Tales From The Old Bald One-Eyed Salty Red Dog Tavern! (chapter 1, now closed)

Sunderkeg on the job

Gray Shade said:

There's a jingling and clomping outside the door of the bar and loud curses about horse leavings. After a few moments of this, the doors splay wide and an imposing figure with a chest like a Gnollish beer barrel and arms like dragon sausages steps in. He stops, one hand holding a door open, the other lifting the brim of his wide, cinnamon-stick curled hat so his squinted, glinting eyes can get a long look at all the bar-dwellers.

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The bar dwellers don't seem to mind your long look, as most of them ignore you. The few who do look in your direction seem to look past you, as if wondering where this line of strangers will end, and when they'll stop interrupting their bleak, uneventful existences.

His chest is covered in a solid hunk of Mithral, dulled with dust from the long road. A matching shield is strapped to his back, and a straight sword with a hilt shaped like the head of great dog-of-war hangs on a red scabbard at his hip. A bright blue feather juts from his backpack over his left shoulder. His pants, boots and gloves are all thick leather stained by well-oiling beneath the layer of trail dirt that exhales dust when he moves. He pounds at his arms and legs to knock most of the dust off then steps further into the room. His boot spurs jangle twice before he stops abruptly with a wrinkle of his nose and steps outside to stomp around on the porch a bit more before re-entering, this time without any flourish, but apparently satisfied with his smell.

He saunters up to the bar with still-squinted eyes and listens to the friendly yet babbling elf before popping a cigarillo between his lips. While he continues to listen to the elf, he takes a rag from his pocket and shines a bronze star attached to a strap on his armor, beneath which lies his gritty heart (too much grit?).

Once the elf's finally stopped . . . oh, wait, no . . . okay . . . NOW that the elf's stopped talking, between gnaws at his tobaccy-stick...

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"Proprietor, gimme some grog. And get some for this pretty little lady, here, too." <winks at elf, nods, turns back around to face the crowd>

"Feargal! Little help up front please," the barmaid says before disappearing through the kitchen door.

Instantaneously, almost magically, a rugged Dwarf with a mass of rust-colored hair flecked with streaks and specks of grey pops up from behind the bar. His attire appears to be an eclectic mix of old, worn adventuring-style odds paired with newer, expensive-looking merchant-style ends, over which a bright white barkeeper's apron has been tied. He quickly surveys the room and smiles broadly at the new faces in town. He draws up a tall mug of a frothy liquid from a keg and sets it down in front of the dusty, tobaccy-stick-chewing man. "Ach weel, m'lad, noo thas'll be th' bayst grog ye'll be havin' 'n a long toime, aye," he says in the most ridiculous 'Dwarven' accent you've ever heard.

He turns to the brightly adorned elf and whistles long and low. "Faith'n begorrah, lad! I..."

He pauses, seemingly at a loss for words. A couple of regulars at the bar glance over at the Dwarf with a surprised look on their faces.

He clears his throat and composes himself. "Ahem, aye... Weel mayt, stranger, th' name's Sunderkeg. Weelcome t' th' Oold Bald One-Eyed Salty Red Dog Tavern! 'n' wheer might ye be hailin' from this foine ayvnin'? Fields af-"

He stops short, distracted (impossible as it sounds) by something bright and shiny that is, amazingly, not adorning the elf.

He turns back to the dusty man and says, "Say... 's that a badge yoor weerin'?"

Blind leads the blind...

Ranger Rick said:

A person in rattily attired clothes enters soon after the well dressed elf. His clothes are patch worked and not all rips are mended. He walks in and does not stop to affix his eyes to the darkness. In his temporary blind state he almost trips over a bench in the middle of the room. Stopping he sits down and with his gaze no longer fixed on the elf, he starts to look around. Seeing someone near by he studders a question...

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Wah..Wah...Wah...where am...am...am....Where am I? <stares blankly waiting for an answer>

A red-eyed patron turns towards this lost stranger and affixes him with a bleary stare - that is to say, he would affix him with a bleary stare if only he could figure out which one of them to stare at when they finally stop swirling around in circles. He opens his mouth to speak and you think you hear faintly wailing spirits emerge from his slobbering maw, but realize that it's just a mixture of his belabored breathing and appalling breath.

"Thish here'sh the bold cold one-redsh sheeing eye dog tav*hick* tav*hick tav*hick* thish here'sh tha bar, mate." He finally gets a fix on you and smiles a sickly smile, revealing sickly teeth. "Buy ush a round, eh? I'll tellsh ya all about it." He quickly jerks his hand up to wave for the barmaid but seems to have forgotten that it was propping up his chin, and with an amazing lack of skill he snaps his head back, flinging his body backward into his chair which promptly turns over, upending him in a heap on the floor. His only reaction to this is, amazingly enough, a loud and pronounced snore.

I am now talking to the new Dwarf that has popped from the woodwork."That is the worst outfit I have ever seen. I would suggest some blues like this"

Point to my pants

"They will help diguise the natural rouge in your cheeks. Also I would suggest that you try a concentrated style. You appear to be going for 'Adventurer lost in the cave that dressed in the dark whilst being hounded by goblins with pointy sticks.' While that look is doable, you do not have the facial character for it. I would love to be able to assist you in choosing an outfit. However I am still hungry and need to find a way to afford a simple bowl of soup with a crust of bread to sop it up with...And a napkin, maybe a bit of fresh greens as well. A glass of Elven wine would be most acceptible as well..."

Looking around again I spy the disheveled gentleman that has been following me...

"and you sir could do with a bit of color as well and a fabric that will allow your skin to breath. it may assist your memory problems to have a headband as well to help hold in those stray thoughts."

Continuing to rove my gaze::

"and the decor here is so archaic. I could see some bright yellow or red curtains, the tables could use some cloths to cover them. The patrons all look dismal..Like nothing good ever happens..."

A look of Surprise for the fellow that collapsed...rushes to try to wake him and help him up

"Dear sir do you know how unsanitary that is?"

Lazlow said:

"Thish here'sh the bold cold one-redsh sheeing eye dog tav*hick* tav*hick tav*hick* thish here'sh tha bar, mate." He finally gets a fix on you and smiles a sickly smile, revealing sickly teeth. "Buy ush a round, eh? I'll tellsh ya all about it." He quickly jerks his hand up to wave for the barmaid but seems to have forgotten that it was propping up his chin, and with an amazing lack of skill he snaps his head back, flinging his body backward into his chair which promptly turns over, upending him in a heap on the floor. His only reaction to this is, amazingly enough, a loud and pronounced snore.

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"A...a...a..roun...a round....for you? Hmmm...." He looks around the place..."Eureka!" He takes the table & tilts it so the edge is on the passed out drunks chest. Very polietly he says, "Here...here....here is a round." He goes back and sits down looking befuddled.

OOC: I wonder if the table is heavy enough to crush the drunks ribcage? (Oh I have str 16)

New girl in town

LogicsFate said:

The doors of the tavern fling open as the darkly beautiful young woman with the mysteriously quiet yet impeccably well-dressed companion enter. The woman, a short human with long black hair, a pale compliction and dressed in revealing black leather waltzes up to the bar. She is smiling broadly the entire way. Either talking to her companion or herself...

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"What a gorgeous day, I wish everyday was like this."

At the sound and sight of the doors being flung open, all but the most inebriated patrons immediately turn to see what the hubbub is (as if there wasn't enough already). And at the sight of the darkly beautiful and scantily clad female that stands there framed by the open doors, those inebriated patrons quickly sober up as their eyes pop open and their jaws fall down. The few womenfolk there are in the tavern seem to sink inward at the sight of the exotic woman - just before they kick their men in the shins for ogling.

"Have a seat dearie and I'll be with you straightaway," Muirna says, having emerged from the kitchen holding a tray laden with steaming dishes and an impressive bottle of wine, and seemingly unaffected by the bewitching presence of this unorthodox (for these parts, anyway) woman. She pauses at the bar to pick up a clean rag and snap Sunderkeg's agape jaw back into place before making her way over to the table where the tall, gaunt human sits. Setting everything down with an expert flair she says, "I think you'll find everything to your likin', sir. Shall I run ye a tab?" Despite the simple, rustic presentation of the soup and meat, it does indeed smell amazingly good.

Her tall, skinny compainion follows, dressed head to toe, Clothing covering all flesh. A sword, a bow and a back pack identify a warrior. The woman smacks the bar oblivious to anyone how would care:

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"Hey barman, gimme a, well gimme the special if you have one of those and be quick we're thirsty."

At the sound of the woman's dulcet tones, Sunderkeg snaps back to attention, wiping a spot of drool off of his beard. The patrons also seem to perk up a bit at the mention of "The Special". Indeed, the dull murmur of quiet conversation all but disappears, and those who were sitting with their backs to the bar turn around to face it.

Sunderkeg strides over, wiping his hands on a rag, a wide grin on his face. He says nothing as he reaches down under the bar and pops back up with a small crystal glass and what looks to be an obsidian carafe. He puts these on the bar with a flouish and a wiggle of his bushy eyebrows, then reaches down again and takes out a clay jug stoppered with a cork and marked with "XXX" on the side. He then reaches into a pocket and pulls out some goggles, which he then dons, afterwards pulling on some thick leather gloves.

He uncorks the jug, pouring a bit of what's inside into the glass with a quiet little *burble*, filling it about two-thirds of the way up. It looks mostly clear, with a hint of an amber color. He corks the jug tightly and puts it back under the bar, afterwards pulling up a pair of long-handled tongs.

Using the tongs, he caaaaaaaaaaarefully takes the stopper off the top of the black carafe, which seems to elicit some strange, almost ghostly *waaailling* noises as a thin whisper of smoke rises out from the top. He sloooooooowly pours about one or two drops into the glass, and as it mixes with the amber liquid, it begins to swirl about wildly, seeming to swirl faster and faster as the seconds pass. He quickly puts the stopper back on the flask and returns it down below, using the tongs all the while, then quickly but carefully picks up the glass. Watching it intently, he takes a step or two back, holds it at arm's length, and, suddenly, it bursts into a shocking blue flame which seems to engulf his entire arm, lighting up the whole tavern with a radiant blue blaze! He waves his arm slowly in a circle, seemingly unaffected by the mystical flames, and after a few moments the strange fire subsides. He sets the drink down in front of the beautiful patron with a smile, and removes his goggles and gloves as a smattering of polite applause and a few "bravo, bravo" comments arise from the regulars.

"Ach, 'n that'll be on th' hoose," he says with a wink.

Muirna pauses from cleaning mugs for a moment and looks at Sunderkeg, rolling her eyes. "Good grief..."

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OOC: Hope you don't mind Deep Sky Blue.

Muirna and Ranti

<taking the glass>"Why thank you lass, and may I say that you would have to be the prettiest dwarven maid I have ever seen. However that color does not highlight or flatter your hair and the tecture is all wrong for your skin type. I would reccomend a less subtle earth tone, maybe overtones of copper thrown in for a mix....Look at me talking, let me introduce myself. I am Ranti Akande, Clothier and Problem Solver supreme. Heck I remember this one time that I was asked to clear a den of 200 Kobolds. At least that is how many it seemed to be when I was done. However I did not stick around long when I was done. They fell before me..."

<turning a slight green>

Muirna looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

"I think that my tales like that might have to wait. They make me slightly queasy.. Anyway, would you be willing to spot me a slight meal, maybe some of that broth or soup that the gentleman over there is requesting."

She nudges Sunderkeg, who manages to pull his eyes off the leather-clad maiden for a moment and steps over to you.

"And you sir REALLY need to clean your armor and clothing some more and a bath or at least simple cleaning could do you well. At least you don't carry the stench of carrion on you. I will make do with my water for now."

OOC: Who are you saying this to?

I proceed to sip at the water checking for chemical tastes and the like....

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Sunderkeg gives you a quizzical look as you smack your lips and tongue checking the taste. "Yessir?" (continuation of this conversation in next post)

Ranti gives Sunderkeg some fashion advice

<turning to Sunderkeg>"That is the worst outfit I have ever seen. I would suggest some blues like this" <points to pants>

"Ach! Weel, I-"

"They will help diguise the natural rouge in your cheeks. Also I would suggest that you try a concentrated style."

"Con-"

"You appear to be going for 'Adventurer lost in the cave that dressed in the dark whilst being hounded by goblins with pointy sticks.'

"Now s-"

"While that look is doable, you do not have the facial character for it. I would love to be able to assist you in choosing an outfit."

"Wh-"

"However I am still hungry and need to find a way to afford a simple bowl of soup with a crust of bread to sop it up with...And a napkin, maybe a bit of fresh greens as well. A glass of Elven wine would be most acceptible as well..."

"STOP!!" the Dwarf shouts, then quickly composes himself. "I kin spare ye a bool a soop 'n' a croost a breed, dinna woorry." He disappears into the kitchen muttering. "At least his mouth'll be busy..."

<looking about> "and the decor here is so archaic. I could see some bright yellow or red curtains, the tables could use some cloths to cover them. The patrons all look dismal..Like nothing good ever happens..."

"You can say that again," Muirna says quickly, passing by with a tray full of mugs.

A look of Surprise for the fellow that collapsed...rushes to try to wake him and help him up

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"Dear sir do you know how unsanitary that is?"

"YOU CAN'T PROVE IT," he blurts out, then turns over with a sneer and nestles up against the chair leg.

OOC: The guy who called me a lass...

the drunkard's nap

Ranger Rick said:

"A...a...a..roun...a round....for you? Hmmm...." He looks around the place..."Eureka!" He takes the table & tilts it so the edge is on the passed out drunks chest. Very polietly he says, "Here...here....here is a round." He goes back and sits down looking befuddled.

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The drunk merely grunts before saying, "GET YOUR HANDSH OFFA MY WIFE!" He starts snoring again very quickly.

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OOC: I wonder if the table is heavy enough to crush the drunks ribcage? (Oh I have str 16)

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OOC: Nah, it's good.

Once the fine elf tells my guy to take a bath, he looks down at himself and mutters, "it's road dust . . . I just got off the road . . . I can't have taken a bath before I come in to have a drink, or even get a room . . . you can't avoid road dust on a road . . . " He stands, drinks his grog in a long swallow, and grabs the one he ordered for the elf (without malice) and starts drinking that one while walking from patron to patron in the bar.

He looks each person (except one) fully from eye to toe and back, clucks his tongue appropriately and rubs his scragly chin. While in front of the woman in leather, he absently says, "should I have shaved, too?" He quickly makes eye contact with her and says, "YOU ever try shaving on a horse on the trail? Only one I ever knew to try that we called Blood-Face, well, after that . . . " He gives a heavy sigh, shakes his head and moves on to her companion, who is the one he does not give a long look to. He just glances at him and moves on to the guy curled up on the floor.

After taking in each person in turn, he returns to the bar and, to whatever Dwarf happens to be working there at the moment, says "Another beer, and is the chili dog in season? . . . Nevermind, just give me mushrooms, a half-dozen eggs scrambled up with goat cheese, a pound of rashers, and a room for the night. Feel like it's months of straight riding from the duke's keep."

Then he bides his time . . . soon, my friends, soon . . .