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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="Lazlow" data-source="post: 2283546" data-attributes="member: 24242"><p><strong>Sunderkeg on the job</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>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.</p><p> </p><p></p><p></p><p><span style="color: DarkOrchid">"Proprietor, gimme some grog. And get some for this pretty little lady, here, too."</span> <winks at elf, nods, turns back around to face the crowd></p><p></p><p><span style="color: Sienna">"Feargal! Little help up front please," </span> the barmaid says before disappearing through the kitchen door.</p><p></p><p>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. <span style="color: DarkRed">"Ach weel, m'lad, noo thas'll be th' bayst grog ye'll be havin' 'n a long toime, aye,"</span> he says in the most ridiculous 'Dwarven' accent you've ever heard.</p><p></p><p>He turns to the brightly adorned elf and whistles long and low. <span style="color: DarkRed">"Faith'n begorrah, lad! I..."</span></p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>He clears his throat and composes himself. <span style="color: DarkRed">"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-"</span></p><p></p><p>He stops short, distracted (impossible as it sounds) by something bright and shiny that is, amazingly, <strong>not</strong> adorning the elf.</p><p></p><p>He turns back to the dusty man and says, <span style="color: DarkRed">"Say... 's that a badge yoor weerin'?"</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazlow, post: 2283546, member: 24242"] [b]Sunderkeg on the job[/b] 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. [color=DarkOrchid]"Proprietor, gimme some grog. And get some for this pretty little lady, here, too."[/color] <winks at elf, nods, turns back around to face the crowd> [COLOR=Sienna]"Feargal! Little help up front please," [/COLOR] 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. [COLOR=DarkRed]"Ach weel, m'lad, noo thas'll be th' bayst grog ye'll be havin' 'n a long toime, aye,"[/COLOR] he says in the most ridiculous 'Dwarven' accent you've ever heard. He turns to the brightly adorned elf and whistles long and low. [COLOR=DarkRed]"Faith'n begorrah, lad! I..."[/COLOR] 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. [COLOR=DarkRed]"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-"[/COLOR] He stops short, distracted (impossible as it sounds) by something bright and shiny that is, amazingly, [b]not[/b] adorning the elf. He turns back to the dusty man and says, [COLOR=DarkRed]"Say... 's that a badge yoor weerin'?"[/COLOR] [/QUOTE]
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