Mewness
First Post
[sblock=ooc]I wanted to get this character introduced while there was an established party in the tavern, so I'm briefly exploiting the Wayne's Basement group 
I know WalkingDad's not around at the moment, but I'm assuming Riardon is there nonetheless, because I think it's more amusing that way. Oh, and despite appearances, this isn't an attempt to shove my way into the group (you guys already have a warden anyway).[/sblock]
A sudden burst of light and noise erupts from the portal as two small figures step through. The first, a middle-aged female kobold attired in a style currently fashionable in Bacarte (with a tailored dress, a matching hat, gloves, and ankle boots) strides in confidently, dragging the second, a younger male, by the hand. The male is dressed in hide armor with fringes that seem more decorative than practical, and carries a small sword, a shield, and a ludicrously oversized new backpack with a pricetag still attached to it. Though taller and more solidly built than a typical kobold, he displays a cringing, furtive manner—the manner usually associated with his race—that makes him appear smaller than he is.
Striding into the middle of the room, the female addresses the male in Draconic, her voice loud and self-important.
[sblock=In Draconic]
“Here we are; enough of your foolish notions. ‘Get drunk or tell a licentious joke,’ indeed! Simply absurd. Of course people would say that—the sort of people you would believe, at any rate! If some disreputable beer-swiller told you that you had to cut your own tail off to activate this portal you’d go ahead and do it! I’m sure you wouldn’t want to know how I felt about it.”[/sblock]
She halts and looks around imperiously, letting go the hand of the other, who rubs it furiously and stretches his fingers during the brief period when her gaze is turned. He looks like he is about to say something, but the female happens to look back in his direction just as he is opening his mouth, and nothing escapes but a small, indecisive noise. His gaze drops to his feet as the female addresses him again, this time at considerable length, her tone making it obvious (even to overhearers who cannot understand a word of Draconic) that she is quite incapable of envisioning any reality in which her wishes are not obeyed. The male’s occasional interjections are little more than plaintive monosyllables.
[sblock=In Draconic]
“Now I want you to take a good look around, because you are not returning to Bacarte any time soon. From now on you are going to spend your time usefully. You are going to make something of yourself—”
“But mother—”
“Be quiet and listen! I have had enough of your silly, wheedling excuses. Your older brothers and sisters are useless. Worthless, irresponsible, uncaring, criminal, the lot of them—they care nothing for their mother—for our family name—care nothing if they break my heart. They could have the biggest score of their lives and not send me a broken penny! Oh, if only your dear father were still—but it doesn’t matter; I’m too old to have any more. You are my last hope. Someone has to support me in my old age and that’s all there is to it. My youngest, dearest son—I don’t want you spending time with your siblings anymore. Ever! Is that clear? You are not to speak to them. You are not to write to them. You are not to—”
“But mo—”
“Hush! You are not to contact them in any way! If they try to contact you, you are to run in the opposite direction. Do you hear?”
“Yes, but I don’t even want to—”
“Pebbles, I must insist that you pay attention. This is my... your last chance. I don’t want you wasting your time with any of these monstrous folk anymore. Not your own kin or any others! Do you understand me?”[/sblock]
As the stylishly dressed female is speaking, her eyes come to rest on Fenwick with an expression of pointed disapproval. The younger kobold turns his head to follow her gaze and she slaps him on the face, bringing his startled attention back in an instant. His hand twitches up in the direction of his cheek but drops back to his side before completing the journey. She continues still more forcefully, again ignoring the male’s objections:
[sblock=In Draconic]
“What are you looking at? That’s precisely what I’m talking about! You are to stay away. You won’t be needing that sort of company here. A dirty, wicked beast! Daunton is a human city. It is a place inhabited by plenty of decent folk. I am going to have one child whose activities I can mention to my cribbage partners without shame. You are going to meet some good honest church-going individuals and become an adventurer—”
“But I don’t know how—”
“Don’t contradict me. Of course you must become an adventurer. How else can you make a living? Look at yourself! It’s not as though you are qualified to do anything useful for society. Now as I was saying: You are going to get together with some good, reliable people. I mean humans and elves and dwarves and those other hoity-toity elves, I forget what they’re called, but it doesn’t matter so long as they are proper folk! People who understand honor. People who have values. Like that one over there!”[/sblock]
The female kobold’s voice rises in pitch as she indicates Riardon with a wave of her hand. The male kobold turns his head to look and, just by coincidence, the kobold’s eyes and the eladrin’s very briefly meet. The kobold immediately looks away, clearly embarrassed. The female continues speaking animatedly.
[sblock=In Draconic]
“See, he is one of those superior elves I was talking about! Observe that firm jaw... those fine cheekbones... such clear, flashing eyes... he even has some sort of glowing sword. He is a paladin, clearly. Valiant, religious—the very companion for you! And that one with him—”[/sblock]
As she is speaking, she points at Jin, but the male kobold doesn’t turn to look.
[sblock=In Draconic]
“See that quaint outfit he’s wearing, the curvy swords—he is from the Kingdom of Jade, if I’m not mistaken; I’ve seen that kind of thing in paintings. Now that is a place where people still believe in honor; and his clothes are simply darling. It’s a shame that they tolerate the presence of that orcish brute, but I suppose the people here are too polite to say anything. Well, what are you waiting for? Go over there and introduce yourself!”[/sblock]
She pokes the male sharply in the side with one brightly painted claw as she concludes her speech, causing him to flinch. He starts to make a protestation, but is quickly cut off by another of her tirades.
[sblock=In Draconic]
“Mother, please, I—”
“Oh, how can you be so timid? Just speak to them! You are an adventurer! They are adventurers!—I cannot imagine what else they may be, dressed like that. Everyone knows that adventurers meet in taverns and say a how d’ye do and shake hands and then they are ready to go off into perilous situations and accumulate profits together without so much as—oh, for pity’s sake, look at you, ducking and weaving as though the sky is falling down on your head. Here, I’ll introduce you.”[/sblock]
Without waiting for a reply, the female kobold approaches Riardon in a most determined manner, dragging the male kobold by the hand. She addresses the eladrin in heavily-accented Allarian as her reluctant companion ducks shyly behind her. “Good day,” she says. “Eat ease a great pleasure to see that such a fine elf-man as you steal exeest een these land. Please allow me to eentroduce to you my youngest son, Peb—”
“Papolstaanas,” the other says emphatically, apparently daring to correct his mother on this one point.
“Yes, whatever,” says the female, still addressing Riardon. “I know what eat ease that you theenk: een your mind, you say to yourself that kobolds are very bad, not honest. All thieves, yes? Well, very true, you are very correct, having these thought. But not my son! My son ease not a creaminal. My son ease a good, honest boy. He ease very strong, very loyal! He only needs... eenstruction, guidance, from a fine releegious elf-man such as yourself, you see? And then he wheel stop hease leetle boy foolishness, always seating een the meadow and peaking daisies—”
“Mother, please,” whines Papolstaanas. “You’re—you’re—”
His mother turns on him angrily. “What ease the matter?”
Papolstaanas hangs his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re... embarrassing me.”
“Embarrassing you!” His mother seems to grow larger as her son hugs himself in terror; her voice rises to a ringing intensity that fills the room. She continues resoundingly in her native tongue:
[sblock=In Draconic]
“Embarrassing you! My poor, sensitive boy! You should have told me how irksome it is, having your foolish old mother around ruining everything. I wish I could have known this earlier and saved you such extreme distress. Silly me, thinking that you needed my help when you obviously would have done so much better had I left you to manage things yourself. It must be terrible, simply terrible, to have a relation that embarrasses one.”[/sblock]
She pulls an embroidered handkerchief out of her purse, continuing to shout at Papolstaanas in Draconic as he cringes miserably.
[sblock=In Draconic]
“I’m sure I can’t possibly understand what it is like for you! It’s never embarrassing when people ask what profession one’s son has chosen and one has to think what to say, knowing that said son does nothing but wander idly off into the woods to imitate bird-calls. It’s not embarrassing when one’s son comes home and one’s friends all see him with a ridiculous little woven circlet of wildflowers on his head. It’s certainly not embarrassing to have to explain to the city guard why one’s innocent little boy has jewelry stolen from five different people on our street hidden in his room.”[/sblock]
Her voice starts to creak a little and she begins dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. Papolstaanas murmurs apologetically in Draconic, but is quickly cut off as his mother starts speaking again, this time in a very aggrieved tone.
[sblock=In Draconic]
“Mother, I’m sorry, I do appreciate your help, I—”
“Oh yes, I know just how much you appreciate it. Well, you promised me that you would start an honest career and take care of things, so at least I have that to cling to. My son may not want me around, but I can still hope that he’ll keep the promises he makes to his mother, however tiresome she may be—”
“Mother, of course I will—”
“—and I suppose that I can be satisfied with that much. Even if my dearest son has no regard for me whatever, even if he leaves me alone in my old age, I can have some small pleasure in his personal integrity.”[/sblock]
She pauses to work a bulky object out of her purse, which proves to be a large leather-bound book. She starts speaking again as she thrusts it at her son.
[sblock=In Draconic]
“This is for you to read when you are camping or whatever it is that you will be doing with your friends here. It is full of valuable wisdom. I hope that, even independent as you are, with no need for your own mother’s help, you are nevertheless not under the impression that you have all the answers.”[/sblock]
Papolstaanas accepts the book with a mumbled response.
[sblock=In case anyone with knowledge of religion is interested]
The book is an Allarian translation of Homilies of Azantia, a religious text that is popular in the Imperium but little-known in Daunton. Azantia was a very conservative priestess of Erath whose teachings were designed to encourage girls to become obedient wives and boys to be dutiful toward their mothers.[/sblock]
Talking right over her son’s mumbling, the female kobold continues more calmly:
[sblock=In Draconic]
“Well then, since you can handle this yourself, I’m going home. My screen-painting group is meeting at our house this afternoon and I’m supposed to provide the refreshments. Remember what you promised! I expect to hear from you often. Write to me of your adventures!”[/sblock]
And with that she quickly embraces her son (who can barely respond, what with all the stuff he is carrying), and, turning back the way she came, strides briskly to the portal. In a flash, she is gone, and the very walls of the Hanged Man seem to sigh with relief.
Papolstaanas stares dumbly at the portal after his mother has gone through, reluctant to face the complete strangers that she has left him with. After a few moments, he turns to them hesitantly.
“Um,” he says lamely, “sorry about that.”
I know WalkingDad's not around at the moment, but I'm assuming Riardon is there nonetheless, because I think it's more amusing that way. Oh, and despite appearances, this isn't an attempt to shove my way into the group (you guys already have a warden anyway).[/sblock]A sudden burst of light and noise erupts from the portal as two small figures step through. The first, a middle-aged female kobold attired in a style currently fashionable in Bacarte (with a tailored dress, a matching hat, gloves, and ankle boots) strides in confidently, dragging the second, a younger male, by the hand. The male is dressed in hide armor with fringes that seem more decorative than practical, and carries a small sword, a shield, and a ludicrously oversized new backpack with a pricetag still attached to it. Though taller and more solidly built than a typical kobold, he displays a cringing, furtive manner—the manner usually associated with his race—that makes him appear smaller than he is.
Striding into the middle of the room, the female addresses the male in Draconic, her voice loud and self-important.
[sblock=In Draconic]
“Here we are; enough of your foolish notions. ‘Get drunk or tell a licentious joke,’ indeed! Simply absurd. Of course people would say that—the sort of people you would believe, at any rate! If some disreputable beer-swiller told you that you had to cut your own tail off to activate this portal you’d go ahead and do it! I’m sure you wouldn’t want to know how I felt about it.”[/sblock]
She halts and looks around imperiously, letting go the hand of the other, who rubs it furiously and stretches his fingers during the brief period when her gaze is turned. He looks like he is about to say something, but the female happens to look back in his direction just as he is opening his mouth, and nothing escapes but a small, indecisive noise. His gaze drops to his feet as the female addresses him again, this time at considerable length, her tone making it obvious (even to overhearers who cannot understand a word of Draconic) that she is quite incapable of envisioning any reality in which her wishes are not obeyed. The male’s occasional interjections are little more than plaintive monosyllables.
[sblock=In Draconic]
“Now I want you to take a good look around, because you are not returning to Bacarte any time soon. From now on you are going to spend your time usefully. You are going to make something of yourself—”
“But mother—”
“Be quiet and listen! I have had enough of your silly, wheedling excuses. Your older brothers and sisters are useless. Worthless, irresponsible, uncaring, criminal, the lot of them—they care nothing for their mother—for our family name—care nothing if they break my heart. They could have the biggest score of their lives and not send me a broken penny! Oh, if only your dear father were still—but it doesn’t matter; I’m too old to have any more. You are my last hope. Someone has to support me in my old age and that’s all there is to it. My youngest, dearest son—I don’t want you spending time with your siblings anymore. Ever! Is that clear? You are not to speak to them. You are not to write to them. You are not to—”
“But mo—”
“Hush! You are not to contact them in any way! If they try to contact you, you are to run in the opposite direction. Do you hear?”
“Yes, but I don’t even want to—”
“Pebbles, I must insist that you pay attention. This is my... your last chance. I don’t want you wasting your time with any of these monstrous folk anymore. Not your own kin or any others! Do you understand me?”[/sblock]
As the stylishly dressed female is speaking, her eyes come to rest on Fenwick with an expression of pointed disapproval. The younger kobold turns his head to follow her gaze and she slaps him on the face, bringing his startled attention back in an instant. His hand twitches up in the direction of his cheek but drops back to his side before completing the journey. She continues still more forcefully, again ignoring the male’s objections:
[sblock=In Draconic]
“What are you looking at? That’s precisely what I’m talking about! You are to stay away. You won’t be needing that sort of company here. A dirty, wicked beast! Daunton is a human city. It is a place inhabited by plenty of decent folk. I am going to have one child whose activities I can mention to my cribbage partners without shame. You are going to meet some good honest church-going individuals and become an adventurer—”
“But I don’t know how—”
“Don’t contradict me. Of course you must become an adventurer. How else can you make a living? Look at yourself! It’s not as though you are qualified to do anything useful for society. Now as I was saying: You are going to get together with some good, reliable people. I mean humans and elves and dwarves and those other hoity-toity elves, I forget what they’re called, but it doesn’t matter so long as they are proper folk! People who understand honor. People who have values. Like that one over there!”[/sblock]
The female kobold’s voice rises in pitch as she indicates Riardon with a wave of her hand. The male kobold turns his head to look and, just by coincidence, the kobold’s eyes and the eladrin’s very briefly meet. The kobold immediately looks away, clearly embarrassed. The female continues speaking animatedly.
[sblock=In Draconic]
“See, he is one of those superior elves I was talking about! Observe that firm jaw... those fine cheekbones... such clear, flashing eyes... he even has some sort of glowing sword. He is a paladin, clearly. Valiant, religious—the very companion for you! And that one with him—”[/sblock]
As she is speaking, she points at Jin, but the male kobold doesn’t turn to look.
[sblock=In Draconic]
“See that quaint outfit he’s wearing, the curvy swords—he is from the Kingdom of Jade, if I’m not mistaken; I’ve seen that kind of thing in paintings. Now that is a place where people still believe in honor; and his clothes are simply darling. It’s a shame that they tolerate the presence of that orcish brute, but I suppose the people here are too polite to say anything. Well, what are you waiting for? Go over there and introduce yourself!”[/sblock]
She pokes the male sharply in the side with one brightly painted claw as she concludes her speech, causing him to flinch. He starts to make a protestation, but is quickly cut off by another of her tirades.
[sblock=In Draconic]
“Mother, please, I—”
“Oh, how can you be so timid? Just speak to them! You are an adventurer! They are adventurers!—I cannot imagine what else they may be, dressed like that. Everyone knows that adventurers meet in taverns and say a how d’ye do and shake hands and then they are ready to go off into perilous situations and accumulate profits together without so much as—oh, for pity’s sake, look at you, ducking and weaving as though the sky is falling down on your head. Here, I’ll introduce you.”[/sblock]
Without waiting for a reply, the female kobold approaches Riardon in a most determined manner, dragging the male kobold by the hand. She addresses the eladrin in heavily-accented Allarian as her reluctant companion ducks shyly behind her. “Good day,” she says. “Eat ease a great pleasure to see that such a fine elf-man as you steal exeest een these land. Please allow me to eentroduce to you my youngest son, Peb—”
“Papolstaanas,” the other says emphatically, apparently daring to correct his mother on this one point.
“Yes, whatever,” says the female, still addressing Riardon. “I know what eat ease that you theenk: een your mind, you say to yourself that kobolds are very bad, not honest. All thieves, yes? Well, very true, you are very correct, having these thought. But not my son! My son ease not a creaminal. My son ease a good, honest boy. He ease very strong, very loyal! He only needs... eenstruction, guidance, from a fine releegious elf-man such as yourself, you see? And then he wheel stop hease leetle boy foolishness, always seating een the meadow and peaking daisies—”
“Mother, please,” whines Papolstaanas. “You’re—you’re—”
His mother turns on him angrily. “What ease the matter?”
Papolstaanas hangs his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re... embarrassing me.”
“Embarrassing you!” His mother seems to grow larger as her son hugs himself in terror; her voice rises to a ringing intensity that fills the room. She continues resoundingly in her native tongue:
[sblock=In Draconic]
“Embarrassing you! My poor, sensitive boy! You should have told me how irksome it is, having your foolish old mother around ruining everything. I wish I could have known this earlier and saved you such extreme distress. Silly me, thinking that you needed my help when you obviously would have done so much better had I left you to manage things yourself. It must be terrible, simply terrible, to have a relation that embarrasses one.”[/sblock]
She pulls an embroidered handkerchief out of her purse, continuing to shout at Papolstaanas in Draconic as he cringes miserably.
[sblock=In Draconic]
“I’m sure I can’t possibly understand what it is like for you! It’s never embarrassing when people ask what profession one’s son has chosen and one has to think what to say, knowing that said son does nothing but wander idly off into the woods to imitate bird-calls. It’s not embarrassing when one’s son comes home and one’s friends all see him with a ridiculous little woven circlet of wildflowers on his head. It’s certainly not embarrassing to have to explain to the city guard why one’s innocent little boy has jewelry stolen from five different people on our street hidden in his room.”[/sblock]
Her voice starts to creak a little and she begins dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. Papolstaanas murmurs apologetically in Draconic, but is quickly cut off as his mother starts speaking again, this time in a very aggrieved tone.
[sblock=In Draconic]
“Mother, I’m sorry, I do appreciate your help, I—”
“Oh yes, I know just how much you appreciate it. Well, you promised me that you would start an honest career and take care of things, so at least I have that to cling to. My son may not want me around, but I can still hope that he’ll keep the promises he makes to his mother, however tiresome she may be—”
“Mother, of course I will—”
“—and I suppose that I can be satisfied with that much. Even if my dearest son has no regard for me whatever, even if he leaves me alone in my old age, I can have some small pleasure in his personal integrity.”[/sblock]
She pauses to work a bulky object out of her purse, which proves to be a large leather-bound book. She starts speaking again as she thrusts it at her son.
[sblock=In Draconic]
“This is for you to read when you are camping or whatever it is that you will be doing with your friends here. It is full of valuable wisdom. I hope that, even independent as you are, with no need for your own mother’s help, you are nevertheless not under the impression that you have all the answers.”[/sblock]
Papolstaanas accepts the book with a mumbled response.
[sblock=In case anyone with knowledge of religion is interested]
The book is an Allarian translation of Homilies of Azantia, a religious text that is popular in the Imperium but little-known in Daunton. Azantia was a very conservative priestess of Erath whose teachings were designed to encourage girls to become obedient wives and boys to be dutiful toward their mothers.[/sblock]
Talking right over her son’s mumbling, the female kobold continues more calmly:
[sblock=In Draconic]
“Well then, since you can handle this yourself, I’m going home. My screen-painting group is meeting at our house this afternoon and I’m supposed to provide the refreshments. Remember what you promised! I expect to hear from you often. Write to me of your adventures!”[/sblock]
And with that she quickly embraces her son (who can barely respond, what with all the stuff he is carrying), and, turning back the way she came, strides briskly to the portal. In a flash, she is gone, and the very walls of the Hanged Man seem to sigh with relief.
Papolstaanas stares dumbly at the portal after his mother has gone through, reluctant to face the complete strangers that she has left him with. After a few moments, he turns to them hesitantly.
“Um,” he says lamely, “sorry about that.”
Last edited:
