in outta the rain, tracking muddy foot prints everywhere he walks Budster looks around and wonders where the food is hidden. Sneaking past the sleeping girl on the couch,he rummages through all the cupboards and eventually finds an almost empty pot of moldy jam. Scraping off the top layer of mold, he hungrily gulps down some jam as he continues to snoop around the room. Coming upon the registry book on its stand, he drags a stool over to stand on to look at what is written. In the process of climbing up Budster manages to knock over the ink jar, bend the quill and smear jam fingers prints all over the nice clean page.
Looking around and seeing only the sleeping girl, he climbs off the stool and sneaks back out the door, leaving no evidence that he was ever there

Alyra has been reading all these signatures, of course, and did manage to clean up after the hobbit's activities (although she does not yet know who made the mess). She looks forward to seeing who else signs in.

A tall brunette woman wanders in looking a tad confused. "Wow this looks familiar, but how did I get here?" Wandering around and looking at random things, Keri brushes her bangs out of her eyes. Once she'd had very short hair. Now it was nearly shoulder-length and right at that annoying stage in between "too short to style" and "long enough to tie back," and mostly covered the fact that her ears came to a very slight point at the top. That and the bright leaf-green of her eyes were the only indications of elven blood in the otherwise human woman.

Spotting the guestbook, Keri picked up a quill and thought for a moment. "Better go with the K instead of the C, so no one calls me Seri by accident," she muttered. Dipping it in the inkwell, she wrote, Keridwen Rowanstar, wandering gypsy bard. I specialize in mandolin, percussion, poetry, and gathering folktales and myths from different cultures. I also dabble in tarot. Currently out of my mind, please leave a message.

Then she wandered back out, deciding to find a place to pitch her tent.

***************

Somewhat later Ceri sneaks back in and scribbles out 'Keridwen', rewriting it 'Ceridwen'. "It's just not the same with a K!"

_________________
Never tickle a sleeping dragon, for thou art crunchy and taste good with ketchup.

Some things cannot be hidden, even with illusion; even in Dreams. The writing of the next entry in the book, which any witnesses would swear was written by one scarce out of her teens, betrays an aged hand:

You may call me Triksey. I speak with the spirits and treat with those who wander in the Otherworld. If you need me, you will find me; or I shall find you. Be certain you are prepared.