[Tavern] Tower's Shard 2010

[pathfinderq1]

Vex kept most of her attention on the strange creature who had entered the tavern- but not ALL of her attention. It was apparent that she was listening to at least some of what was still being discussed at the table, for once the odd warforged gave its reply, Vex leaned towards Gark long enough to stage-whisper "I should say that qualifies as a 'no', as having a sense of time." Then she sat back in her chair, so as to keep a wary eye on the Swarmling.

 

[evilbob]

"For example a year for you could be but a moment for a Warforged near death."

"Actually I'm pretty sure a year for me is the same as a year for you. It may not seem as long, but once we have four seasons and the appropriate number of days have passed and all that, it's been a year." Seeing the look on the warforged's face, Gark quickly adds, "Either way, I withdraw the question."

Turning to Vex: "I'd say you're right."

 

[Vertexx69]

Karananak slips his flimsy walking stick into the back of his sash, picks up his drink in his spindly hand, and takes a long look around the Shard. The way the plant man walks tells the people watching him that he is either brand new or doesn't spend much time in this shape. His clawed toes carve into the wooden floor with each step as they seek solid purchase, leaving tiny twisty shavings in a path behind him.

After a while looking at the various odds and ends hanging from the walls the tiny devil woman reappears on his shoulder silently fuming at her gangley companion for a bit. The pair come to the stuffed dragon by the mantle and pause. The plant man gazes into the fake eyes of the snarling trophy leaning in until he bumps into the heavy wards protecting it. Eve begins speaking and clicking questioningly into the Wilden's bark encrusted ear, shoving a thumb at the group sitting around the large table. "Iree den Eve, I be askin em." He takes a few loping, predatory steps toward the bustling table, pointing a woody finger toward the dragon. "Squews me a mament good peepales ove de Shaad. Why dis baby ove a ting be stood ere tryin ta be lookin awl fierce den?"

[sblock=OOC translation]Alright then Eve, I'll ask them.
Excuse me a moment good patrons of the Shard. Why is this baby of a thing posed here looking so fierce then? [/sblock]

 

[evilbob]

After taking a moment to adjust his ear to the stranger's accent, Gark replies, "In truth: I've no idea. I would conjecture, however, that killing even a baby of a thing like that would be held as quite an achievement."

 

[pathfinderq1]

He takes a few loping, predatory steps toward the bustling table, pointing a woody finger toward the dragon. "Squews me a mament good peepales ove de Shaad. Why dis baby ove a ting be stood ere tryin ta be lookin awl fierce den?"

Vex seemed to puzzle her way through the accent with little trouble, but she paused long enough for Gark to respond first. Her smile tightened a notch- now it was feral and dangerous, rather than welcoming. "How, you don't know?," she began as she stood up from her chair long enough to produce the copy of the newspaper she had been reading earlier, which she placed on the table. "It made the Inquisitive, you know. A brave band, likely patrons of this very establishment, killed it in the sewers below the city. A fitting end, really- some vicious wild beasts just don't belong amongst civilized folk, even in the sewers..." As she spoke, she flicked a quick glance towards the Swarmling's clawed feet- then fixed the odd creature with a challenging stare.

 

[TwoHeadsBarking]

"Captain?" Gark's interest is obviously piqued. "How long did you serve?"

"Long enough to be able to do some things I'm proud of, as well as some that I'm not." Alexia shrugs, "In the grander scheme of things, my service was of no great importance. I simply did what my nation required of me."

 

[Vertexx69]

The Wilden takes a long sip of his beverage as various beings seated at the large table tell the tale of the dragon's downfall with his large, unblinking black eyes riveted to each of the speakers in turn.

As the feral warrior starts to get agitated and puffed up, the tiny devil girl, curled around the tree mans skinny arm, gets all huffy and puffs her out her perky little chest in kind, which only comes off as adorable. She shakes a fist at Vex and squeaks something obviously lude while holding up a very small portion of the tip of her tail. Karananak starts choking on his drink for a moment.

"Yuh sassy litoe ting you. Ee could be squishin yuh like a ripe froot Ee could den. Wit one and evan." He looks at the great sword wielder apologetically while rubbing the back of Eve's neck with a branch-like finger. He cocks his afro-topped head to one side as he regards the threatening posture of the warrior. "I an I bein new to dis maze oh rock an butchard tree. Daya be so many kine doh peepals ere, me taught it bein a good kin doh place ta be startin me search for corruption oh de 'Far Realm'." He motions toward the dragon again unchallengingly, apparently deciding to ignore the threatening posture. "Back ome in de Feywild, daya be entia mashlands waya dees type oh dragons be roamin. But each one de size oh fa house. Ah singal breat oh daya's could be meltin done anyting in its pat." He shrugs and nods as he makes up his mind about something. "So I an I be guessin dis be de right size tuh be riddin a place oh fem den."

He crinkles his thin face into a grin as he brings the tankard back up to his lips. The ale makes his lips darker, just like when the bark of a tree gets wet. "An what yee be callin yourselves den? I an I bein called Karananak Bole. Dem 'Iron Gatekeepers' I an I bin fallin in wit came tuh be callin I Swamwispa own accont oh de way I be fightin. An dis be Eve." He indicates the devil girl hanging from his arm. He clicks and whispers in some strange language holding his hand out palm up. The tiny imp girl huffs and makes a soft whining sound, then flits to his hand. She lands there gracefully and bows to those she is presented before.

When he holds out his hand you notice he wheres a strange glove with rune carved animal claws sewn to the back of it. A weapon that some druids who change shape use in combat. Also the flute at his belt is carved with runes and hung with sharp little animal teeth as well. His hide clothing is also much thicker upon closer inspection, embroidered with the rough shapes of many different hunting animals.

[sblock=OOC translation]You sassy little thing you. He could squish you like a ripe fruit he could then. With one hand even.

I am new to this maze of stone and butchered trees. There are so many kind of people here that I thought it would be a good place to start my search for curruption from the far realm.

Back home in the Feywild, there are entire marshlands where this type of dragon roam. But each one is the size of a house, and a single breath of theirs could melt down anything in their path.

So I guess this IS the right size to get rid of them at.

And what do you call yourselves then? I am called Karananak Bole. The Iron Gatekeeper I fell in with started calling me Swarmwhisper on account of the way I fight.[/sblock]

 

[evilbob]

"Long enough to be able to do some things I'm proud of, as well as some that I'm not." Alexia shrugs, "In the grander scheme of things, my service was of no great importance. I simply did what my nation required of me."

"Did you see many battles?" asks Gark with a touch of excitement. His eyes light up with the spark of someone who clearly has not seen much of the real nature of war.

"An what yee be callin yourselves den? I an I bein called Karananak Bole. Dem 'Iron Gatekeepers' I an I bin fallin in wit came tuh be callin I Swamwispa own accont oh de way I be fightin. An dis be Eve."

"Well met, um..." Gark starts to extend his hand in greeting, realizes he isn't quite sure what to grab, and thinks better of it. "My name is Gark."

 

[dimsdale]

A large orc enters the tavern wearing heavy platemail armor and carrying a large two-handed axe. One can tell that he has been through many battles. As people stop and stare, he meets their eyes with a gaze of his own. After an unpleasant silence, patrons obviously wondering what he's going to do, he states "RUMBUM!" pounding his axe against his platemail armor.

[sblock=ooc]
Rumbum: Orc Battleragor Figther Lvl 7: Armed to the teeth but dumb as a post

Character sheet in the works
[/sblock]

 

[pathfinderq1]

Vex eyed the wilden for a moment, still smiling her poisonous predator's smile. Whatever response she might have intended to make was interrupted by the arrival of the orcish warrior. As soon as she realized just WHAT had stepped into the tavern, her eyes narrowed and grew wary- though she was still smiling... One hand brushed the shortsword at her belt, and she gave the orc a very careful stare- it was obvious that she was scanning him for some kind of clue or sign.

As she looked, though, she extended her right hand out into the air at about shoulder height- in a quiet but firm voice, she stated a single word. "Sword." The air shimmered, and a heartbeat later there was a massive greatsword that had NOT been there previously- for the time being, its hilt rested in her extended right hand, and the point was in the badly scarred planks of the tavern floor...