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Tales From The Old Bald One-Eyed Salty Red Dog Tavern! (chapter 1, now closed)
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<blockquote data-quote="Gray Shade" data-source="post: 2281535" data-attributes="member: 32340"><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 12px">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.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 12px">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.</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 12px">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?).</span></span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 12px">Once the elf's finally stopped . . . oh, wait, no . . . okay . . . NOW that the elf's stopped talking, between gnaws at his tobaccy-stick he says to the proprietor, <span style="color: darkorchid"><span style="color: orange"><span style="color: orange"><span style="color: black">"Proprietor, gimme some grog. And get some for this pretty little lady, here, too."</span></span></span></span> With that, he gives the elf a quick wink and nod of the head, and turns around to survey the rest of the citizenry.</span></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Gray Shade, post: 2281535, member: 32340"] [font=Verdana][size=3]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.[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=3]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.[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=3]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?).[/size][/font] [font=Verdana][size=3]Once the elf's finally stopped . . . oh, wait, no . . . okay . . . NOW that the elf's stopped talking, between gnaws at his tobaccy-stick he says to the proprietor, [color=darkorchid][color=orange][color=orange][color=black]"Proprietor, gimme some grog. And get some for this pretty little lady, here, too."[/color][/color][/color][/color] With that, he gives the elf a quick wink and nod of the head, and turns around to survey the rest of the citizenry.[/size][/font] [/QUOTE]
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