Reply With QuoteOOC: Crud. What made me put wives? You are correct, the elf is the only one. Edited.
Alright, I'm off for the evening. Goodnight, all.
"Nothing much," the man replied, pretending to be humble. As the former heir to a very wealthy noble family, he relished any attention that he got, whether it was positive or negative, thought fear got old after a while. "I am a mere dabbler in the powers of life and death. My skin has hardened, my body's ability to deal with foreign particles has developed beyond the natural, and my very touch can drain the life from lesser beings, but still my studies are only in the infant stages." He turned away for a moment to look at the barmaid, raising his hand, "I'll have some herbal tea if you have it!
Oh, and I'm a male, single at that." He sighed before turning back, "A shame that people don't have respect for spellcasters that aren't elderly men with long beards."
OOC: Crud. What made me put wives? You are correct, the elf is the only one. Edited.
Alright, I'm off for the evening. Goodnight, all.
Last edited by Caligula; 07-28-2008 at 11:49 PM.
Death is in the eyes of a Beholder.
"Spellcaster you say?" Lalitil casts a glance over at the two unmoving forms at the table from which Zomerus came. She then turns back, one corner of her mouth curved into a knowing, or at least assuming, smirk. "I understand your feelings about others' views about spellcasters, but many of the best spellcasters I have met did not have long beards, much less any beard at all, nor were they elderly men. I would hope that we don't need your abilities - but I doubt that will be the case."
Turning her attention back to Otik, she asks, "How many others do you expect, by the by?"
The door to the inn opened yet again, this time as a pail skinned elf walked in, wearing a average looking brown tunic which barely covered the suit of chainmail he wore underneath. The elf took around, spotted the small group forming, and walked over. "Excuse me, I do hope that I am not interrupting anything. I was told that this was the place to meet for some adventure of some sorts." Lazarus looked at the members of what he assumed was the correct adventuring group.
Just a random bored person with a computer.
Lalitil notes the approach of the elf, and looks up to him once he speaks. She speaks to him, in Elven, <Welcome elf brother. We are indeed here for adventure, an excursion at Dusk. If that is your intention as well, join us please.> Lalitil pushes out a seat with her foot from under the table, as she takes out a coin that she begins to tumble over and through her fingers, getting them some exercise.
Lazarus gives a nod, says "My thanks" in elven, and takes a seat. He puts sits back and closes his eyes, listening to the sounds of the bar. He says "Is this the whole group, or are there more that have not arrived yet?" in common.
Just a random bored person with a computer.
Lalitil looks over to Otik, as Lazarus came in as she asked her last question, "That's a couple more now, or were you expecting more still?"
The serving wench looks Lalitil over, and then speaks again without waiting for an answer. "You let your wife speak for you? Is the lady not your wife?" She does not seem to take much notice or even hear Lalitil's comment. Her face appears innocent, and it can be seen that she truely has no idea what is going on.
"There are a couple more," the merchant says. "I'll give it a couple moments more." Despite his words, he still looks slighty disheaveled, still glancing around the room with growing anxiety. With a nod, he speaks to the serving girl. "A pint of wine here."
The girl takes a pint of wine from the tray and places on the table, sliding it softly to Otik.
From across the room, a man roars as the contents of a tankard of ale are splashed over his face by a man beside him. The others at the table laugh heartily for a moment until the man who tossed the drink is slammed up against the wall, a knife at his throat. Muffled insults could be heard mingled with random curses. All at once, the man up against the wall is thrown out over the table they were sitting at. A chair explodes in a flurry of splinters and wood chips when the man falls onto it, ale and wine alike spills across the floor.
Otik diverts his attention to the drink before him, just at the barkeep did behind the counter. The bard pauses for only a moment before he regained his composure and continued on with his tale.
Last edited by Caligula; 07-29-2008 at 08:02 AM.
Death is in the eyes of a Beholder.
A pale northerner enters, standing at closer to six and a half feet than not, and weighing at least 16 stone. His dull, dark, and grim eyes gaze across the room, stopping for a moment at the merchant. He removes his hood and helm, revealing dark hair dyed and dreadlocked by crushed limestone. He wears a cloak in oddly good condition compared to the rest of his gear. He opens his cloak some, revealing a broad and battleworn breastplate far more intact than it should be, atop a fur kilt of wild cat fur with a wide and thick leather belt. A battered sword similar to the breastplate hangs on his back. On his feet are boots with the same lack of wear as the cloak. On his hands are gauntlets most emblematic of the alternating care and wear of his equipment, in near mint condition save for some quite noticable amounts of dirt and blood caked onto them.
He steps forward, not bothering to close the door. He walks to the middle of the room and announces in a voice of gravel:
"I hear there is need of gore and bloodshed. I am good at that."
The barbarian oaf stands oblivious to the psychotic nature of his statement, waiting for an answer.
Lalitil simply sighs as the wench doesn't pay her any attention, deciding to return the favor. She ignores the wench for now, turning instead to Otik. "It is good you have gold, those here are not worth charity." As if to make her point, the fight breaks out across the room - to which no one really reacts.
As the northern barbarian enters, Lalitil watches him from the corner of her eye - curious as to how the townsfolk will respond to such a man.
*looks at the new entrant with a grin.*
*losing the grin, he speaks to him*
"Well, I don't think he wanted any, but I'm pretty sure that guy deserves some for that comment he just made about your sister."
*points at the man who just threw the other across the table*
As the barbarian enters, the two men that were fighting back away from the door, one limping and sticking his wrist in his mouth where wood cut deep. The bard continues on as he always has, at first slightly caught in the tongue but then carries on indifferently. Various commoners (the merchant seems to be the only person of any true status) shy away from the door if they are standing, or at least keep a close eye on any movement issued by the hulk of a man.
"Stop, you fool!" the merchant hisses. "Don't insult him. 'Ill tides one brings when he angers a barbarian'." He says the last, a proverb, with a matter-of-factness as though everyone at the table had heard it before.
Otik stands very slowly, spreading his arms as a friend would. Mustering all the courage he can, he utters in a loud voice, "Come, friend northerner! Sit at our table and the gold runs freely!" He stops, making a face as though he had swallowed a fly or perhaps spoken before he thought about things. Rubbing the back of his head, he sits down, casting glances around the room at everyone.
Last edited by Caligula; 07-29-2008 at 12:01 PM.
Death is in the eyes of a Beholder.
*scowls at the merchant*
*to Zomerus **whisper***
"Ill tides. pfft. A good time maybe, so long as you stay out of the way"
* Listen check to hear the whisper *((Nope - too noisy.))
Lalitil doesn't bother watching the barbarian, figuring that anything he does will bring enough noise to alert anyone within two days journey. Instead, she watches those that were fighting earlier out of the corner of her eye, wondering just how common such bar fights were in this unpolished town. Although her ears are trained to the whispering, her eyes are focused on the brawlers, and the fingers of her right hand still tumbling the coin across them - her mind is still calculating the different roles for those that seem to be part of this adventure, predicting what she might expect of each of them.
*Blank stare*Originally Posted by Sylvengard
*Continues blank stare*
*Appears incapable of anything other than a blank stare*
*BIG smile*
The barbarian sits at the table and continues to smile at the merchant. He avoids smiling at the others until he notices Lalitil, and upon seeing her, smiles and attempts a chat-up line in elvish.
Unfortunatly, having dim education and no linguistic training, he only manages to weave an unstable confusion of commonly known orcish swear words with some grammatically incorrect comments in something resembling grade-school gnomish about 'boughting sheep with is not one dogs runned?'
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