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Team Baldy's Tales From The OBO-ESRD Tavern! (Calling Hypersmurf)
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<blockquote data-quote="Lazlow" data-source="post: 2280205" data-attributes="member: 24242"><p><strong>Intro</strong></p><p></p><p>As the sun peeked out from behind the clouds over the seaside village of Lizard Spit, spilling its warm, golden glow over all, it took one look at the town and immediately wished it had stayed in bed. So, like so many days before this one, it spent the rest of the day hiding behind drizzle-soaked storm clouds and basically sulking its way across the heavens.</p><p></p><p>In other words, it was a normal day in Lizard Spit.</p><p></p><p>The grey sky loomed overhead like it always did, the clouds drooled dirty drizzle all around like they always did, and the citizens of Lizard Spit put up with this like they always did. Such was Lizard Spit.</p><p></p><p>However, there <em>was</em> something different about this particular day. There were new folks in town this day, having arrived late last night, each from distant lands unknown – the two swarthy dwarves who hailed from the North, one impeccably scrubbed and dressed, the other… Well, not so impeccably scrubbed and dressed; the exotically alluring and charismatic Half-Orc woman; the cold and aloof elf; the happy-go-lucky bard; and the tall, handsome Half-Orc warrior with the foul disposition (although… There <em>are</em> rumors that he helped little Sammy, the baker’s son, get his kite down off a rooftop…) Yessiree, such a stir hadn’t been caused in Lizard Spit since – well, we’ll get to that shortly.</p><p></p><p>Yes, as you could tell, the citizens of Lizard Spit were a hardy bunch, withstanding the weather, strangers, and even the occasional natural disaster with a grim, determined apathy. Why, even when the town was terrorized by that dragon all those years ago, the people of Lizard Spit merely put up with it, paying tribute to the dragon and providing maidens as needed. Truth be told, the dragon was about to pack it in and find an exciting, altogether more <em>lively</em> town if it hadn’t been for Sir Dudley, who decided to come to the town’s aid (even though they didn’t ask for it) and slay that monstrous dragon. Legend has it that, in a remarkable and largely unprecedented display of thoughtfulness, the citizens of Lizard Spit commissioned a statue of Sir Dudley and had it erected in the town square on the day of his departure. Of course, some might call the pose that the sculptor had chosen a bit questionable, what with him appearing to be scratching his butt and all, but it didn’t really seem to bother the fine people of the town. Life went on as usual – the sky loomed, the clouds drooled. Such was Lizard Spit.</p><p></p><p>But that was decades ago, and there weren’t many left in town that were witness to those crazy, reckless days of yore when Spittians (such was what they called themselves) went about erecting statues willy-nilly. Nosiree, those impetuous, hotheaded days were gone. Why, just last month marauding bands of goblinoids from the surrounding woods began raiding the town for food and loot, but do you see the townspeople complaining? Of course not, they’re Spittians, dammit! And it is on one of these later, altogether lackluster days that these six strangers happen to find themselves in The Old Bald One-Eyed Salty Red Dog Tavern…</p><p></p><p>Ah yes, The Old Bald One-Eyed Salty Red Dog Tavern. Quite a popular place, it seems, and not only because it’s the only place in town where you could get a decent meal and a good mug of ale (aside from The Water Weasel, but who wants to go to that dive?). Here is where the burly dwarf Feargal Sunderkeg, the current owner and proprietor of the tavern, plies his trade. With his sister Muirna tending tables and his cousin Olaf in the kitchen, Sunderkeg (as he likes to be called) has managed to make this establishment the jewel of the city. Well, not really. But he sure would like to think so, and he does serve up a mean mug o’ hooch. Most of the townsfolk like to come here after a hard, long day of indifference to the world and tie one on, perhaps listening to a wandering minstrel every now and again before he leaves (or hangs himself) from utter depression, or reveling in one of Sunderkeg’s many tall tales of his past adventures. The womenfolk keep abreast of the latest gossip via Muirna, who never lets a juicy bit of hearsay get past her. And everyone just <em>loves</em> Olaf’s lutefisk. Mm-mm, lutefisk…</p><p></p><p>…Er, so, as I said, it so happens that these six strangers have made their way into The Old Bald One-Eyed Salty Red Dog Tavern, where some momentous things may or may not await them…</p><p></p><p>==================</p><p></p><p>OOC: ...Aaaaaaaaaaaand - <em>action!</em></p><p></p><p>(Tavern map is up in OOC thread.)</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazlow, post: 2280205, member: 24242"] [b]Intro[/b] As the sun peeked out from behind the clouds over the seaside village of Lizard Spit, spilling its warm, golden glow over all, it took one look at the town and immediately wished it had stayed in bed. So, like so many days before this one, it spent the rest of the day hiding behind drizzle-soaked storm clouds and basically sulking its way across the heavens. In other words, it was a normal day in Lizard Spit. The grey sky loomed overhead like it always did, the clouds drooled dirty drizzle all around like they always did, and the citizens of Lizard Spit put up with this like they always did. Such was Lizard Spit. However, there [i]was[/i] something different about this particular day. There were new folks in town this day, having arrived late last night, each from distant lands unknown – the two swarthy dwarves who hailed from the North, one impeccably scrubbed and dressed, the other… Well, not so impeccably scrubbed and dressed; the exotically alluring and charismatic Half-Orc woman; the cold and aloof elf; the happy-go-lucky bard; and the tall, handsome Half-Orc warrior with the foul disposition (although… There [I]are[/I] rumors that he helped little Sammy, the baker’s son, get his kite down off a rooftop…) Yessiree, such a stir hadn’t been caused in Lizard Spit since – well, we’ll get to that shortly. Yes, as you could tell, the citizens of Lizard Spit were a hardy bunch, withstanding the weather, strangers, and even the occasional natural disaster with a grim, determined apathy. Why, even when the town was terrorized by that dragon all those years ago, the people of Lizard Spit merely put up with it, paying tribute to the dragon and providing maidens as needed. Truth be told, the dragon was about to pack it in and find an exciting, altogether more [i]lively[/i] town if it hadn’t been for Sir Dudley, who decided to come to the town’s aid (even though they didn’t ask for it) and slay that monstrous dragon. Legend has it that, in a remarkable and largely unprecedented display of thoughtfulness, the citizens of Lizard Spit commissioned a statue of Sir Dudley and had it erected in the town square on the day of his departure. Of course, some might call the pose that the sculptor had chosen a bit questionable, what with him appearing to be scratching his butt and all, but it didn’t really seem to bother the fine people of the town. Life went on as usual – the sky loomed, the clouds drooled. Such was Lizard Spit. But that was decades ago, and there weren’t many left in town that were witness to those crazy, reckless days of yore when Spittians (such was what they called themselves) went about erecting statues willy-nilly. Nosiree, those impetuous, hotheaded days were gone. Why, just last month marauding bands of goblinoids from the surrounding woods began raiding the town for food and loot, but do you see the townspeople complaining? Of course not, they’re Spittians, dammit! And it is on one of these later, altogether lackluster days that these six strangers happen to find themselves in The Old Bald One-Eyed Salty Red Dog Tavern… Ah yes, The Old Bald One-Eyed Salty Red Dog Tavern. Quite a popular place, it seems, and not only because it’s the only place in town where you could get a decent meal and a good mug of ale (aside from The Water Weasel, but who wants to go to that dive?). Here is where the burly dwarf Feargal Sunderkeg, the current owner and proprietor of the tavern, plies his trade. With his sister Muirna tending tables and his cousin Olaf in the kitchen, Sunderkeg (as he likes to be called) has managed to make this establishment the jewel of the city. Well, not really. But he sure would like to think so, and he does serve up a mean mug o’ hooch. Most of the townsfolk like to come here after a hard, long day of indifference to the world and tie one on, perhaps listening to a wandering minstrel every now and again before he leaves (or hangs himself) from utter depression, or reveling in one of Sunderkeg’s many tall tales of his past adventures. The womenfolk keep abreast of the latest gossip via Muirna, who never lets a juicy bit of hearsay get past her. And everyone just [i]loves[/i] Olaf’s lutefisk. Mm-mm, lutefisk… …Er, so, as I said, it so happens that these six strangers have made their way into The Old Bald One-Eyed Salty Red Dog Tavern, where some momentous things may or may not await them… ================== OOC: ...Aaaaaaaaaaaand - [i]action![/i] (Tavern map is up in OOC thread.) [/QUOTE]
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