JoeNotCharles
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NOW LIVE! Into the Woods--new character species, eerie monsters, and haunting villains to populate the woodlands of your D&D games.
Even Newer(er) Tavern Thread: The Hanged Man
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H.M.Gimlord
Explorer
It’s funny one fails to notice that it has begun to rain until one hears a thunderclap or a flash of lightning. Such is the case now as a rolling boom shakes the shutters of the Hanged Man leaking brilliant strobes along with a more than uncomfortable spray of rain. It is only then that the patrons notice how dark is outside. Clouds have obscured the features of the sky leaving it impossible to tell if it is day or night. Inside, the denizens of the tavern pull their cloaks more closely about themselves, or scoot their seats further from the windows and doorways, arriving at new roosts closer to a fire.
Rain drums on the tavern roof like so many marbles of glass, and the path between the common room door and the bar beings to take the form of a small creek bed as travelers make their way to take a seat at the bar, shedding the sky’s tears from their saturated capes. The smells of food, weed, wine, and hickory that normally waft through the common room become muted by the ozone generated by the lighting, and thus a gloom settles on those that have taken their seats in the Hanged Man.
This is the condition into which a stranger walks. He passes through the doorway, and can hardly avoid being noticed. His clothes are fine and brilliant-blue, accented with black diamond-studded leatherwork. Long, white, billowing hair cascades over his pointed ears, framing a face as dark as the artificial night from which he entered. He wears no cloak, and though he is standing in a pool of water, his clothes are already dry, as if by some magic, the rain, instead of soaking into the threads, simply rolled off as if from a lotus leaf, “My friends!” he announces, “I am in need of a thief!” He speaks the words without embarrassment, as if he expects that a thief would readily reveal himself as such in public. Even so, there is no hint of naiveté in the man’s eyes.
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir!” The bartender replies, “We prefer the term ‘Adventurer’ by land or ‘Seeker of Fortune’ by sea.” He pauses, and then adds, “And the assembly won’t work for anyone ‘less you give ‘em your name.”
A brief flash of range passes over the stranger’s sapphire eyes, but it’s gone before anyone can be sure it was ever there, “You may call me Reteahceht, and as I said, I am in need of a Thief.”
He strides over to the bar, and sits down, dropping a platinum piece on the counter top,“A glass of fine wine, and ale first-come-first-serve until that runs out.”
“Yes sir!” The bartender’s mood seems to improve when he sees the gold, and he immediately uncorks and pours the stranger a glass of wine from a dusty bottle, “Drinks for everyone till the money’s gone!” He scampers to the back-counter and starts pulling draughts.
Rain drums on the tavern roof like so many marbles of glass, and the path between the common room door and the bar beings to take the form of a small creek bed as travelers make their way to take a seat at the bar, shedding the sky’s tears from their saturated capes. The smells of food, weed, wine, and hickory that normally waft through the common room become muted by the ozone generated by the lighting, and thus a gloom settles on those that have taken their seats in the Hanged Man.
This is the condition into which a stranger walks. He passes through the doorway, and can hardly avoid being noticed. His clothes are fine and brilliant-blue, accented with black diamond-studded leatherwork. Long, white, billowing hair cascades over his pointed ears, framing a face as dark as the artificial night from which he entered. He wears no cloak, and though he is standing in a pool of water, his clothes are already dry, as if by some magic, the rain, instead of soaking into the threads, simply rolled off as if from a lotus leaf, “My friends!” he announces, “I am in need of a thief!” He speaks the words without embarrassment, as if he expects that a thief would readily reveal himself as such in public. Even so, there is no hint of naiveté in the man’s eyes.
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir!” The bartender replies, “We prefer the term ‘Adventurer’ by land or ‘Seeker of Fortune’ by sea.” He pauses, and then adds, “And the assembly won’t work for anyone ‘less you give ‘em your name.”
A brief flash of range passes over the stranger’s sapphire eyes, but it’s gone before anyone can be sure it was ever there, “You may call me Reteahceht, and as I said, I am in need of a Thief.”
He strides over to the bar, and sits down, dropping a platinum piece on the counter top,“A glass of fine wine, and ale first-come-first-serve until that runs out.”
“Yes sir!” The bartender’s mood seems to improve when he sees the gold, and he immediately uncorks and pours the stranger a glass of wine from a dusty bottle, “Drinks for everyone till the money’s gone!” He scampers to the back-counter and starts pulling draughts.
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horticulture
Slightly entitled.
The barroom door opens with a resounding crash, letting the rain and smell of ozone seep into the common room once again; following close behind the swinging portal clanks an armed and armored dwarf, water flowing off him in rivers. With nary a twitch of his arm, he sends the door crashing closed.
An exagerated, and very bushy, eyebrow raised, he looks over bar until his eyes alight the barkeep, to whom he moves towards, arms and legs pumping like pistons. Upon hopping atop a vacant stool, he digs out then drops a dented and dirty piece of gold on the bartop, grabs the bartender by his shirt front, pulls him close and in a conspiratorially loud bellow asks a few questions.
"Ye got ale, do ye?" to which the barkeep assures him that he does, which causes the dwarf to let go and lean back a little. "And what o' a bit o' work? Been lookin' ta fill me coffers wit some gold an' what. Know anythin' 'bout that?"
The bartender, upon being released, clears his throat and tugs on the hem of his now crumpled shirt. "Now and again, good dwarf, fellows come around looking for those that seek thrills in exchange for payment. This may be the best place to look for work, if you're patient." The bartender places a stout mug upon the bartop and fills it with ale, passing it along to the rain soaked dwarf.
"Ahh, one o' them waitin' games, what? Good that me belly's empty and me beard's in need o' a wash then." He snatches the mug in a meaty paw and quickly drains its contents down his gullet, only half of the ale spilling out of his mouth and washing down his beard. "Keep 'em comin', lad, got nothin' but time on me hands, y'see."
An exagerated, and very bushy, eyebrow raised, he looks over bar until his eyes alight the barkeep, to whom he moves towards, arms and legs pumping like pistons. Upon hopping atop a vacant stool, he digs out then drops a dented and dirty piece of gold on the bartop, grabs the bartender by his shirt front, pulls him close and in a conspiratorially loud bellow asks a few questions.
"Ye got ale, do ye?" to which the barkeep assures him that he does, which causes the dwarf to let go and lean back a little. "And what o' a bit o' work? Been lookin' ta fill me coffers wit some gold an' what. Know anythin' 'bout that?"
The bartender, upon being released, clears his throat and tugs on the hem of his now crumpled shirt. "Now and again, good dwarf, fellows come around looking for those that seek thrills in exchange for payment. This may be the best place to look for work, if you're patient." The bartender places a stout mug upon the bartop and fills it with ale, passing it along to the rain soaked dwarf.
"Ahh, one o' them waitin' games, what? Good that me belly's empty and me beard's in need o' a wash then." He snatches the mug in a meaty paw and quickly drains its contents down his gullet, only half of the ale spilling out of his mouth and washing down his beard. "Keep 'em comin', lad, got nothin' but time on me hands, y'see."
H.M.Gimlord
Explorer
The bartender refills the dwarf's ale and picks up the dented coin. Putting it back on the bar in front of the dwarf, he says, "You can hang on to that for a little while longer," in his other hand he twirls the platinum piece, being careful to do so out of the dwarf's reach, "The gentleman sitting next to you is paying until this runs out," he indicates the tall, blue-clad dark-elf at the bar who smiles wanly as if regretting the gesture and quickly looks away as if the dwarf is NOT the type of person for whom he is looking.
The bartender pockets the platinum piece once more and continues, "Anyway, just couldn't stand taking money from somebody needing to earn it." He starts to resume his chores behind the bar, but suddenly snaps up like he just remembered something, "Oh, by the by. What's your name? It's customary for you to say it as you enter."
The bartender pockets the platinum piece once more and continues, "Anyway, just couldn't stand taking money from somebody needing to earn it." He starts to resume his chores behind the bar, but suddenly snaps up like he just remembered something, "Oh, by the by. What's your name? It's customary for you to say it as you enter."
horticulture
Slightly entitled.
Graval Metalrent, door kicker extraordinare.
Upon hearing that another is paying to get him drunk, the dwarf snatches up the gold piece with one hand while simultaneously upending the refilled mug into his gaping maw with the other. The ale, once again, mostly stays in his mouth; only a few rivulets soaking into his beard.
He places the mug onto the bartop with something akin to reverence and offers a resounding belch of satisfaction. "Tha's me fav'rite kind o' elf, right there!" He thumps the elf in the arm in a friendly gesture of gratitude and motions for a refill of his ale.
"Graval Metalrent's me name and I be a door kicker extraor--," his face screws up as he tries to mouth the word silently for a few seconds, "extruordin..exter..bah! Door kicker master!" He pats his plate armored belly, "Do a prutty good impress'n of a door too, if ye catch me meanin'! Hahaha!" He doesn't seem to be talking to anyone in particular, but he bellows out his monologue as if he's trying to get someone's attention in the next building over.
[sblock=Graval]
Graval Metalrent - Male Dwarf Fighter 1
Init: +2, Passive Percept: 17, Passive Insight: 12
AC: 20, F: 16, R: 14, W: 12, Spd: 5
HP: 31/31, Blood: 15, Surge: 7, Surges left: 12/12
AP: 1/1, Second Wind: Avail, Milestones: 0
Powers -
Combat Challenge, Brash Strike, Tide of Iron
Hack and Hew, Dwarven Resilience
Driving Attack
PC:Graval (horticulture) - L4W Wiki
[/sblock]
Upon hearing that another is paying to get him drunk, the dwarf snatches up the gold piece with one hand while simultaneously upending the refilled mug into his gaping maw with the other. The ale, once again, mostly stays in his mouth; only a few rivulets soaking into his beard.
He places the mug onto the bartop with something akin to reverence and offers a resounding belch of satisfaction. "Tha's me fav'rite kind o' elf, right there!" He thumps the elf in the arm in a friendly gesture of gratitude and motions for a refill of his ale.
"Graval Metalrent's me name and I be a door kicker extraor--," his face screws up as he tries to mouth the word silently for a few seconds, "extruordin..exter..bah! Door kicker master!" He pats his plate armored belly, "Do a prutty good impress'n of a door too, if ye catch me meanin'! Hahaha!" He doesn't seem to be talking to anyone in particular, but he bellows out his monologue as if he's trying to get someone's attention in the next building over.
[sblock=Graval]
Graval Metalrent - Male Dwarf Fighter 1
Init: +2, Passive Percept: 17, Passive Insight: 12
AC: 20, F: 16, R: 14, W: 12, Spd: 5
HP: 31/31, Blood: 15, Surge: 7, Surges left: 12/12
AP: 1/1, Second Wind: Avail, Milestones: 0
Powers -
Combat Challenge, Brash Strike, Tide of Iron
Hack and Hew, Dwarven Resilience
Driving Attack
PC:Graval (horticulture) - L4W Wiki
[/sblock]
Tenchuu
First Post
The dwarf certainly had Spider's attention now. "Eeey Grava! I an I say ya be da belch masta as well!" he called with mirth, walking over and slapping another copper on the bar. "Barkeepa: won mo roun, ya 'ear?"
The Half-orc clapped him on the shoulder, and then offered his other hand. "I issa called Spidah, mos da time. I an I be well met, dis I know."
The Half-orc clapped him on the shoulder, and then offered his other hand. "I issa called Spidah, mos da time. I an I be well met, dis I know."
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Mewness
First Post
Goldenhorn, having polished off his leg of lamb and drunk a good cup or three of wine, gets up and bows to Graval, his gilded horns glinting in the lamplight and his showy gold trinkets jingling. "Well met, Graval Metalrent. I am Ingvar Goldenhorn, son of King Dalfred Goldenhorn of Heaven's Eye, of the line of Asterion the First. My ancestors' deeds are many and glorious, but my own are but modest. I applaud your mastery of door-kicking, for indeed I have explored many ancient ruins where no options for ingress presented themselves other than to kick a few doors."
horticulture
Slightly entitled.
Graval Metalrent - also belch master.
"This is me kinda place, what. Ever'one buyin' me drinks and offerin' introd...intr -- 'ellos!" Graval grabs hold of Spider's proffered hand and gives it a hearty shake. "And ye be right o' that, Spider, I been th' belch master fer four years runnin', don't ye be doubtin'."
With a tip of his open-faced helm, he turns to Goldenhorn, "And a princely bullman, in'eresting. Have a care, lad, an' grab a chair." He kicks out a stool for the two interesting folk and gives the bartender the generally agreed upon hand signal for three more drinks. "Wha' brings th' two o' ye 'bout these parts? Searchin' fer some coin ta pad yer pouches wit, what? Tha's me main searchin' point 'round here. Know o' any what need a guard or a skull in need o' cleavin'? I be doin' both jus' the same."
"This is me kinda place, what. Ever'one buyin' me drinks and offerin' introd...intr -- 'ellos!" Graval grabs hold of Spider's proffered hand and gives it a hearty shake. "And ye be right o' that, Spider, I been th' belch master fer four years runnin', don't ye be doubtin'."
With a tip of his open-faced helm, he turns to Goldenhorn, "And a princely bullman, in'eresting. Have a care, lad, an' grab a chair." He kicks out a stool for the two interesting folk and gives the bartender the generally agreed upon hand signal for three more drinks. "Wha' brings th' two o' ye 'bout these parts? Searchin' fer some coin ta pad yer pouches wit, what? Tha's me main searchin' point 'round here. Know o' any what need a guard or a skull in need o' cleavin'? I be doin' both jus' the same."
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