Foyer and Reception
Design
As guests step through the deep plum-colored front door of The Harp’s Rest—studded with weathered brass and carved with the outline of a harp—they enter a foyer that feels less like a room and more like a warm breath from the past. The space is rectangular, measuring fifteen feet wide by twenty feet long, with proportions that balance both intimacy and grace. It immediately offers a sense of grounded calm, like a prelude before the melody of the inn fully unfolds.
The ceiling is low and comforting, crisscrossed with ancient beams of Ceilir Oak, darkened by time and polished smooth from generations of candle smoke and gentle enchantments. Between the beams, the plaster is a soft, creamy hue—faintly uneven, hand-applied, and carrying the age-spots of a building that has stood for centuries. Suspended from the central beam is a wrought-iron chandelier shaped like unfurling leaves and stylized harp strings. The candles it holds are ever-burning, enchanted to glow warmly without heat, flickering with a soft golden pulse.
Walls are clad in local Greenglen Granite up to chest height, the stone cool and smooth beneath the fingertips. Above that, sage-gray limewashed plaster softens the room, its texture slightly varied and catching the light in irregular dapples. A carved wooden crest of the original Lute & Lyre Inn—depicting intertwined instruments and a rising crescent moon—hangs on the left wall, a quiet nod to the inn's musical roots. The right side offers a long bench formed from the back of a reclaimed cello, its surface worn to a satin shine. There are whispers that if one sits quietly enough upon it, they may hear the ghost of a lullaby hum through its grain.
Beneath one's feet, the floorboards are wide Ceilir Oak planks with a warm, reddish stain, their seams still straight despite their age. At the center of the room rests a heavy wool rug dyed in plum and forest green, its border ringed with woven symbols of harps, lutes, and gentle spirals. The rug muffles the sound of boots and rain-wet shoes, lending a hush to arrivals.
Near the inner door that leads further into the inn, a small polished brass bell is mounted to the wall. When rung, it doesn't chime sharply—instead, it releases a soft, harmonious triad that echoes faintly through the hallway, calling Maerla or one of the innfolk to greet a new guest. At night, faint flecks of mica in the walls catch the candlelight, making the entire room glow as if remembering every face that has passed through it.
Entries
Main Hallway (to the Right, Through an Arched Doorway)
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This hallway leads deeper into the guest wing of the inn and eventually connects to several ground-floor guest rooms, a side stairwell to the east tower, and eventually curves toward the courtyard garden. While guests can return this way, the corridor is narrow, and during peak hours or quiet hours, it’s often one-way due to tradition and practical space flow. Returning guests are guided through the garden entrance instead.
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Directly opposite the main entrance is a short entryway that opens into the Common Room, the social heart of the inn. This is the most traveled route forward, and it’s framed by warm timber and a low crossbeam with the phrase “In song we rest” carved above. Guests can freely return to the foyer this way, but the acoustics and foot traffic sometimes discourage back-and-forth movement—especially when music is playing or meals are being served.
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Nestled in an alcove just inside the front door and to the left is a half-enclosed reception space, where Maerla Greenglen or one of her assistants greets guests, manages bookings, and dispenses room keys—often charmed with mild enchantments to open only for the intended guest. This area is only accessible from the foyer, not returnable from any other direction.
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A cleverly disguised section of wall behind the crest of The Lute & Lyre hides a narrow stairwell that leads into the shared service corridor linking the inn to the Black Harp tavern. This path is not accessible to guests except in emergencies or rare invitation. The path does not allow re-entry into the foyer; staff use a different stair to return, leading into the back kitchen area.
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While this might seem obvious, it’s worth noting that once you leave the foyer, especially during festival season or moon rituals, re-entry is sometimes restricted and rerouted to a side door through the kitchen or garden corridor—following the inn’s old rhythm of guest flow. This creates a subtle ritual of “letting go” before re-entering.
Sensory & Appearance
The moment one steps into the foyer of The Harp’s Rest, the world outside feels as though it has hushed itself. The heavy plum-colored door shuts with a muffled thunk behind you, and suddenly, the noise of the street is gone—swallowed by thick stone and centuries of stories.
The first thing you notice is the warmth. Not the dry, brittle heat of a hearth fire, but a deep, embracing warmth that seems to come from the walls themselves. The Ceilir Oak beams above carry the scent of polished wood and old smoke—notes of pine resin, faint beeswax, and something darker, more earthen. It’s a scent that suggests age and comfort, like opening an old chest of keepsakes sealed away for years.
The air is soft and still, tinged with the gentle aroma of dried lavender and rosemary tucked discreetly in wall niches—placed there more for tradition than fragrance, though they still offer a comforting presence. Beneath that, there’s a faint trace of old parchment, maybe even aged leather, like the ghost of books long since removed.
The floorboards creak beneath your boots—not in complaint, but like a greeting. And there, rising up from the silence, is the low murmur of sound: a melodic hum that might be the wind through beams... or perhaps, a memory. Some say it’s the echo of every song ever played here, lingering in the rafters. Others claim it’s just the acoustics, but the gentle resonance always seems to match the guest’s mood.
Light spills down from a wrought-iron chandelier hung from the central beam, its arms twisted into the shapes of vines and harp strings. The candles within are enchanted, casting a steady, warm amber glow that never flickers too brightly or too dim. It feels like dusk in a forest clearing—cozy, golden, just a little shadowed at the edges. A few lantern sconces line the walls, their stained-glass panels sending dusky plums and greens across the pale stone beneath.
At certain times of day, a stray shaft of natural light may slip through the transom window above the door, catching the mica in the plaster walls and making them glimmer faintly, as if the foyer itself breathes in silver.
Guests often pause here, instinctively. There’s something about the space that invites a moment of reverence. Perhaps it's the cello-bench along the wall that thrums when sat upon, or the soft triad of tones that echoes gently when the brass bell near the inner door is rung. Either way, few rush through this space. It feels sacred—not in a holy sense, but in a storied one.
There’s a lived-in comfort here, as though the room has welcomed generations of travelers, artists, and dreamers—and is genuinely pleased to greet one more. The warmth is not just in the air, but in the atmosphere itself: a quiet assurance that you’ve stepped into a space where stories are shared, laughter is welcome, and time slows just enough for you to breathe.
And beneath it all, the unshakable sense that the room is watching, listening... remembering.
Denizens
The foyer is rarely empty, though not always in the way guests might expect. It isn’t bustling with crowds or haunted by frightful things — rather, it has its own rhythm, a cast of regulars that give the space its personality.
Maerla Greenglen is the most common sight here, especially during the first and final hours of the day. With her warm smile and uncanny ability to recall a guest’s name (and breakfast preference) from three visits ago, she often greets newcomers here personally when time allows. She rarely hurries, but somehow always arrives just when needed.
Murney, a portly gray-and-white cat with one torn ear and a tail like a feather duster, considers the foyer his domain. He enjoys curling up beside the cello bench, particularly when it hums softly in the presence of musical guests. He’s not overly affectionate, but if he sits on your boot, it’s considered good luck for the remainder of your stay.
Now and then, the echo of [“Old Bellos”]—a bard who supposedly died mid-performance several centuries ago—seems to ripple through the room. Some say the three-tone chime of the welcome bell mimics the last notes of his final song. On certain quiet mornings, guests have claimed to hear a low chuckle or a throat clearing, though no one’s there.
It’s also not unusual to find a rotating cast of young apprentices or helpers, often from the village or even from The Black Harp’s kitchen, scurrying through with deliveries, fresh linens, or enchanted tea trays. The foyer is a thoroughfare, yes—but one with boundaries. Running is discouraged, and speaking too loudly near the walls often results in one’s voice being oddly muffled or redirected... as if the room itself disapproves.
As for pests? There are no rats or roaches to be found here. The building’s magic, subtle though it is, seems to quietly rebuff them. Though, if you're particularly observant, you might catch a glimpse of a tiny green-eyed creature—somewhere between a dormouse and a lizard—that flickers in and out of sight near the ceiling beams. The staff insist it's a trick of the light. Maerla just smiles and says, “If you see it, it means you're meant to be here.”
Contents & Furnishings
Content and Furnishings – The Foyer of The Harp’s Rest
The Foyer is not cluttered, but it is curated — each piece intentional, worn-in, and rich with character. This is not a space for idle decoration, but for practical hospitality and whispered history.
The first thing most guests notice is the long wooden bench against the right-hand wall — formed from the carved back of an old cello, polished by generations of travelers and locals alike. It’s wide enough for two or three people to rest upon, though Murney the cat often claims the center. Some say if a musician sits there, the wood will vibrate faintly, as if acknowledging the art in their bones.
Above the bench hangs a wall-mounted harp, not for playing, but reverence. It's a decorative replica of the original instrument believed to have belonged to the bard Bellos. Its frame is etched with knotwork and short verses in Ceilirunic script, half-faded by time and candle smoke.
To the left side of the room, partially recessed into the wall, is a small reception nook, framed by an open arch. Inside rests a modest writing desk made of dark oak, neatly organized with parchment rolls, wax seals, an ink pot, and a brass key cabinet built into the wall. The drawers are charmed to stay locked unless opened by someone with the correct sigil-ring — usually Maerla, or her appointed helpers.
Set directly across from the entrance is a pair of large wooden doors that lead into the Common Room. These are often left ajar during daylight hours, offering a glimpse of the fire beyond and inviting warmth inward. Above the doors, a carved beam bears the old phrase: In song we rest.
Lighting comes from a wrought iron chandelier hanging from the center beam, its arms curled like vines and harp strings. The candles burn with a soft golden glow, enchanted to resist wind and drip no wax. A pair of lantern sconces are affixed to either side of the room, their stained glass panels casting hints of plum and mossy green across the stone walls.
Near the front door is a circular wool rug, thick and hand-woven with a spiral of lutes and lyres. It is enchanted subtly to dry damp boots and hems within seconds of entering — though never so quickly as to feel unnatural. On either side of the entrance are iron cloak hooks, each one shaped like something unique — a fox, a crescent moon, a curled fiddlehead fern.
Perhaps most curious is a small bronze bell mounted beside the inner doorframe. Its sound isn’t sharp, but musical: a triad of notes that harmonize softly when rung. Some claim the notes change subtly depending on who rings it — a trick of the enchantment or the room’s memory.
And tucked quietly behind the wooden crest of the Lute & Lyre — cleverly built into the stone wall — is a hidden panel. Only those who know how to press just so will find the narrow stairwell that leads to the private passage into The Black Harp. Most guests never suspect it’s there.
Valuables
Treasures of the Foyer – The Harp’s Rest
At first glance, the foyer doesn't flaunt riches — its warmth lies in its welcome, not in opulence. But for those with a keen eye or a poetic heart, there are treasures here that speak louder than gold.
On the surface, the most obvious “treasure” is the wall-mounted harp above the bench. Though decorative, it's finely crafted with real silver strings and inlaid with tiny moonstones and chips of labradorite, each one catching light like frozen song. The harp is considered sacred — not because of any divine association, but because it’s believed to carry a fragment of Old Bellos’s original melody, etched into the wood grain like a memory waiting to be stirred.
To those with musical sensitivity, sitting beneath the harp and humming quietly may cause the room itself to softly hum back — an ethereal harmony few can reproduce or explain.
Near the reception nook, on the high beam above the writing desk, hangs a small framed sketch, faded with time. It appears to be a quick charcoal drawing of the inn as it once looked in its Lute & Lyre days — smaller, humbler, and surrounded by tall grasses and young trees. The signature is illegible to most, but historians know it as one of the last sketches by the Ceilirunic bard-scribe known only as Thallan. If properly appraised, it could fetch a tidy sum — though none in the inn would dare sell it.
Hidden more cleverly is a hollow cloak hook, the one shaped like a curled fiddlehead fern. If twisted just the right way, it opens a narrow compartment behind the wainscoting. Inside? Usually nothing more than a folded note, an old ring, or a trinket left behind by a guest — but once, Maerla found a sapphire brooch wrapped in an oathbound letter. She never said what it said. The drawer is now used more for tradition than treasure, but it remembers.
Of course, there’s the hidden passage behind the inn’s crest — a treasure in its own right. While the passage itself is utilitarian, some believe that behind one of the stones along the stair lies a pressed copper medallion: the original emblem of The Lute & Lyre, stamped with both a crescent moon and a pair of crossed strings. If it exists, no one's admitted to finding it.
And then there’s the room itself. The floorboards, the walls, the beams — all carry the layered songs of generations. For the magically inclined or those attuned to memory-magic, the very act of sitting quietly here can reveal emotional imprints: a weeping bard on their last journey, a nervous proposal, a soldier returning home. These aren’t physical treasures, but they’re priceless to those who can perceive them.
Hazards & Traps
Traps & Hazards – The Foyer of The Harp’s Rest
There are no spikes in the ceiling, no pressure plates hidden beneath the rug, and certainly no lava bubbling under the floorboards (Maerla had very strong feelings about lava).
But the room is not entirely without its defenses.
The most obvious deterrent is the brass bell beside the inner doorframe. While it welcomes guests with a gentle triad of notes, it also serves a secondary, less visible purpose. Should someone enter the inn with hostile intent—measured not by weaponry but by emotional malice—the bell will not ring at all. Instead, a cold silence settles in the room, and a soft shimmer rises along the walls. This is a signal to Maerla and her staff, and it triggers a quiet enchantment that prevents certain doors from opening inward.
The hidden panel that leads to the passage connecting the inn to The Black Harp is protected by an old Ceilirunic ward. The wood itself doesn’t repel touch, but if opened by someone not recognized by the inn, the narrow stairwell becomes visually endless — twisting on itself in looping geometry until the intruder turns back. No one has ever been harmed by it, but several nosy bar patrons have emerged confused and sobered.
Perhaps the most curious feature is the floor’s memory enchantment. While not a trap in the traditional sense, it does respond to aggression. If someone storms through the room with violence in their heart, the floorboards beneath them may groan louder than usual — sometimes even shifting slightly, guiding the person to stumble, slow, or stop altogether. It’s not enough to injure. Just enough to disrupt.
There is one story about a thief who tried to pocket a charm from the desk in the reception nook. The desk drawer did not open. Instead, it hummed a low, dissonant chord that echoed through the wood of the bench and the bell. The thief's boots reportedly adhered to the floor until Maerla arrived and offered him tea and a second chance.
The room doesn't punish. It persuades.
It listens. It remembers.
And it protects those who call it home.
Special Properties
Special Properties – The Foyer of The Harp’s Rest
The Foyer of The Harp’s Rest isn’t ostentatiously magical — there are no swirling portals or glowing glyphs carved into the walls — but it hums with a subtle, abiding presence. The kind of old magic that feels more like hospitality woven into architecture.
The room is imbued with a Memory Enchantment, the oldest and most integral charm within the inn. This enchantment allows the room to remember emotional imprints, particularly of music, poetry, and moments of strong sentiment. While it doesn’t replay them as illusions, those attuned to such energy might catch whispers of a lullaby, the weight of a farewell embrace, or the echo of laughter in the stillness. It is the reason the room feels lived in even when it's empty.
A Welcoming Field is anchored to the brass bell. When rung with genuine intent to enter peacefully, it activates a gentle atmospheric charm that stabilizes temperature, wards off chill, and calms anxious minds. It's often the first moment guests begin to feel "settled."
The inn is also protected by an Intent Barrier, subtle and ancient. Anyone entering with violent, hateful, or malicious intent may feel slight resistance — a slowed footstep, an odd stillness in the air, even a change in lighting. In more extreme cases, doors won’t open for them until their intent shifts. This field doesn’t harm — it merely discourages.
The rug in the center of the room is enchanted with a Moisture Dispersion Charm, allowing guests' boots, cloaks, and hems to dry almost instantly when they step inside. It's a practical enchantment, maintained with seasonal offerings of salt, lavender, and warm cider during the lunar turnings.
There are rumors of an Eavesdrop Ward embedded into the walls — not to spy, but to protect. Words spoken in the foyer with intent to deceive or manipulate often fall oddly flat, as if swallowed by the stone itself. Honest speech, on the other hand, seems to carry clearer and warmer through the space.
Most curious of all, some believe the foyer acts as a kind of sentient threshold. It decides what it reveals. Visitors have walked in convinced the room was lit by daylight from a high clerestory — only to learn there is no such window. Others claim to have seen a small child’s handprint appear briefly in the plaster near the door before vanishing again. Whether these things are real or imagination, no one knows for certain.
Whatever enchantments exist here, they are old, quiet, and gentle — like the inn itself. Protective. Inviting. Watchful.
Environmental Effects
Environment & Effects – The Foyer of The Harp’s Rest
The atmosphere within the foyer is one of deliberate balance — not simply the result of good architecture, but the presence of long-set enchantments and the very bones of the building itself.
The temperature inside is always comfortably warm, no matter the season or storm raging beyond the plum-colored door. It’s not an artificial heat, but the deep ambient warmth that seems to rise from stone, wood, and memory. The kind of warmth you feel more in your chest than on your skin. The humidity remains low, but not bone-dry — just enough to soften the air and keep the scent of wood, wax, and lavender present without ever becoming oppressive.
There’s a faint atmospheric pressure that registers more emotionally than physically — like the hush before a story is told, or the silence just after a final note lingers in the rafters. It creates a natural sense of reverence, encouraging quieter speech, deeper breaths, and slower steps.
The foyer emits a very light comforting aura, though most don’t recognize it as magical. Guests often describe it as “feeling at home,” even when visiting for the first time. This aura is likely connected to the inn’s memory-magic — those who have stayed before often experience sudden, inexplicable calm as soon as they cross the threshold.
Despite its age, the air is always fresh, never musty. There's no draft, but you might notice the soft circulation of air rising from under the floorboards and along the curved base of the walls — subtle and steady, as if the building itself breathes.
There are no extreme magical phenomena here — no anti-gravity fields, no illusions, no time-warping stairwells. The magic in the foyer is all in its restraint. It serves the space and those within it, keeping them grounded, safe, and soothed.
If one stands still in the center of the room long enough, it may feel as though the walls lean in ever so slightly — not to trap, but to listen. A silent, watchful effect that lingers in the bones and carries all the way through The Harp’s Rest.
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