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Molarch’s Inn

Here is the heart of the Village Shroom; a place where all will come for whatever reason they can find. Whether it be a birthday, wedding or anniversary celebration; a chance to drown your sorrows with a sympathetic ear thrown in or just an excuse to gather with friends and sample the fine wines and ciders on offer. Rayn’s family have run the inn since Mother Redikin was just a babe in arms. His great – grandfather Molarch opened the inn when the village was first founded and the single storey green topped abode was all that was needed. The small wooden door opened onto comfortable room where a log fire burned in Winter and flowers abounded in the Summer. Here you could sit on comfortable sofas or chairs and discuss recent goings on, or read one of the many books from the well-stocked bookshelves whilst enjoying a small glass or two. Through a door at the back of the bar was the entrance to the family rooms. Amongst them a spotless kitchen that produced the occasional bowl or plate containing a well-cooked hearty meal. However as the village grew so did the inn’s popularity. Molarch had brought his young wife Molleen with him when he left his home village to set up in Shroom and she was a marvel in the kitchen. What started out as a few meals for tired and hungry travellers soon flourished into an extensive menu and people would come from miles around to taste Molleen’s Woodland cuisine. As the family and the clientele grew, more floors were grown until finally the whole green-topped residence was given over to the inn and its customers. Molarch asked that his original home extend itself to give him and his family a place of their own close to the inn, and their cosy, red roofed home was soon in place. Four generations have now served as keepers of the inn and its popularity is still a thing of pride for not only Rayn and his wife Selphie, but for the whole village. Rayn inherited the inn when his father turned 70 as did his father and grandfather before him. But the inn was only passed on once the current landlord was sure that the high standards would be maintained which meant that Rayn had endured long hours of tuition on how best to store his ales and wines; how best to brew his cider; the best place to buy supplies and most importantly, how to deal with the many customers who came through the door. There were some things however, that the men of the family did not teach and that was how to run the kitchens and anything to do with the housekeeping. This was the responsibility of the women of the family and woes betide any man who tried to suggest a change in the kitchen or in the housekeeping routine. Rayn’s father had once suggested a change of bedding in the guest rooms; maybe a quilt instead of the crisp, white sheets and fluffy blankets, after all it would save on washing and make things easier for the ladies. He spent the next few nights sleeping in the barn; well if he didn’t like the way his bed was made… He soon came to his senses and after promising to leave those things to his wife and her team of ladies, he was allowed back into the house.

Rayn painted the perfect picture of an innkeeper. He was a tall man who carried a little extra weight around his middle – years of Selphie’s good cooking had seen to that. His bald pate gleamed as did the white apron tied smartly around his middle. His bright blue eyes twinkled with merriment at times and grew dark with concern at others. Rayn was well loved and respected by his customers and he always tried to make time for each and every one. Listening to their problems, rejoicing in their successes and dispensing the odd nugget of advice. He kept the bar spotless. The deep shine of the oaken bar top reflected sparkling glasses which were arranged in neat rows on shelves above. Bottles containing various coloured liquids were lined up behind the bar, each a masterpiece of the brewer’s art. Fruit based wines and cordials and other more exotic libations. At one end of the bar stood the many barrels of ales and ciders, all brewed to secret recipes handed down through father to son along with the ownership of the inn.

Selphie too was tall, just an inch or two shorter than her husband, but where he carried a little extra weight she was very slim, although she had had two children, frequently tasted the foods prepared in her kitchen and had a healthy appetite she retained the figure she had as a young girl. Her hair once a lovely rich honey shade was now well sprinkled with silver but still hung past her waist, and was usually to be seen in a thick plait tucked into the ties of her apron whilst she bustled about the kitchen supervising the preparation of the food, ensuring every plate was as perfect as possible. As the bar and cellars were Rayn’s domain, the kitchen was hers and within those walls her word was law. Rayn would not enter the kitchen when at its height of production but would stand in the doorway until noticed. Selphie would then either come to see what he wanted herself or as was more usual, send one of her assistants. Although when working the two were efficient and professional there was a close bond between them and when seen away from the inn it was clear that the two were still very much in love.

Their two children Magran and Thewl also worked at the inn, Magran assisted her mother in the kitchens, learning the art and secrets of woodland cuisine. She also helped out with other domestic chores around the inn and with a good head for figures often sat with her father helping him with the accounts. Magran had her father’s stout figure but being as tall as her mother she carried it well and at 20 years of age had a host of eligible suitors calling on her. Her younger brother Thewl at 18 was a stick, there was no other way to describe him; he was an inch or two taller than his father and had his mother’s slight build much to his own disappointment, he longed to have the muscles and build that Arwulf, his cousin who worked in the forge had, and to draw the same admiring glances but alas it was not to be. His true talent lay in ales, wines and ciders. With an almost uncanny knack of knowing just what ingredients would produce the best taste, when fermenting was finished and when after bottling the taste would have matured enough and be at its very finest. His wines in particular were a favourite, and these sold far and wide and merchants would call to order next year’s stock before it had finished being produced.

The two children were being taught all their parents knew in the hope that one day one of them would take on the inn and continue its splendid reputation and warmth.

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