Even Newer Tavern Thread: The Hanged Man

[ScorpiusRisk]

A young girl of fourteen or fifteen enters the tavern, with her face in a book. Frazzled, pale blonde hairs pokes out of the edges, and if you feel compelled to tell her she may be too young for this place the rest of her attire quickly tells you otherwise. Under a brown cloak, she wears dark hide, that no only has odd undertones to it, but is then dyed with strange runes and glyphs. It seems like it was recently tailored and fits her quite well.

She lifts her head from the book for a moment, and you see a young, pretty face framed by old looking spectacles. She announces herself, without taking her eyes from the book. "Bell Jabson. Arcane Linguist." Then moves to a table and takes a seat. A sword clangs against the chair, hanging under her cloak.

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[sblock=ooc]Bell will be 4th, as soon as I get around to it.[/sblock]

 

[Voda Vosa]

OOC: If you are 4, then you are invited to join my game. I would think Bell has heard at least half of what Simpletown and Tine said.

 

[Neurotic]

OOC Voda Vosa: Martelai will be third once approved, I'm guessing that's a bit low for you? I was hoping you'll go over to LEB, I have two inactive characters there

 

[Voda Vosa]

OOC: I will, given time. I'm in a bit of a mess RL speaking.

 

[ScorpiusRisk]

[sblock=ooc]Not to be a pain, but Bell doesn't really pay attention to the world around her, never mind if she's reading a good book. High Int, low Wis. You know the drill.

Luckily, either Martelai, Ikni or Charina will likely be along shortly. They should hopefully help focus her a bit, unless your NPCs wanted to do something directly.[/sblock]

 

[industrygothica]

The door to the tavern creeks open, and a gaunt elven woman slips through. Her clothes are road-worn and dusty, and her wiry black hair covers most of her face. Somehow, the glimmer from her pale blue eyes seems to find its way through the tangled, raven-colored mass.

As she turns to face the bar, patrons will notice the snake coiled around the quarterstaff lashed to her pack.

"I am Willow, from the Valley of Bone," she says to the man behind the counter. "I'd like a drink, please. Something non-intoxicating."


[sblock=OOC]Willow, Level 1 Elf druid. Still awaiting approval.[/sblock]

 

[dimsdale]

Grakk spits on the floor in discussed, angered by what he hears of the missing laborer. "It is wrong to harm the unprotected innocent. I will help find him. Let's see how the captor or killer handles a more worthy foe."

Grakk, obviously not skilled in the art of diplomacy, strikes a puzzled face as he witnesses another round of more intense wailing and sobbing from the woman when he (Grakk) mentioned of the word "killer."

 

[Xeterog]

A tall dwarf enters the tavern and looks around briefly. He has a short red beard and hair, wears obviously 2nd-hand scale mail with a dented shield on his back. A worn (or is it just old) craghammer hangs from his belt as well. He does not look comfortable in his gear, as if he is not used to carrying so much.

"I'm Fredrock, formerly of the Sanctuary. I'll have an ale, barkeep." he says as he looks for a secluded table.

[sblock=Fredrock, OOC]Fredrock, 1st level Battlemind, awaiting approval
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[Karmic_vegeance]

Yimayngurr winces as he watches the dragonborn dig into his own arm. "You really should let my mate One-Who-Waits look at that. He's a right good healer, he is. Make you feel manymak, real nice, eh? And what's all this about rolling in a gutter? Might be you gonna get infection."

"Well, you can see I don't need the healin' anymore. And I've dealt with infection before - it's the reason I tried to learn this little trick. As for the gutter..." The dragonborn pauses, considering how to continue his sentence. After a considerable pause, he shrugs. "Simple. If an old friend needs me to roll in a gutter, I get on my belly and roll."

As the dwarf and elf enter the tavern, J'ryi raises an eyebrow at the unkempt arrivals - not that he'd looked much better upon first stepping in. "Speaking of dirt, it looks like the two of you took a tumble on your way here." Addressing the elf specifically, the dragonborn comments on her choice of drink: "No offense meant, girlie, but it looks like you could use something strong in your system. Rough work calls for a tough drink - stronger than sage water or rose soda, at least - and you look like you just stepped off a battlefield."

[sblock=OOC]Changed my text color to differentiate my speech from Fredrock's.[/sblock]

 

[EvolutionKB]

A shifter walks through the doors of the bar. His dark hair is tightly braided and he wears a suit of green and brown leather armor. A cloak that was brown, except near his neck and feet, where it was a deep red, covers his broad shoulders. A pair of wicked looking knives hang at his belt. “Yeah, I know,” he says muttering to himself or maybe somebody nearby. “Cliff Brownbriar.” The shifter takes a seat at the bar, orders an ale and dinner, then looks around to see what else is happening in the place.

[sblock=ooc]Longtooth Seeker|Ranger, 0 approvals[/sblock]