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[Tavern Thread] The Dunn Wright Inn
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<blockquote data-quote="jbear" data-source="post: 5546175" data-attributes="member: 75065"><p>A dishevelled old human man struggles through the heavy tavern door, arms trembling from the effort to push it open. Cursing lightly under his breath about ogres and engineering, he strides over to the bar with a brisk step that belies his 60 odd summers that have left his smiling eyes heavily wrinkled. The air is filled with a pleasant mix of rare herbs and spices in his wake. He rests his bean pole thin frame up against the bar, picks a stray twig out of his bushy white beard with his long spidery blue stained fingers waiting paitently to get the barman's attention with a nearly toothless grin.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: Orange">"A jug of your finest ...."</span> he begins once the barman attends him. He opens a worn leather pouch that looks more empty than not, peering inside, brow furrowed as though calculating something in his head. <span style="color: Orange">"A cup of cheap ale, good man. The cheapest you have that man can still swallow! And bring bread! Stale bread is fine. And a slice of cheese! A thin slice of cheese!"</span></p><p></p><p>As he waits for his feast to be brought to him, he stretches his back which gives off a series of loud cracking and popping noises before sitting down on a bar stool, mumbling <span style="color: Orange">"How this old body betrays me."</span></p><p></p><p>He washes down the bread and cheese as though he hadn't eaten in a week and leans back with a look of satisfaction, finally taking in his surroundings and fellow clients. Anyone who meets his gaze is met with a friendly, sparkling eyed grin and the raising of his cup.</p><p></p><p>Once his ale is finished he slaps down the coppers he owes. He looks folornly into his meager pouch again, cocks his head, shrugs, slapping down another copper. <span style="color: Orange">"Same again, good man!"</span></p><p></p><p>Ale in hand he hops down from his stool, quite nimbly, without spilling a drop and moves over to sit at the table closest to the hearth. He takes off his soaking wet, badly tattered boots, leaving them close to the fire to dry and stretches out his skinny, knobbly kneed legs from beneath his wet, mud stained peasant's robes to warm his wrinkled feet. With a sigh of pleasure, he turns his attention to the other patrons, blatantly eaves dropping in on their conversations.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="jbear, post: 5546175, member: 75065"] A dishevelled old human man struggles through the heavy tavern door, arms trembling from the effort to push it open. Cursing lightly under his breath about ogres and engineering, he strides over to the bar with a brisk step that belies his 60 odd summers that have left his smiling eyes heavily wrinkled. The air is filled with a pleasant mix of rare herbs and spices in his wake. He rests his bean pole thin frame up against the bar, picks a stray twig out of his bushy white beard with his long spidery blue stained fingers waiting paitently to get the barman's attention with a nearly toothless grin. [COLOR="Orange"]"A jug of your finest ...."[/COLOR] he begins once the barman attends him. He opens a worn leather pouch that looks more empty than not, peering inside, brow furrowed as though calculating something in his head. [COLOR="Orange"]"A cup of cheap ale, good man. The cheapest you have that man can still swallow! And bring bread! Stale bread is fine. And a slice of cheese! A thin slice of cheese!"[/COLOR] As he waits for his feast to be brought to him, he stretches his back which gives off a series of loud cracking and popping noises before sitting down on a bar stool, mumbling [COLOR="Orange"]"How this old body betrays me."[/COLOR] He washes down the bread and cheese as though he hadn't eaten in a week and leans back with a look of satisfaction, finally taking in his surroundings and fellow clients. Anyone who meets his gaze is met with a friendly, sparkling eyed grin and the raising of his cup. Once his ale is finished he slaps down the coppers he owes. He looks folornly into his meager pouch again, cocks his head, shrugs, slapping down another copper. [COLOR="Orange"]"Same again, good man!"[/COLOR] Ale in hand he hops down from his stool, quite nimbly, without spilling a drop and moves over to sit at the table closest to the hearth. He takes off his soaking wet, badly tattered boots, leaving them close to the fire to dry and stretches out his skinny, knobbly kneed legs from beneath his wet, mud stained peasant's robes to warm his wrinkled feet. With a sigh of pleasure, he turns his attention to the other patrons, blatantly eaves dropping in on their conversations. [/QUOTE]
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