New Tavern Thread: The Hanged Man

[covaithe]

Tristan sighs. "This would be Mikara." He leans in to Mikara's ear and whispers, "So am I going to have to carry you out of here? How many did you have?" He turns back to the messenger and says, "I suppose we might as well go see what he wants ... at least it'll get us out of this giant box." Tristan throws a wink at the messenger, smiles wryly and motions for her to lead on.

The messenger frowns dubiously at Mikara, then shrugs, clearly having decided not my problem. "Right. Come on, then." She leads the way out of the tavern at a jaunty pace.

[sblock=ooc]To be continued in the Love Bites thread, momentarily.[/sblock]

 

[H.M.Gimlord]

Tristan sighs. "This would be Mikara." He leans in to Mikara's ear and whispers, "So am I going to have to carry you out of here? How many did you have?" He turns back to the messenger and says, "I suppose we might as well go see what he wants ... at least it'll get us out of this giant box." Tristan throws a wink at the messenger, smiles wryly and motions for her to lead on.

Mikara leans over to Tristan, "Eight, by my count. I'm fine, though. I'm just having a little fun." Mikara bows low to the young herald and lazily follows her out of the tavern.

 

[Lord Sessadore]

Tristan gives Mikara a skeptical glance in response to her claim of being fine, though he can't deny that the sentence was far more lucid than her recent rambles. He sighs and follows the two elven women out of the tavern, a resigned look on his face.

 

[pacdidj]

The door opens, framing the silhouette of a tall, sun-baked half-orc. A light breeze carries the astringent odor of salt-water mixed with sweat. He shuffles in, glancing furtively around the room, and leans a long, obsidian-tipped spear against the wall near the door.

He approaches the bar, greeting the barkeep with a mumbled "G'day" and orders a pint of the cheapest grog. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he sits down to his drink, occasionally muttering to himself in an unrecognizable language: "Nhalili ngarranydja..."

 

[Mewness]

The door to the tavern opens and an indigo-skinned man enters quietly. He is dressed in peasant clothes with a crude leather apron and a simple turban, but his otherwise poor appearance is somewhat belied by an peculair item he carries--a shiny ball embroidered with the figure of a winding blue serpent. He turns to a serving-boy and addresses him solemnly.

"This inconsequential traveler is-"

"One-Who-Waits," the boy interrupts. "I remember you."

One-Who-Waits bows. "The honored host must have both a cultivated mind and a gracious heart, to not only remember one so insignificant, but address him, by name, with such friendliness. This one is indebted to the honored host who makes him feel almost as if he is coming home."

The boy sighs audibly. "Something to eat? Drink?"

"The honored host anticipates this unworthy beggar's every wish," One-Who-Waits replies. "This one is concerned only that the host in his extravagant generosity will bestow upon this humble intruder such fine provender as a rude one like himself cannot appreciate; therefore-"

But the boy is already scurrying away.

[sblock=ooc]Finals are done, I am back, and One-Who-Waits, deva shaman, has been submitted for level 2.[/sblock]

 

[pacdidj]

The half-orc looks up from his drink, and does a double take at the indigo-skinned traveler, apparently unfamiliar with the deva race. Then he remembers his manners. Pulling back a bar stool for One-Who-Waits he says, "Hello mate. You can sit here if ya like," motioning to the stool next to his.

"Me name's Yimayngurr. I been just come in from Kythira. Long story that..." A pained expression crosses his face for just a moment. Shaking the reverie off he continues: "Beg pardon, must be feeling a little rocky from the trip. Been eager to meet some locals though," an ever-so-slightly desperate gleam in the half-orc's eye betraying the truth of this statement. Eying the traveler's unfamiliar skin and markings he asks "Are there many like yourself on Daunton, then?"

 

[Mewness]

"The honored traveler is most gracious," says One-Who-Waits, bowing to Yimayngurr and then taking a seat next to him. He places his embroidered ball delicately on the bar before him, as though it is a living thing, and it shimmers very faintly as his hand breaks contact with it. "But the honored traveler must forgive this young fool for not answering the question. In fact this one has encountered only one of his same sort in this region; but such is the way of this one's people--they are born where the spirit comes to rest, and not where bodies have joined in procreation."

One-Who-Waits pauses meditatively, without explaining his remarks any further, his serene, distant gaze focused on his new acquaintance. "The honored traveler perhaps has a story to tell--and this impertinent fellow is so ill-mannered as to have no hesitation in expressing his curiosity, offensive as it may be. Perhaps then the honored traveler would indulge a callow youth who is in need of some instruction, and tell of this Kythira, for indeed this ignorant and unstudied individual knows little of that place."

 

[On Puget Sound]

Grigo addresses Rockslide: Oh no, friend, I don't mean to imply that your nose is at all unbecoming. Rather, I was remarking on its grandeur, its scale, its...presence. Yes, that's the word. Like a stone carved from the very first mountain that ever was raised by the Gods. You would make a fine subject for a portrait. You should really go see my father's work sometime; his commissions are quite reasonable and the result would be a treasure for your clan for generations to come.

He spots the two newcomers.
Ah, I spoke too soon. Here is another Fruit Day celebrant. Berry nice to meet you, Wanhuwates, and compliments on a perfect blueberry hue. And you...Yimayngurr? A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm Grigo, called Stickbug, wizard for hire. Parties, weddings, coronations, or crawls through monster-infested caverns; if you want a wizard, you want Grigo!

http://www.enworld.org/wiki/index.php/L4W:PC:Grigo_Stickbug_(On_Puget_Sound)

 

[pacdidj]

Yimayngurr? A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm Grigo, called Stickbug, wizard for hire. Parties, weddings, coronations, or crawls through monster-infested caverns; if you want a wizard, you want Grigo!

"Much obliged mate, much obliged"

"The honored traveler perhaps has a story to tell--and this impertinent fellow is so ill-mannered as to have no hesitation in expressing his curiosity, offensive as it may be. Perhaps then the honored traveler would indulge a callow youth who is in need of some instruction, and tell of this Kythira, for indeed this ignorant and unstudied individual knows little of that place."

Turning so as to address both One-Who-Waits and Grigo, Yimayngurr spins his yarn:
"That's right mate. Just been come in from Kythira. Kythira, that's me wahnga, meaning the homeland of my people, the Rripangu clan, and the great ancestor spirits. Not many of us on Kythira, mostly it's just the beast folk, and the little people like yourself," he nods to Grigo.

"Most times it's a land of plenty, eh? Beautiful place, full of mangroves and clear water. I reckon anybody half decent with a spear could eat their fill of fish and mangrove crabs. But a real djambatj like me, well most times I could bring in enough for me whole family just from a days hunting."

"But that's the kicker mates, the real shameful bit..." Yimayngurr's eyes mist over as he speaks, "past year's been difficult, eh? Hard to find fresh water. All the little ancestors, the animals, they been hiding. Hard to find game, hard to gather food. Everyone hungry and thirsty. Me mum's sister Mayili lost her new baby cause her milk dried up."

"One old man, Dhakanmirr, really hated meself. He been saying that the whole drought is my own fault, on account of me 'dirty blood'. See I'm the only half-orc of my people, eh? Me mum was always real good to me, even though I'm sure me face reminds her of the scum that had their way with her. Always treated me like one of the people. But, this old man, this Dhakanmirr, he been saying that the great ancestors don't take kindly to dirty bloods living among the people."

"About two weeks ago that Dhakanmirr, he had a big sing to talk with the spirits of the Shadowrift, where me ancestors live. When he broke trance he says to everyone that the ancestors are angry on account of me, and if they get rid of me the little ancestors will come back, and there'll be food for all."

"So just last week, after me seventeenth birthday they held the farewell dance, and put me in my canoe out to sea. I been exiled by my own people," despite his efforts to maintain his composure, a single tear runs down Yimayngurr's face as he says this.

"But the worst part of all mate, is when everyone was dancing the farewell with me in the middle, I got this vision. Wititj, the world serpent, he been opened me mind and spoke things into it, showing me what's to come. There's trouble ahead for my people. Orc's and monsters, and something else, something I can't quite place, they gonna be come to Kythira to take the wahnga by force. Don't know when, but I know it for true."

"I can't go back to my people mates. But I've got to find a way to help them."

[sblock=ooc]Hey there, new to enworld, PbP, and 4e, but looking forward to starting a game![/sblock]

 

[Mewness]

"This one thanks the honored traveler," says One-Who-Waits, who has listened with steady attention to the whole tale. (Because the skin of his eyelids is white, it is difficult to tell when he is blinking, which gives him a rather unnerving stare.) "It is a shame to be wrenched from one's people so; and this one cannot help but think unworthy thoughts of the spirit-talker that was spoken of. This one listens to the spirits himself; and being of so little talent, and such mean understanding, he finds that he can easily misunderstand their words, or become convinced that they say merely what this one already believes and desires to hear. This one does not say that the spirit-talker of the honored traveler clan was so mistaken; and yet, in this one's poor judgment, it seems so."

One-Who-Waits turns his attention to Grigo, thinking on what he has said. He mulls over the possible meanings of "Fruit Day." He considers Grigo's peculiar outfit. He ponders Grigo's comments on the color of his own flesh. His expression does not change as he turns these things over in his mind. Did Grigo not say "berry nice to meet you"?

One-Who-Waits finally gathers his thoughts.

"This one wishes the worthy strawberry a 'berry' happy Fruit Day also," One-Who-Waits says politely. "This one is too ignorant to know what activities suit the occasion, but allow him to suggest humbly that it is not a time for 'melon'choly." He looks again at Yimayngurr. "The honored traveler will perhaps be good enough to forgive this one if his comments caused any offense; this one would not be thought a 'medlar.'"

One-Who-Waits does not show even the smallest hint of a smile.