a new start, roleplay away!

[N4m3]

ooc: couldnt be arsed to look for a setting, so im just starting something random. and im SO expecting a cloaked figure in the corner that stares much but says little:p

Ironhand and his two younger brothers cantered into town on their small but sturdy mountain ponies. they were tired, and rather cold, but they were used to the harsh treatment up in the mountains.
Once through the northern entrance of the small fishing town, they headed left down a well trodden road to the Rough Maid, as they did on the same day, at the same time, every week. People didnt so much hide in fear, as skit away at the sight of them. while they were not known as trouble causers, anyone inbetween a dwarf and his beer was going to get hurt in some shape of form, usually the form of two broken kneecaps.

The trio charged into the bar and parked their behinds at stools on the smaller section of the bar, laying their considerable large 4 foot double headed axes down beside them.

"BEER landlord if ye be so kind! and make it quick, bloody cold out there, me stomach needs some fire in it"

ooc: bartender anyone? :)

[Nevar_Darkmoon]

The bartender looks over to see where the voices have come from.

Seeing no one except for Cragik the half-orc, drunk and sleeping in his own spilt beer, he resumes polishing the glassware with a dirty rag.

"Aye.. Barkeep, me mouth is 'bouts to wither like mine dust, wheres dat beer?"

Again hearing voices, he looks around the counter and sees the trio perched, legs a dangling from their stools.

"Ahh, there ya are master dwarves. Whats the flavour of ale ye be seaking. HARR... take this swill for there isnt much better in these neck of the woods."

Pouring three flagons, (after shooing the fruit flies from the taps) he passes them their request.

"Nay dont be worrying about paying. I would feel guilty if i charged you for that swill. Enjoy", he exclamed as he walk back to the far end.

A deep belch and scratching sounds could be heard from Cragik. The sound of the taps pouring, being more than enough noise to bring his stuppored mind back.

*Hick*

"Duuhh.. Hello der wittle dwarfies... Dems nice beer ya gots der."

[Edited on 5/12/2003 by Nevar_Darkmoon]

[N4m3]

ooc: your not a nevar from a certain nwn community called heumjuunue are you?

"Aye, it be our nice beer that we work hard for, not like yerself ya lazy drunk oaf!"
the dwarves two companians laughed heartily at that and went to work consuming their drinks with a relegious fervour, while hoping for a good bar brawl or two by the end of the night. While the orc scum looked hopefull, he was probably two drunk to be able to swing his punches low enough.

[Harafnir]

In a dark corner a shadowy figure sits by himself, shivering a bit from the draft that sifts through the cracks around the closed window above him. Dressed in rags, pieces of odd clothing probably scavenged during his travels, and a face fully covered in a hood, only a few tufts of grey hair falling down from under it, dry and dirty from months without attention. Long, bony fingers travel around the wooden jug in front of him, an index finger tapping its side, like keeping a rythm. A soft mumble is heard from uder the dark hood, softer than a whisper, not a word penetrating the many sounds of the small tavern and its guests.

[Taurendil_Cuweasse]

In the opposite dark corner, another shadowed shape watches the people in the bar drink, talk and hiss. A light brown cloak covers him entirely and casts a shadow over his face. He looks at the bartender and the dwarves and then looks at the figure in the corner and in the blink of an eye he jumps up from his corner and reaches something under his cloak.

- Kyaaaaaaa!!!!!! - He screams as he pulls the hidden object from his side! It's a lute! He jumps on a table in the middle of the crappy bar and starts to sing and kick the air.

- "Hey! Ho! to the dodo I go
To heal my heart and drown my woe.
Rain may fall and wind may blow,
But there still be many dodos to go!
Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain
and the stream that falls from hill to plain.
But better than rain or rippling brook
is a wanting dodo waiting for this crook!"

- Thank you! thank you! - says the tall elf bowing to the gaping bystanders glaring at him - My name is Lömelin, I'm a troubador by trade and I want to make sweet love with a dodo!

(i just made this up, bare with me)

[Edited on 7/12/2003 by Taurendil_Cuweasse]

[SiriaCessmera]

Stepping awkwardly under the weight of her serving tray, Siria cursed to herself about this new part-time job. Why did the drunkards who spent gold coin after gold coin have more metal in their pockets than the fiends of the world who steal and kill for their loot and never spend it? Unfortunately hunting just didn't produce enough pocket change for the many items Siria enjoyed lavishing herself on. Why just today she had bought a new beautiful diamond ornament to set atop her staff; was it worth this filthy, degrading job? At the moment she seriously doubted it.

Carefully balancing the tray on her shoulder's, Siria sang her sweet replies of, "here you are, Sir," and, "thank you Sir," and, "come again, Sir". As she leaned over one table to pass out the drinks of Ale and Mead, a rather inebriated man lifted his mug and dumped it down her shirt. Siria retracted from the table immediatly, face turning beet red, and grabbed the empty mug, smashing it over his head.

Her hit must have been well placed, that or the man was already on the state of passing out, as his body slid limply out of the chair and onto the floor. Still in rage, Siria began kicking wildly at the man's privates, over and over until she was pulled off by one of the bar patrons.

Looking up from the man's unconscious body, Siria was met by 4 of the man's friends - bulky, homely looking humans, all cracking their knuckles in unison. It was all that Siria could do to hold back from laughing; the flies circling their heads probably had more intellegence than these four numb-skulls. Before she could prepare for defense, however, the men were on her, surrounding her with one squeezing her wrist.

[Harafnir]

His finger stops tapping, and he falls silent as his head lash up to look towards the commotion in the middle of the room. Pulling his rags around him, then drawing the hood down further to hide his face more securelly, he slowly rise, chuckling softly. Never letting his eyes stray from the wrestling group on the floor, with the barmaid severelly outnumbered, he leans back in a halfsitting position against his table, crossing his thin arms across his chest, one hand slipping under the rags.
Quickly letting his eyes dart around the room to see the reactions, his visible hand tapping softly with its fingers against the arm, he chuckles again, then let his eyes fall once again on the wrestling group, a spectator on a free entrance Amateur Gladiator Night.

[Nevar_Darkmoon]

"Bahh... ye stupid wench, whats ye think ye doing upsetting de guests?", proclaimed the barkeep.

Flinging his polishing cloth down on the bar, he storms over to the taps. "Gentlemen, waste not yer efforts on that scrawny piece of crap! Here, have ye a round on de house!"

"If its fighting ye looking fer stranger", peering at the hooded man. "Den I suggest ye brings its up with Cragik. He be witless, no lies... but he be stronger dan you or dem three bothering my help!"

"OUT wid ya.. the lot of ya... brings it to da barn if ye wanting to rough house. Dis here is a respectable establishment." pride glowing from the barkeep.

"Besides.. i bets yous 5 gold dat Cragik der whoops you like mamas boys!" "Har, dats right.. mamas boys!"

Cragik's name, mentioned more than once pulls his attention away from the dwarves and their beer drinking. Hearing the words "mama boys" seems to bring a clarity to the half-orcs eyes. "Yeps, de uhms... de uhmmsss.. de uhms moma boysies fer shurz!", knuckles cracking as he walks to the front door.

[Harafnir]

Sighing softly as the entertainment is disrupted, he shakes his head, pushing away from the table then snatches his empty beer mug up with one hand as the other slips out from under the rags again, to scratch his behind with some determination. Muttering softly as he shuffles to the door, the grey thin wisps of hair dangling out from under his hood, protecting his identity as well as any locked chest.

Passing the bar a soft hiss is heard from the shadowed face:
- "Gaah, yer jusscht... jusscht a phartiephoophoop... phooper... Schpoiling a good whaste of.. ofh blooudh lihke thaet..."

He stops in the door and peer out in both directions, then take a hesitant step outside, trying to keep his attention on the back of the huge Cragik at the same time as his eyes shift between the shadows outside, searching for hidden dangers.

- "Not yeht... Schtill not... noth yhet"

A violent coughing rattle his frail, thin body

[Denieru]

The dark stranger standing in the doorway of the bar coughs violently and at the same time another very dark and mysterious stranger appears in the doorway. He is wearing a dark cloak, covering most of his face, and carrying a long walking staff in one hand. Covering his mouth with his free hand he screams at his mysterious twin.
"What is this!? Is it possible for a traveller to enter a tavern without someone trying to give me the plague!? Stand back or I shall cure that cough of yours."
Keeping the dark stranger at staff lenght Denieru enters the tavern and looks for his usual spot in the dark corner. Seing that one corner is already occupied he takes a seat in the opposite corner.
"Barkeeper! Before I die of dehydration and this godforsaken cold northern air give me a glass of warm fire wine!"
As he leans back in his chair and reaches for his trusted pipe inside his cloak he surveys the room, watching the other customers safely from the shadows. Lifting the pipe towards his mouth it slowly ignites and grey tendrils of smoke begins to encircle him.

[DamienBlade]

OOC: Darkness is over-rated

A figure walks through the door and stops momentarily to look around at the settings. An elven male robed in a white priests robe adorned with holy symbols for his chosen deity. He removes his hood only then showing his peaked ears and beautiful features that come almost hereditary with most elven culture. He moves towards an empty table and sits down quietly, leaving his staff, which he held in his off hand, leaning against the table beside him.
With a smug smile, he nods to those who shoot a gaze his way. Seemingly too friendly for his own good, he offers a seat at his table for any who care to join him as if nothing could or would hurt him.

[deter]

High above, in the smoke stained alcoholic fuzz that passed for fresh air, clinging expertly to the side of a roof-tree, Adam Fitzgerald luxuriated in a bath of fresh orc spit and scrubbed under one of his many arms with a sliver of dodo do-do specially saved for the occasion.

Ahh... soon the world would be his to command! These puny creatures that vainly preened and posed below had no idea, their feeble minds could not comprehend the genius, the sheer raw power that focused through and about his very being, the limitless energies of a thousand universes that were his to control. Why! One slight twitch of his foreleg could scatter the molecules of this inn and the town it lay in to the four winds and condemn each living soul in it to a thousand tortured damnations.

Was he not chosen by Blink the Chaos God to rule? Had he not been selected as a mere youngling and infused with almighty power? Would not evry living creature defer to his every wish?

Soon, soon his plans would come to fruition. Let the feeble creatures below play in their innocence while they yet had time. He, Adam Fitzgerald, was the destined ruler of the universe!

It was a shame that Blink the Chaos God was so damm shortsighted, It was even more of a shame that Gurrrlip the House Toad was so damm hungry. It was probably not such a shame that Adam Fitzgerald the Chaos Blessed Bluebottle was well within rage of a gluey tongue......