Hope and Glory - by Haruchai on 15:20 01 Jan 2005
Dimidius watches the shoreline approach from his cabin window, the water softly illuminated by the many lights of the city as they draw near. He sighs as he listens to the heavy rain pound onto the deck of the ship over his head, and he pulls the cowl of his cloak upwards. The call of the captain from below decks is muffled, but Dimidius can hear the crew scrambling to slow the ship, the wind from the storm driving her to the docks too strongly. The Arbiter lurches as the crew brings her under control and the ship rolls softly to one side as stout ropes are thrown to waiting crews on shore. Within moments the Arbiter is at dock.
Making sure that he leaves nothing in his cabin, Dimidius fingers the few remaining coins he has, wondering if they'll be enough for at least one hot meal, bath and bed for the night. Shrugging to himself he pulls his cowl as far forward as he can, glad that they've docked close to dusk. He should be able to enter the city rather inconspicuously. Keeping his eyes towards the deck of the ship he makes his way off with the remaining passengers, aware of the captain's eyes on him. He knew the man hadn't wanted to take him, but thanks to his friends at the temple, along with a hefty donation to the captain personally, Dimidius had been taken aboard.
Following behind one of the other passengers Dimidius can just make out the outline of the docks through the rain, and he watches his footing, the wood slick. As he leaves the dock he can see few eyes which follow him, everyone keeping their heads down to protect their faces from the torrent. Soon his heavy black cloak is soaked, but still Dimidius keeps his cowl covering his face. Once past the gate at the dock the small port city of Tantras lies before him. The main thoroughfare is muddy and the thick, wet earth pulls at his boots as he moves along the street. The first block seems to be residences, and he keeps walking, looking for an inn or tavern.
"At least I'm on solid ground again." he thinks to himself. He struggles to lift one boot from the mud. "Kind of."
The sound of laughter ahead and to his right draws his attention, and Dimidius heads that way. A snake-like sign above a green door, faded and chipped with time and use, pronounces this place as "The Green Eel". Stomping his boots on the small wooden porch to clear them of what mud he can, Dimidius pushes open the door.
The smells of tabac smoke, fish, stale beer and cooking meat waft from the interior of The Green Eel and Dimidius slowly steps inside. Nary a head turns his way, and for that he is grateful. A fire roars in a central hearth, the heat from it making the Green Eel a bit more than warm, and wet cloaks and boots are layed haphazardly around the blaze. Dimidius just pulls his claok tighter, points himself towards one of the back tables, and walks. He keeps his head down, hoping not to be noticed, though it is apparent that the other patrons are busy with their own conversations.
"Sure is wet out tonight." one red-faced behemoth of a man says to the man next to him.
"Probably the first time you've had a bath in months, eh Seth?" the smaller man grinning, showing only a handful of good teeth.
The one named Seth just grins and says, "Maybe that's why yer wife was so friendly this afternoon. She was almost as wet as the weather!"
The smaller man glowers for a moment then breaks out into another grin. "Share and share alike, that's what I always say!"
Dimidius moves on past that table, inwardly frowning at such bawdy talk... and wondering if it is just talk. He seats himself at an empty table near the back and almost immediately a woman approaches his table. She's middle-aged he would guess, and her eyes are tired, her body starting to show signs of age. It's obvious she's been here for the entire day. Her clothes are smattered with spilled beer and grease, and she hardly looks at him as she asks, "Wha dooya wan ta ourda?"
Making sure to speak plainly Dimidius replies, "I'll have some stew and a roll, if you please. Just water to drink." She nods and starts off, but Dimidius stops her. "Is there any way to get a hot bath, and maybe a bed for the night as well?"
"Shur." she replies. "You wan da bed alone or wit cumpany?" he eyes rove over him appraisingly, and though it is hidden by his cowl, Dimidius can feel his face flush. "Alone." he says, probably too abruptly, for the woman raises an eyebrow.
"Well, just alone for this night, anyways." Dimidius quickly says, hoping to cover. "I've traveled and long way and am very tired."
She shakes her head and says, "Nah problem. Just ne'er herd of a man too terd fer tha, is all. Wit da bath an da bed you owes wun haff crown."
Dimidius reaches into his coinpouch and produces a silver. "Will that do?" he asks.
The woman smiles and nods. "Tha enuff fer better cumpany 'n me, if'n you wan."
Dimidius just shakes his head. "No, that will be fine."
The woman shrugs and moves off to the kitchen, presumably to get his meal and arrange for his bed and bath. Dimidius eyes the rest of the patrons more closely now, the giant Seth and the smaller man still talking and well into their cups, and the other tables sitting fishermen it looks like. After only a few moments a steaming bowl of stew and a half-loaf of bread is brought to him by the world-weary woman. The mug of water looks to be fairly clear, and Dimidius is thankful for that. Many places have water that isn't much better than the weak ales that are served. He thanks the woman and begins to eat, realizing at the first bite just how hungry he is. He keeps an eye on the front door and the other patrons as his gloved hands move food to his mouth beneath his cowl.
Close to the end of his meal is when he notices the carriage move along the street and stop just outside the front door.
Dimidius watches the shoreline approach from his cabin window, the water softly illuminated by the many lights of the city as they draw near. He sighs as he listens to the heavy rain pound onto the deck of the ship over his head, and he pulls the cowl of his cloak upwards. The call of the captain from below decks is muffled, but Dimidius can hear the crew scrambling to slow the ship, the wind from the storm driving her to the docks too strongly. The Arbiter lurches as the crew brings her under control and the ship rolls softly to one side as stout ropes are thrown to waiting crews on shore. Within moments the Arbiter is at dock.
Making sure that he leaves nothing in his cabin, Dimidius fingers the few remaining coins he has, wondering if they'll be enough for at least one hot meal, bath and bed for the night. Shrugging to himself he pulls his cowl as far forward as he can, glad that they've docked close to dusk. He should be able to enter the city rather inconspicuously. Keeping his eyes towards the deck of the ship he makes his way off with the remaining passengers, aware of the captain's eyes on him. He knew the man hadn't wanted to take him, but thanks to his friends at the temple, along with a hefty donation to the captain personally, Dimidius had been taken aboard.
Following behind one of the other passengers Dimidius can just make out the outline of the docks through the rain, and he watches his footing, the wood slick. As he leaves the dock he can see few eyes which follow him, everyone keeping their heads down to protect their faces from the torrent. Soon his heavy black cloak is soaked, but still Dimidius keeps his cowl covering his face. Once past the gate at the dock the small port city of Tantras lies before him. The main thoroughfare is muddy and the thick, wet earth pulls at his boots as he moves along the street. The first block seems to be residences, and he keeps walking, looking for an inn or tavern.
"At least I'm on solid ground again." he thinks to himself. He struggles to lift one boot from the mud. "Kind of."
The sound of laughter ahead and to his right draws his attention, and Dimidius heads that way. A snake-like sign above a green door, faded and chipped with time and use, pronounces this place as "The Green Eel". Stomping his boots on the small wooden porch to clear them of what mud he can, Dimidius pushes open the door.
The smells of tabac smoke, fish, stale beer and cooking meat waft from the interior of The Green Eel and Dimidius slowly steps inside. Nary a head turns his way, and for that he is grateful. A fire roars in a central hearth, the heat from it making the Green Eel a bit more than warm, and wet cloaks and boots are layed haphazardly around the blaze. Dimidius just pulls his claok tighter, points himself towards one of the back tables, and walks. He keeps his head down, hoping not to be noticed, though it is apparent that the other patrons are busy with their own conversations.
"Sure is wet out tonight." one red-faced behemoth of a man says to the man next to him.
"Probably the first time you've had a bath in months, eh Seth?" the smaller man grinning, showing only a handful of good teeth.
The one named Seth just grins and says, "Maybe that's why yer wife was so friendly this afternoon. She was almost as wet as the weather!"
The smaller man glowers for a moment then breaks out into another grin. "Share and share alike, that's what I always say!"
Dimidius moves on past that table, inwardly frowning at such bawdy talk... and wondering if it is just talk. He seats himself at an empty table near the back and almost immediately a woman approaches his table. She's middle-aged he would guess, and her eyes are tired, her body starting to show signs of age. It's obvious she's been here for the entire day. Her clothes are smattered with spilled beer and grease, and she hardly looks at him as she asks, "Wha dooya wan ta ourda?"
Making sure to speak plainly Dimidius replies, "I'll have some stew and a roll, if you please. Just water to drink." She nods and starts off, but Dimidius stops her. "Is there any way to get a hot bath, and maybe a bed for the night as well?"
"Shur." she replies. "You wan da bed alone or wit cumpany?" he eyes rove over him appraisingly, and though it is hidden by his cowl, Dimidius can feel his face flush. "Alone." he says, probably too abruptly, for the woman raises an eyebrow.
"Well, just alone for this night, anyways." Dimidius quickly says, hoping to cover. "I've traveled and long way and am very tired."
She shakes her head and says, "Nah problem. Just ne'er herd of a man too terd fer tha, is all. Wit da bath an da bed you owes wun haff crown."
Dimidius reaches into his coinpouch and produces a silver. "Will that do?" he asks.
The woman smiles and nods. "Tha enuff fer better cumpany 'n me, if'n you wan."
Dimidius just shakes his head. "No, that will be fine."
The woman shrugs and moves off to the kitchen, presumably to get his meal and arrange for his bed and bath. Dimidius eyes the rest of the patrons more closely now, the giant Seth and the smaller man still talking and well into their cups, and the other tables sitting fishermen it looks like. After only a few moments a steaming bowl of stew and a half-loaf of bread is brought to him by the world-weary woman. The mug of water looks to be fairly clear, and Dimidius is thankful for that. Many places have water that isn't much better than the weak ales that are served. He thanks the woman and begins to eat, realizing at the first bite just how hungry he is. He keeps an eye on the front door and the other patrons as his gloved hands move food to his mouth beneath his cowl.
Close to the end of his meal is when he notices the carriage move along the street and stop just outside the front door.
Hope and Glory - by Arislyn on 17:56 01 Jan 2005
As she makes her way down the muddied, sodden street, Widget ponders the latest addition she would be bringing back to the temple. Tucked away beneath her tunic in an oiled pouch is the formula for an alchemical concoction that could prove highly useful to the church, a liquid that eats away at all but the hardest metals yet leaves the flesh untouched. If correctly harnessed, it could make the etching and manipulation of metals much safer for smiths. Despite the fact that the substance could easily be carried in a leather waterskin, Widget had decided that it may be safer to simply bring back the formula rather than a sample. During the demonstration of its use, the stuff had put off the most horrible fumes. The thought of accidentally spilling it and having to live with the smell for the entire trip home does not sit well with the gnomish woman. That and the last thing she wants is to have some poor soul mistake her waterskin for something that actually carries...well...water. While it may not eat through flesh, she is also fairly certain that it isn't healthy to imbibe or to breath. Besides, the temple alchemists should easily be able to reproduce the substance.
Widget stops and glances around the still unfamiliar streets, her gaze moving upward to take in the signs swinging above shops, each one denoting a name or profession. As she peers upwards, a swiftly moving man in a long cloak strides past her, his momentum whipping his soaked cloak around to smack her full in the face. Not seeming to notice her, the man continues on, the heavy cloth dragging across her cowl and pulling it down, exposing her head to the chill rain.
The young, gnomish priestess stumbles and sputters as the cold water seems to make a bee-line down her back and straight to the edge of her smallclothes. Quickly, she reaches up to pull her hood back up over her pale hair, its color like that of cornsilk in brightest sunlight. Pale brows furrow for a moment over sky blue eyes before she simply harrumphs and lets her irritation over such rudeness pass. Once again, she looks up at the signs, this time quickly identifying The Green Eel, the very establishment she had been staying at during her trip. Grinning with anticipation of being out of the rain, she jogs lightly across the street, carelessly splashing mud upon her pants as she goes.
Pushing the door open, Widget is greeted by the same smells of the hearth that have greeted her for the past three days of her stay. She takes off her cloak as she walks towards the crackling fire, one hand holding it while the other ruffles through her slightly damp hair. Carelessly, she tosses the cloak on a peg hanging by the fire, fairly certain that no one is going to try and take it. After all, who else here would it fit?
Widget looks about for an empty seat and finds one not too far from the fire, near a group of men playing cards. For a second she peers over the edge of her table like an errant child, everything too large for her. However, after a second of sitting and being happy to be inside, Widget adjusts her legs, pulling them underneath herself so her butt sits squarely on her heels, adding a few inches to her height.
Good thing I'm wearing my work clothes, she thinks. I'm going to have some serious stains to get out of these later. It's at this point that she realizes that she'll not be the only one to have a mud-covered ass if she doesn't remember to wipe off her seat before she leaves. Widget merely shrugs to herself and makes a mental note to not forget.
As she makes her way down the muddied, sodden street, Widget ponders the latest addition she would be bringing back to the temple. Tucked away beneath her tunic in an oiled pouch is the formula for an alchemical concoction that could prove highly useful to the church, a liquid that eats away at all but the hardest metals yet leaves the flesh untouched. If correctly harnessed, it could make the etching and manipulation of metals much safer for smiths. Despite the fact that the substance could easily be carried in a leather waterskin, Widget had decided that it may be safer to simply bring back the formula rather than a sample. During the demonstration of its use, the stuff had put off the most horrible fumes. The thought of accidentally spilling it and having to live with the smell for the entire trip home does not sit well with the gnomish woman. That and the last thing she wants is to have some poor soul mistake her waterskin for something that actually carries...well...water. While it may not eat through flesh, she is also fairly certain that it isn't healthy to imbibe or to breath. Besides, the temple alchemists should easily be able to reproduce the substance.
Widget stops and glances around the still unfamiliar streets, her gaze moving upward to take in the signs swinging above shops, each one denoting a name or profession. As she peers upwards, a swiftly moving man in a long cloak strides past her, his momentum whipping his soaked cloak around to smack her full in the face. Not seeming to notice her, the man continues on, the heavy cloth dragging across her cowl and pulling it down, exposing her head to the chill rain.
The young, gnomish priestess stumbles and sputters as the cold water seems to make a bee-line down her back and straight to the edge of her smallclothes. Quickly, she reaches up to pull her hood back up over her pale hair, its color like that of cornsilk in brightest sunlight. Pale brows furrow for a moment over sky blue eyes before she simply harrumphs and lets her irritation over such rudeness pass. Once again, she looks up at the signs, this time quickly identifying The Green Eel, the very establishment she had been staying at during her trip. Grinning with anticipation of being out of the rain, she jogs lightly across the street, carelessly splashing mud upon her pants as she goes.
Pushing the door open, Widget is greeted by the same smells of the hearth that have greeted her for the past three days of her stay. She takes off her cloak as she walks towards the crackling fire, one hand holding it while the other ruffles through her slightly damp hair. Carelessly, she tosses the cloak on a peg hanging by the fire, fairly certain that no one is going to try and take it. After all, who else here would it fit?
Widget looks about for an empty seat and finds one not too far from the fire, near a group of men playing cards. For a second she peers over the edge of her table like an errant child, everything too large for her. However, after a second of sitting and being happy to be inside, Widget adjusts her legs, pulling them underneath herself so her butt sits squarely on her heels, adding a few inches to her height.
Good thing I'm wearing my work clothes, she thinks. I'm going to have some serious stains to get out of these later. It's at this point that she realizes that she'll not be the only one to have a mud-covered ass if she doesn't remember to wipe off her seat before she leaves. Widget merely shrugs to herself and makes a mental note to not forget.
Hope and Glory - by EvilLuke on 17:07 02 Jan 2005
The carriage outside rocks slightly as if a great weight is moving about or some sort of brawl is occuring. It all becomes academic when the door rockets open and a woman steps out onto the walk only to then slam into and through the door to the inn.
She appears to be human, of average height and slim, though her pretty face is greatly marred by a frown like the edge of a thunderstorm. She holds an expensively patterned great cloak of fur and leather close to herself as she reaches into a pocket and removes something with her right hand.
When she brings it out again she throws a small platinum coin with the speed of a sling-shot at the bar area of the restaurant, "I am damnedly cold and tired. I demand hot food, a hotter bath, and a warm bed for the night for myself."
She points over her shoulder, "My travelling companion may also have hot food and a bath. For a room he is on his own and definitely not with me."
Seeing the reticence on the face of the barkeep from such a sudden, and remarkably violent, appearance, she hauls her hand back and sends another two platinum coins directly at his head. "There, better?"
She flicks her long dark hair and scans the room with blue eyes while she squints at the occupants. Finally she locates a seat at a table alone and sits down, throwing the great cloak over the chair next to her. Her clothes beneath the cloak are even more sumptous than the cloak itself. A deep burgundy silk blouse is tucked into a pair of dark black slacks. She props feet within black snakeskin boots onto the chair opposite the cloak while she waits for her food.
The carriage outside rocks slightly as if a great weight is moving about or some sort of brawl is occuring. It all becomes academic when the door rockets open and a woman steps out onto the walk only to then slam into and through the door to the inn.
She appears to be human, of average height and slim, though her pretty face is greatly marred by a frown like the edge of a thunderstorm. She holds an expensively patterned great cloak of fur and leather close to herself as she reaches into a pocket and removes something with her right hand.
When she brings it out again she throws a small platinum coin with the speed of a sling-shot at the bar area of the restaurant, "I am damnedly cold and tired. I demand hot food, a hotter bath, and a warm bed for the night for myself."
She points over her shoulder, "My travelling companion may also have hot food and a bath. For a room he is on his own and definitely not with me."
Seeing the reticence on the face of the barkeep from such a sudden, and remarkably violent, appearance, she hauls her hand back and sends another two platinum coins directly at his head. "There, better?"
She flicks her long dark hair and scans the room with blue eyes while she squints at the occupants. Finally she locates a seat at a table alone and sits down, throwing the great cloak over the chair next to her. Her clothes beneath the cloak are even more sumptous than the cloak itself. A deep burgundy silk blouse is tucked into a pair of dark black slacks. She props feet within black snakeskin boots onto the chair opposite the cloak while she waits for her food.
Hope and Glory - by DeadpoolNakago on 09:03 03 Jan 2005
The carriage moves a second time as the final occupant follows behind the hasty and agitated woman. The clanging of his armor can be heard to all as he steps through the doors into the tavern.
The being is a massive brute, almost 6 and a half feet, and with plenty of muscle over him. The body looks even more bulky and stock with the banded armor around him. A shield is slung over his back, and his weapon, and chain flail, is tucked away as well.
As he walks through the tavern to join his companion, a casual glance at him shows that his shield carries the symbol of Tyr on it.
Yet what seems odd the most is the man's face, entirely unhuman, he appears to be of half-orcish stock, definently not as monstrous as some others can be, his long hair is clean and tied back. The most obvious blemish on his face being the "X" shaped scar over the center his eyes.
Yet his body, the suit, polished to perfection, his well kept hair, ad despite his lone facial disfigurement, hint that he has received a unique benefit that few, human or half orc, have. His appearance suggests a regal upbringing and most definently martial traiaing, possibly by the finest of fighters and warriors. Truly, he has escaped a fate almost 90% of the human world cannot. He is moneyed.
He calmly walks through the tavern, casting a glance about the setting, and settles next to his companion, hardly saying a word.
The carriage moves a second time as the final occupant follows behind the hasty and agitated woman. The clanging of his armor can be heard to all as he steps through the doors into the tavern.
The being is a massive brute, almost 6 and a half feet, and with plenty of muscle over him. The body looks even more bulky and stock with the banded armor around him. A shield is slung over his back, and his weapon, and chain flail, is tucked away as well.
As he walks through the tavern to join his companion, a casual glance at him shows that his shield carries the symbol of Tyr on it.
Yet what seems odd the most is the man's face, entirely unhuman, he appears to be of half-orcish stock, definently not as monstrous as some others can be, his long hair is clean and tied back. The most obvious blemish on his face being the "X" shaped scar over the center his eyes.
Yet his body, the suit, polished to perfection, his well kept hair, ad despite his lone facial disfigurement, hint that he has received a unique benefit that few, human or half orc, have. His appearance suggests a regal upbringing and most definently martial traiaing, possibly by the finest of fighters and warriors. Truly, he has escaped a fate almost 90% of the human world cannot. He is moneyed.
He calmly walks through the tavern, casting a glance about the setting, and settles next to his companion, hardly saying a word.
Hope and Glory - by Takeshi M.F. Kovacs on 20:02 03 Jan 2005
The slim elf was keeping his eyes on the muddy path as he trudged between the two buildings. His eyes may have been averted, but his ears had compensated for his visual neglect by picking up the sound of a squeaky second-story hinge. There were several reasons why someone would hastily open their shutters at night, but only one concerned him at the moment....
Chamber pot!
He tumbled forward over some crates and vaguely heard the 'sploosh' that drenched the space he was previously occupying. He waggled a thin remonstrative finger towards the figure silhouetted in the window.
Not so long ago (was it only thirty years?), he had been new to the human cities and their inhabitants' nasty game of 'muck the walker'. A smile came to his lips in memory of that eventful first night.... He could laugh about it now, but back then he had been infuriated that a mere human would insult a silver elf in such a fashion. The world appeared to be solely made of contrasts to a youngster of 88 years. Now that he was nearly 120 years old, he saw far fewer things as black or white. Most things were now a shade of gray, neither good nor bad but mainly indifferent to the opinions of one lone elf.
As he rounded the corner and approached the Green Eel, his introspection ceased. 'Aust, best put your mind on your business or mayhaps you'll suffer the ultimate penalty for your carelessness' he chided himself. Then he pushed his way inside and made for a spot near the fire.
The slim elf was keeping his eyes on the muddy path as he trudged between the two buildings. His eyes may have been averted, but his ears had compensated for his visual neglect by picking up the sound of a squeaky second-story hinge. There were several reasons why someone would hastily open their shutters at night, but only one concerned him at the moment....
Chamber pot!
He tumbled forward over some crates and vaguely heard the 'sploosh' that drenched the space he was previously occupying. He waggled a thin remonstrative finger towards the figure silhouetted in the window.
Not so long ago (was it only thirty years?), he had been new to the human cities and their inhabitants' nasty game of 'muck the walker'. A smile came to his lips in memory of that eventful first night.... He could laugh about it now, but back then he had been infuriated that a mere human would insult a silver elf in such a fashion. The world appeared to be solely made of contrasts to a youngster of 88 years. Now that he was nearly 120 years old, he saw far fewer things as black or white. Most things were now a shade of gray, neither good nor bad but mainly indifferent to the opinions of one lone elf.
As he rounded the corner and approached the Green Eel, his introspection ceased. 'Aust, best put your mind on your business or mayhaps you'll suffer the ultimate penalty for your carelessness' he chided himself. Then he pushed his way inside and made for a spot near the fire.
Hope and Glory - by Haruchai on 19:06 04 Jan 2005
Dimidius watches as the small gnomish woman enters, berefts herself of her cloak, and has a seat. The barkeep sends her the briefest of nods and Dimidius assumes that she must be a regular. How interesting. He turns his attention back to the carriage just as a rather comley, apparently human, woman barges into the establishment. Her demands are met, somewhat reluctantly, by the barkeep, but as soon as the additional two coins come whizzing at his head he hurries to comply. Beneath his cowl Dimidius raises one eyebrow. "Surely she knows better." he thinks to himself. "To throw around such a sum of money in public..." He glances around the room, some of the other patrons already eyeing her fanciful clothes, her shapely body and most of all her moneypurse...
Only to then have their attention drawn to the brute who enters after her. Again Dimidius finds himself slightly surprised. He quickly takes stock of the huge form, armored and prominently displaying the symbol of Tyr, and casts aside his first impression that this half-breed is nothing more than a thug. Indeed, he seems to be well kept, almost polished. "Interesting." he muses to himself.
He waves over the serving woman, and asks when his bed might be ready.
"Well, we only 'ave da wun bed avalible. I'm afrayd you've bin outbot." She shrugs sympathetically in the direction of the new woman and lays down the two coins he'd given her earlier. Dimidius sighs. He starts to stand, when a slender form, surely that of an elf, slips in through the dorrway, almost silent, and makes its way towards the fire. The figure deftly skirts around the puddle the gnomish woman's cloak is dripping onto the floor, and with a fluidity that only an elf can possess, the figure seats itself. The small sighting of pale-ish skin confirms the elven nature of the newcomer, and Dimidius feels his throat catch. The serving woman has already moved that way.
Aust can see the serving woman approach, and she asks him if he'd like anything to eat, and informs him that they have no more rooms for the night.
The barkeep approaches the table with the finely dressed lady and sets down two heaping steaming servings of stew, on trenchers, along with fresh bread and cold ale. He smiles as amicably as can be mustered for one who has had a fortune thrown at his head and asks if she would like anything else. He eyes the man-brute warily, but remains polite and reserved.
One of the cooks from the back has come out of the kitchen, setting before the gnomish woman a generous helping of stew and fresh bread. He smiles and says, "Busy night." as he glances around. The regular serving woman has just moved away from a somewhat short and slender figure garbed entirely in black towards an elf at the fire, while the barkeep almost grovels before his newfound benefactor.
"Maybe I'll just be on my way." Dimidius says to nobody in particular, and starts to move towards the door when he notices Seth and the smaller man standing. Dimidius can see that they're heading towards the human woman, and he begins to edge his way towards the door a bit quicker. He already knows, or can guess, the demeanor of the two men, and he doubts this lass will take it kindly.
Obviously intoxication, and only slightly smaller than the woman's traveling partner, seems to have given Seth the needed courage to approach the fair lady. His speech is slightly slurred as he leers down at her and says, "Dare's only wun ting a wo-woman like you wants in a like this place..." His smaller companion starts giggling and Seth re-iterates, "...place like this..." His hand is already moving to his groin and his codpiece....
Dimidius groans and looks about, wondering if anyone else has noticed what is likely to be a spectacle in the making.
Dimidius watches as the small gnomish woman enters, berefts herself of her cloak, and has a seat. The barkeep sends her the briefest of nods and Dimidius assumes that she must be a regular. How interesting. He turns his attention back to the carriage just as a rather comley, apparently human, woman barges into the establishment. Her demands are met, somewhat reluctantly, by the barkeep, but as soon as the additional two coins come whizzing at his head he hurries to comply. Beneath his cowl Dimidius raises one eyebrow. "Surely she knows better." he thinks to himself. "To throw around such a sum of money in public..." He glances around the room, some of the other patrons already eyeing her fanciful clothes, her shapely body and most of all her moneypurse...
Only to then have their attention drawn to the brute who enters after her. Again Dimidius finds himself slightly surprised. He quickly takes stock of the huge form, armored and prominently displaying the symbol of Tyr, and casts aside his first impression that this half-breed is nothing more than a thug. Indeed, he seems to be well kept, almost polished. "Interesting." he muses to himself.
He waves over the serving woman, and asks when his bed might be ready.
"Well, we only 'ave da wun bed avalible. I'm afrayd you've bin outbot." She shrugs sympathetically in the direction of the new woman and lays down the two coins he'd given her earlier. Dimidius sighs. He starts to stand, when a slender form, surely that of an elf, slips in through the dorrway, almost silent, and makes its way towards the fire. The figure deftly skirts around the puddle the gnomish woman's cloak is dripping onto the floor, and with a fluidity that only an elf can possess, the figure seats itself. The small sighting of pale-ish skin confirms the elven nature of the newcomer, and Dimidius feels his throat catch. The serving woman has already moved that way.
Aust can see the serving woman approach, and she asks him if he'd like anything to eat, and informs him that they have no more rooms for the night.
The barkeep approaches the table with the finely dressed lady and sets down two heaping steaming servings of stew, on trenchers, along with fresh bread and cold ale. He smiles as amicably as can be mustered for one who has had a fortune thrown at his head and asks if she would like anything else. He eyes the man-brute warily, but remains polite and reserved.
One of the cooks from the back has come out of the kitchen, setting before the gnomish woman a generous helping of stew and fresh bread. He smiles and says, "Busy night." as he glances around. The regular serving woman has just moved away from a somewhat short and slender figure garbed entirely in black towards an elf at the fire, while the barkeep almost grovels before his newfound benefactor.
"Maybe I'll just be on my way." Dimidius says to nobody in particular, and starts to move towards the door when he notices Seth and the smaller man standing. Dimidius can see that they're heading towards the human woman, and he begins to edge his way towards the door a bit quicker. He already knows, or can guess, the demeanor of the two men, and he doubts this lass will take it kindly.
Obviously intoxication, and only slightly smaller than the woman's traveling partner, seems to have given Seth the needed courage to approach the fair lady. His speech is slightly slurred as he leers down at her and says, "Dare's only wun ting a wo-woman like you wants in a like this place..." His smaller companion starts giggling and Seth re-iterates, "...place like this..." His hand is already moving to his groin and his codpiece....
Dimidius groans and looks about, wondering if anyone else has noticed what is likely to be a spectacle in the making.
Hope and Glory - by Arislyn on 19:36 04 Jan 2005
Though unaware of the stranger who now edges towards the door, Widget's thoughts mirror his own. Hailing from a city where the thieves guild works beneath the thinnest of disguises, she is all too aware of what happens to people who flash their money about so wantonly.
After the barkeep has finished waiting upon the lady, the tiny gnome raises a surprisingly square and strong hand to get his attention. "Stew and ale, please," she says with a smile. The barkeep silently nods his acknowledgment and continues to the back to bark a quick order to the cook.
It is at this point that the two men approach the comely female. The one sways slightly on his feet, the effects of his drink obvious to any with two good eyes in their head and two good ears to hear the slur of his words.
Widget can't help but smiled bemusedly at the scene. Judging by her actions when she first walked in, this woman is not the sort to take such advances well and things could get out of hand. Oh, this is going to be rich.... Widget has little doubt that the Tyran will step in before anything becomes too ugly, though, those of the God of Justice being as they are. But, just in case, Widget reaches back to remove the warhammer that she keeps strapped across her back prop it on against her chair.
Though unaware of the stranger who now edges towards the door, Widget's thoughts mirror his own. Hailing from a city where the thieves guild works beneath the thinnest of disguises, she is all too aware of what happens to people who flash their money about so wantonly.
After the barkeep has finished waiting upon the lady, the tiny gnome raises a surprisingly square and strong hand to get his attention. "Stew and ale, please," she says with a smile. The barkeep silently nods his acknowledgment and continues to the back to bark a quick order to the cook.
It is at this point that the two men approach the comely female. The one sways slightly on his feet, the effects of his drink obvious to any with two good eyes in their head and two good ears to hear the slur of his words.
Widget can't help but smiled bemusedly at the scene. Judging by her actions when she first walked in, this woman is not the sort to take such advances well and things could get out of hand. Oh, this is going to be rich.... Widget has little doubt that the Tyran will step in before anything becomes too ugly, though, those of the God of Justice being as they are. But, just in case, Widget reaches back to remove the warhammer that she keeps strapped across her back prop it on against her chair.
Hope and Glory - by EvilLuke on 00:57 05 Jan 2005
The human woman looks up at the towering fellow and his rude gesture, "Oh, you mean a dry place to sleep? Surely you don't even dare imagine I'm here to have a go at the soiled disaster area you call your genitals. I am going to be upfront and honest about this from the beginning so no one can claim I misled you or called you on.
"One, I do not desire you physically, or any of your ilk, in any way shape, manner or form. Two, you are crossing paths with a rather dangerous wizard, and one who doesn't take kindly to louts. Three, my travelling companion can kill orcs with his bear hands, what good do you think your adled wits will do you?"
OOC: And holding to cast Sleep if necessary
The human woman looks up at the towering fellow and his rude gesture, "Oh, you mean a dry place to sleep? Surely you don't even dare imagine I'm here to have a go at the soiled disaster area you call your genitals. I am going to be upfront and honest about this from the beginning so no one can claim I misled you or called you on.
"One, I do not desire you physically, or any of your ilk, in any way shape, manner or form. Two, you are crossing paths with a rather dangerous wizard, and one who doesn't take kindly to louts. Three, my travelling companion can kill orcs with his bear hands, what good do you think your adled wits will do you?"
OOC: And holding to cast Sleep if necessary
Hope and Glory - by Takeshi M.F. Kovacs on 07:19 05 Jan 2005
"Pity about the lack of rooms. My own fault for being tardy."
Aust notices the quantity of stew/bread delivered to Mistress Gnome. "That looks very good. One of the same for me, please."
| Quote (Haruchai @ Jan. 04 2005,18:06) |
| He starts to stand, when a slender form, surely that of an elf, slips in through the dorrway, almost silent, and makes its way towards the fire. The figure deftly skirts around the puddle the gnomish woman's cloak is dripping onto the floor, and with a fluidity that only an elf can possess, the figure seats itself. The small sighting of pale-ish skin confirms the elven nature of the newcomer, and Dimidius feels his throat catch. The serving woman has already moved that way. Aust can see the serving woman approach, and she asks him if he'd like anything to eat, and informs him that they have no more rooms for the night. |
"Pity about the lack of rooms. My own fault for being tardy."
Aust notices the quantity of stew/bread delivered to Mistress Gnome. "That looks very good. One of the same for me, please."
Hope and Glory - by Takeshi M.F. Kovacs on 07:25 05 Jan 2005
Muttering to himself, "Dinner AND entertainment? Must be my lucky night..." He scoots his chair to the side to afford a better view of the spectacle.
Too bad he had no time to make a wager...
| Quote (EvilLuke @ Jan. 04 2005,23:57) |
| The human woman looks up at the towering fellow ..... "One, I do not desire you physically, or any of your ilk, in any way shape, manner or form. Two, you are crossing paths with a rather dangerous wizard, and one who doesn't take kindly to louts. Three, my travelling companion can kill orcs with his bear hands, what good do you think your adled wits will do you?" |
Muttering to himself, "Dinner AND entertainment? Must be my lucky night..." He scoots his chair to the side to afford a better view of the spectacle.
Too bad he had no time to make a wager...
Hope and Glory - by Haruchai on 15:03 05 Jan 2005
Some of the men playing cards have stopped and are looking on, smiling lewdly at the exchange between the woman and the swaying idiot before her. A few of them smelling of fish and probably the crew of some boat in the harbor, seem eager to see how things play out.
Widget, Dimidius and Aust can see one of the fellows who is still seated palm a dagger into his right hand, though the Tyrran and the lady have no such vantage point. Evidently someone is looking to make a profit no matter which way this encounter goes...
Some of the men playing cards have stopped and are looking on, smiling lewdly at the exchange between the woman and the swaying idiot before her. A few of them smelling of fish and probably the crew of some boat in the harbor, seem eager to see how things play out.
Widget, Dimidius and Aust can see one of the fellows who is still seated palm a dagger into his right hand, though the Tyrran and the lady have no such vantage point. Evidently someone is looking to make a profit no matter which way this encounter goes...
Hope and Glory - by Arislyn on 17:06 05 Jan 2005
The momentary flash of metal in firelight catches Widget's eye and she spies the palmed dagger. Inwardly, she sighs. In all honesty, this isn't the priestess' fight. The woman was being foolish and rude to begin with and, frankly, has brought down whatever plays out tonight upon herself.
It's none of my business, Widget tells herself firmly. If the fight spills over to me, I'll defend myself. Nothing more.
However, there is no denying the nagging voice in her head that adds, But does that warrant letting her be hurt or killed?
Oh, for the love of...., she sighs quietly to herself and considers the situation. Perhaps there is a way to diffuse the situation. If it was suddenly obvious that he was up to something, the he wouldn't be able to pull off whatever he is getting ready to do.
She chews thoughtfully upon a piece of bread as she keeps an eye glued firmly upon the man with the dagger. Dinner...lots of people.....her mind wanders back to the kitchen at her temple and, quite unexpectedly, a smile creeps across her face.
Thank you, Brother Kastik, oh devout and gaseous one!, she thinks with a chuckle. No matter what they are doing, who can resist the urge to turn and see who farts? Especially when it is not a timid and polite "toot', the shy emission of an embarrassed schoolgirl but, rather the full-bodied roar of a garrolous warrior, the force of it near enough to lift one's buttocks inches from the seat?
She watches the man closely, hoping that all other eyes are turned towards the scene unfolding across the room. It will take good timing for her to pull this off. The noise must be created at the same time that the dagger-wielder makes his move, whatever that may be...
OOC: Preparing to use Ghost Sound to make loud, flappy cheek noise.
The momentary flash of metal in firelight catches Widget's eye and she spies the palmed dagger. Inwardly, she sighs. In all honesty, this isn't the priestess' fight. The woman was being foolish and rude to begin with and, frankly, has brought down whatever plays out tonight upon herself.
It's none of my business, Widget tells herself firmly. If the fight spills over to me, I'll defend myself. Nothing more.
However, there is no denying the nagging voice in her head that adds, But does that warrant letting her be hurt or killed?
Oh, for the love of...., she sighs quietly to herself and considers the situation. Perhaps there is a way to diffuse the situation. If it was suddenly obvious that he was up to something, the he wouldn't be able to pull off whatever he is getting ready to do.
She chews thoughtfully upon a piece of bread as she keeps an eye glued firmly upon the man with the dagger. Dinner...lots of people.....her mind wanders back to the kitchen at her temple and, quite unexpectedly, a smile creeps across her face.
Thank you, Brother Kastik, oh devout and gaseous one!, she thinks with a chuckle. No matter what they are doing, who can resist the urge to turn and see who farts? Especially when it is not a timid and polite "toot', the shy emission of an embarrassed schoolgirl but, rather the full-bodied roar of a garrolous warrior, the force of it near enough to lift one's buttocks inches from the seat?
She watches the man closely, hoping that all other eyes are turned towards the scene unfolding across the room. It will take good timing for her to pull this off. The noise must be created at the same time that the dagger-wielder makes his move, whatever that may be...
OOC: Preparing to use Ghost Sound to make loud, flappy cheek noise.
Hope and Glory - by DeadpoolNakago on 20:09 05 Jan 2005
Speaking in a manner unbefitting for any usual orc or half orc, the armored giant's speech is quite regal and refined. Obviously, the lack of intelligence that is common for his ilk, seems to be missing for this man.
Articulating his words carefully, the man steps between the Wizard maiden and the drunken instigator. His body language is relaxed and obviously quite open for attack. Knowing that a defensive demeanor produces offensive results, he tries to keep himself open in order to quell the situation.
The voice is bass and deep, yet kindly and full of concern, "Sir, I think you should turn away from this maiden. She has refused your entreaties and deigns not to be with you. If perhaps you may spend your time regaining your senses, I could suggest ways to ensure your safe retun home, given your impaired state."
---
and as ooc: Like he said, he's leaving himself purposefully open to attack. Although, if possible, lets get a good sweep of detect evil in the bar, because you can never tell...
Speaking in a manner unbefitting for any usual orc or half orc, the armored giant's speech is quite regal and refined. Obviously, the lack of intelligence that is common for his ilk, seems to be missing for this man.
Articulating his words carefully, the man steps between the Wizard maiden and the drunken instigator. His body language is relaxed and obviously quite open for attack. Knowing that a defensive demeanor produces offensive results, he tries to keep himself open in order to quell the situation.
The voice is bass and deep, yet kindly and full of concern, "Sir, I think you should turn away from this maiden. She has refused your entreaties and deigns not to be with you. If perhaps you may spend your time regaining your senses, I could suggest ways to ensure your safe retun home, given your impaired state."
---
and as ooc: Like he said, he's leaving himself purposefully open to attack. Although, if possible, lets get a good sweep of detect evil in the bar, because you can never tell...
Hope and Glory - by Takeshi M.F. Kovacs on 06:49 06 Jan 2005
Aust quirks an eyebrow at the sight of a man palming a dagger. "Probably in the guild, but certainly of low rank. Any robber of worth wouldn't make a try with all these eyes around." thinks the elf. "Good luck that this brawl is starting BEFORE my food arrives. I wouldn't want to pay for a nice meal only to see it spilled upon this dirty floor."
Aust quirks an eyebrow at the sight of a man palming a dagger. "Probably in the guild, but certainly of low rank. Any robber of worth wouldn't make a try with all these eyes around." thinks the elf. "Good luck that this brawl is starting BEFORE my food arrives. I wouldn't want to pay for a nice meal only to see it spilled upon this dirty floor."
Hope and Glory - by Haruchai on 14:54 06 Jan 2005
Dimidius watches as the armored half-orc stands, placing himself between the drunken sailor and the lady. His speech is refined and he articulates himself well. Dimidius has to admit that he is impressed. However his attention soon turns back to the other men, at the table just behind the ladie's. Most of them are now standing, and the floor appears to be getting crowded very quickly.
Along with Dimidius, Aust and Widget see a few more, less conventional weapons appear. Fisherman gaffs.
The drunk man stumbles back a bit at the words of the Tyrran, and a small bit of drool runs down his chin as he says, "Yer not invi.. not.. welcome. Dusn't she like ma frinds?" he makes a half attempt at gesturing to the table behind them, and that's when all the shit hits the fan...
----
OOC: refer to our out of thread discussion for combat
Dimidius watches as the armored half-orc stands, placing himself between the drunken sailor and the lady. His speech is refined and he articulates himself well. Dimidius has to admit that he is impressed. However his attention soon turns back to the other men, at the table just behind the ladie's. Most of them are now standing, and the floor appears to be getting crowded very quickly.
Along with Dimidius, Aust and Widget see a few more, less conventional weapons appear. Fisherman gaffs.
The drunk man stumbles back a bit at the words of the Tyrran, and a small bit of drool runs down his chin as he says, "Yer not invi.. not.. welcome. Dusn't she like ma frinds?" he makes a half attempt at gesturing to the table behind them, and that's when all the shit hits the fan...
----
OOC: refer to our out of thread discussion for combat
Hope and Glory - by Haruchai on 14:09 08 Jan 2005
Eyes turn towards the slender figure by the fire, a slim longsword glowing softly in the firelight as Aust gazes stonily at the men with the barbed hooks as he says,
"I don't see any fish nearby, so kindly put aside those gaffs. Or, in simpler terms, use only your fists unless you want me to use this sword."
The men share a glance, 8 of them in all, and they do seem to believe that they have numbers on their side. They break into action simultaneously, four of them moving towards Aust, and the other four splitting up with two towards the lady and two towards the Tyrran. Seth and his smaller companion begin to move as well, and it becomes quickly apparent that he was not as drunk as he seemed. Still, the lady is quicker.
"Soth'gan meara!" she says, the words of power flowing from her lips with a practiced tone, her hands moving before her in a fan-like gesture. The half-orc, who is closest to her, feels the tingle of magic as it emanates outwards from her in all directions. He feels his body grow heavy but he resists the pull of the Weave, four of the eight men are not so lucky, and slump to the floor as unconsciousness claims them. His hand finds the haft of his flail.
Aust, however, is quicker still, his cloak billowing behind him as he tucks his sword at his side and dives, rolling between two chairs and under a table, then rolling gracefully to his feet. He is several feet away from the half-orc, two of the gaff-wielding men between them. The blade of the longsword darts outwards, the tip piercing the arm of one man. The man cries out, drops his gaff, and Aust is rewarded with a spray of blood from the man's arm. He must have pierced an artery.
Dimidius steps back, watching as events unfold, unsure as to whether he should interfere or not.
Widget watches from her table, also unsure, at the moment, if the fight will reach her or not. The barkeep and the serving woman have already taken cover. Her spell still lies on her lips, and her mace is at the ready, should the need arise.
The half-orc lunges out with one massive, gauntleted hand. One man immediately crumples to the floor, making nary a whimper as his jaw begins to swell. Then two men sudenly lie unconscious on the floor.
Aust moves swiftly, as does the lady. The elf's longsword arcs throught the air a second time, and one of the two remaining men dances back swiftly, the deadly blade hitting empty air where he once was. Unfortunately he stumbles over the prone body of an unconscious colleague. "Fuck!" he shouts. Though he quickly regains his balance, that is the only opening that Dimidius needs. His arm pistons outwards, driving into the man's temple. Though he has regained his footing, his gaff drops to the floor and his eyes appear to be gazing at something very far away.... While the lady's staff becomes a blur about her, holding her attacker at bay.
The small cohort of Seth's decides that this fight is not for him, and bolts for the door. Widget, however, sees her opening and the spell rolls from her lips.
"Granber fas!" she manages to intone, and everyone near the fleeing man swears he drops a load in his pants as he flees. Widget can't help but laugh.
Seth and the one remaining man see that it is readily apparent that the numbers have turned against them, and the one man drops his gaff even as Seth puts up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
The barkeep peeks out from behind his bar as things quiet and surveys the damage. Nothing broken except one chair leg. "I think we suddenly have some rooms available." he says.
Eyes turn towards the slender figure by the fire, a slim longsword glowing softly in the firelight as Aust gazes stonily at the men with the barbed hooks as he says,
"I don't see any fish nearby, so kindly put aside those gaffs. Or, in simpler terms, use only your fists unless you want me to use this sword."
The men share a glance, 8 of them in all, and they do seem to believe that they have numbers on their side. They break into action simultaneously, four of them moving towards Aust, and the other four splitting up with two towards the lady and two towards the Tyrran. Seth and his smaller companion begin to move as well, and it becomes quickly apparent that he was not as drunk as he seemed. Still, the lady is quicker.
"Soth'gan meara!" she says, the words of power flowing from her lips with a practiced tone, her hands moving before her in a fan-like gesture. The half-orc, who is closest to her, feels the tingle of magic as it emanates outwards from her in all directions. He feels his body grow heavy but he resists the pull of the Weave, four of the eight men are not so lucky, and slump to the floor as unconsciousness claims them. His hand finds the haft of his flail.
Aust, however, is quicker still, his cloak billowing behind him as he tucks his sword at his side and dives, rolling between two chairs and under a table, then rolling gracefully to his feet. He is several feet away from the half-orc, two of the gaff-wielding men between them. The blade of the longsword darts outwards, the tip piercing the arm of one man. The man cries out, drops his gaff, and Aust is rewarded with a spray of blood from the man's arm. He must have pierced an artery.
Dimidius steps back, watching as events unfold, unsure as to whether he should interfere or not.
Widget watches from her table, also unsure, at the moment, if the fight will reach her or not. The barkeep and the serving woman have already taken cover. Her spell still lies on her lips, and her mace is at the ready, should the need arise.
The half-orc lunges out with one massive, gauntleted hand. One man immediately crumples to the floor, making nary a whimper as his jaw begins to swell. Then two men sudenly lie unconscious on the floor.
Aust moves swiftly, as does the lady. The elf's longsword arcs throught the air a second time, and one of the two remaining men dances back swiftly, the deadly blade hitting empty air where he once was. Unfortunately he stumbles over the prone body of an unconscious colleague. "Fuck!" he shouts. Though he quickly regains his balance, that is the only opening that Dimidius needs. His arm pistons outwards, driving into the man's temple. Though he has regained his footing, his gaff drops to the floor and his eyes appear to be gazing at something very far away.... While the lady's staff becomes a blur about her, holding her attacker at bay.
The small cohort of Seth's decides that this fight is not for him, and bolts for the door. Widget, however, sees her opening and the spell rolls from her lips.
"Granber fas!" she manages to intone, and everyone near the fleeing man swears he drops a load in his pants as he flees. Widget can't help but laugh.
Seth and the one remaining man see that it is readily apparent that the numbers have turned against them, and the one man drops his gaff even as Seth puts up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
The barkeep peeks out from behind his bar as things quiet and surveys the damage. Nothing broken except one chair leg. "I think we suddenly have some rooms available." he says.