Tavern Thread: The Hanged Man - Page 15




  1. #141
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    Skalisss the Dragonborn leaves the Tavern with a few others...

    OOC: http://www.enworld.org/forum/living-...-covaithe.html

 

  • #142
    Vlastos as well.

  • #143
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    The door slides open and a rapier thin shadow is silhouetted in the doorway.

    His hair is close cropped and he seems withered beyond human endurance. He walks slowly to the bar, slides several copper to the barkeep, and in a voice that rasps with age demands an ale.

    He then turns and leans on the bar as he surveys the room, his piercing stare sweeping across everyone in the room.

  • #144
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    The barkeep leans over to the two new tavern patrons and says in a low voice, "It's custom here to announce your name and trade when you enter. Keeps things friendly."
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  • #145
    It was never my intention to violate your customs, Good Sir... spoke the newcomer in the wide-brimmed hat. Some call me Cross. I am but a simple traveller, and wielder of arcane fire, whose only wish is to be of service to a land, willing to extend it's gracious hospitality to a stranger... he finished with a slight bow of his head... and I thank'ee for your kind "Welcome".
    Mini Stat

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  • #146
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    Without so much as glancing up from his ale, the withered man spoke in a quiet voice that carried to every ear in the room.

    "The only name you have need of is Vashik One Eye. As for my trade, I am an adept of the mystic arts. I specialize in fixing problems of late."

    As Vashik subsided once again into silence, he took a long pull on his ale and resumed his careful evaluation of the taverns patrons.

  • #147
    The door opens again and a rotund figure dressed in outlandish, brightly coloured armour and feathers peers in. At just a hair under 5 feet and nearly as broad it momentarily seems too large to be a Dwarf. It waddles to the counter, glancing nervously around, and waits politely for the barman's attention before stating:

    "Greetings, sir. I am 7 Rabbit. I am new to these parts." He dumps a small pouch on the bar and small chunks of gold spill out, leaving a trail of gold dust on the sticky surface. Oblivious to the greedy stares of those nearby, he continues, "Do you know where may I exchange this rock for local currency?"

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    The door smashes open and a dwarf in platemail boldly walks forward. With his head held high he states with a booming voice, "I'm KruK, I'm a good with an axe and can take a hit. I'm look'n for work and I have a powerful thirst!" He then strides over to the bar and says to the bartender, "Aye barkeep...How about a pint?"
    Last edited by dimsdale; Saturday, 22nd November, 2008 at 05:24 AM.

  • #149
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    ooc: Just a quick note to say that everyone should feel free to run the NPCs of the inn as needed. Keeping in mind, of course, that this is a shared world and Eric's grandma and all that.
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  • #150
    The already rowdy tavern reminded Les of her days in the Laughing Gallows. She shakes her head at the idle memory and strides toward the granite cobbles to the establishment's entrance-way. She pauses for a moment, taking in the laughing, the clink of glasses and the shouts as everyone tries to be heard over the commotion. A sly smile traces its way across her face, this would surely be interesting.

    She slides the door open and quickly steps inside, letting it drift shut behind her. A few eyes look her way before going back to their conversations; just another adventurer seeking glory, gold or some fairytale ideal. Les smooths out the leather shirt she's wearing and moves toward the bar.

    "Wine, something local and red, if you'd please." Les winks at the barkeep and flips a few coins his way, making sure they land in a perfect stack before him. The silver coins will hopefully net her something other than a noxious watered down drink. The man nods and heads off to the back, scooping up her coins on the way.

    With this tradition completed, Les takes in her surroundings. Humans, elves, dragonborn, a few dwarves and some tieflings make up only a portion of the large crowd. The dearth of tables is something of a sordid thought, but she will have to do with standing at the bar.

    After noticing that all who enter seem to proclaim in loud voices their professions and names, Les contemplates her own lack of following this ritual. Perhaps that is what had drawn those glances when she entered? She slides her way through the crowd to a few of the more interesting looking figures. Les leans on the bar with two wizards to the right and two dwarves to the left. The bright coloured one reminded her of her childhood.

    "Good afternoon, fellows. Would any of you by chance know of anyone seeking mercenaries?"

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