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Post by Trippy Hare on Aug 18, 2006 0:06:30 GMT -5
Barax crumpled the scroll in his fist with rage, still hardly daring to believe he had been given such a task. A mighty Templar, reduced to a mere bouncer at some tavern?! It was rediculous, it was stupid, it was...
An excuse to show off his suit. And excuses to show off his mighty Templar's Armor were always welcome, even if it *was* in some podunk little village miles away (nevermind that that 'little village' was easily a dozen times bigger than his own, and on the king's doorstep even). It'd take about four days' march to get there properly, with all the right breaks and pauses to go over every inch of his beloved armor. He might also have to follow along the river Alamy, to ensure that his steam-tanks had plenty of water. And if there were any natives, well... enormous metal monstrosities work wonders for keeping the indigenous critters in line.
It still didn't make much sense, going all the way to Swordstroke Moors, but Barax knew better than to question any order the wise and powerful King gave him. He looked over the scroll again, commiting every word of it to memory.
"Barax Shaden, Templar Guard: Your skills are necesary elsewhere for a yet-to-be-determined length of time. Go to the city of Swordstroke Moors, there is a tavern there, by the name of the Matchless Mine, that I am rather fond of. I intend to visit that establishment in the near future, to better connect with my people and, more importantly, sample the Mine's famous Ale.
Your task is simple. Station yourself at the tavern, and ensure that I come to no harm. Other guardsmen, both Templar and soldier, will be there as well, keeping an eye on me- and on you. Do your task well, and you shall be rewarded. Fail me, and... well, you don't wish to know what would befall you if you fail.
When you arrive, send word to me with one of the tavernmaids. Be sure not to take your suit into the tavern...I doubt the walls could accomodate it.
Monarch and High King Waeleth III, of the Wael Clan"
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Post by VecaVjestica on Aug 19, 2006 12:33:48 GMT -5
YAAAY!!! We're finally posting IC! P. S. - A tavern? How convenient... ;D *** To say Nura was all stressed out that day would be an understatement. Three great tests were upon her. A year before, she talked Sylius into purchasing a piece of land in a nearby village so they could grow their own barley. The little garden she kept in the back yard of the tavern, where she grew some vegetables and seasoning herbs, proved to be a good investment, so he wasn't all that hard to convince. Besides, like he used to say, Nura could persuade him to do anything. Nura worked on that field every day for at least three hours, just to make sure her talent does its charm. Good barley meant good grits and good grits meant good bear. Not that Sylius' world famous ale needed any improving. Nura didn't like beer, but this mixture was so mellow, yet didn't loose anything in strength, that not even she would say no to a cup after work, when the inn was empty and Sylius and her were going trough the numbers. The harvest was so rich that, when Sylius made all the calculations, it turned out he wouldn't need to buy any barley for at least half a year. And then came the hard part of Nura's plan - how to convince Sylius to tell her his recipe. Nobody knew where he learned it and he never shared it with anyone. He had no family, so it was most likely the secret would die with him. But Nura had to try. She carefully planed what she would say and do to persuade him...and, when the time came, she couldn't do it. Tricking the people she loved was not her style, so she just said, plain and simple: "Sylius, I'd like you to teach me how to make beer." He looked at her for a second, all frowned. Nura didn't know what to think. Strangely but, until that moment, it didn't even occur to her that he might be offended by her request. But Sylius' answer was: "Why the hell not?" He led her trough every step of the process, showing her all the little tricks that made his blend so superior. And today, they were in the basement of the inn, opening the first barrel to see how good a student she was and just how good a barley she grew. Sylius opened a barrel and filled the glass he brought with him. He examined the looks of the liquid, judging the color, the smell, the way foam built up. He didn't say a thing the whole time - he just did his work with his usual frowned, serious face. Nura trembled inside, but looked as calm as always. He blew into the foam to see how thick it is, then scraped some off with a little glass spoon. He run the sample trough his fingers and then licked it off. Finally, he took a large sip and kept the liquid in his mouth for a minute or so before swallowing. He than sighed deeply, and sat down on one of the stools. "I don't get it," he spoke, waiving his head, "I just don't get it! How the hell do you do everything so well!?"At first, Nura just stared at him. Then, as she realized exactly what was it that he said, a shaky smile appeared on her face, getting wider and wider until Nura was laughing like mad, and Sylius with her. "Do you think His Royal Highness will be pleased?" she asked as they closed up the barrel and walked back up the stairs to the ground floor of the inn, where the tavern was. That was the third test. A bit less than a week ago, they received the notice that the High King of Waeleden was to visit them soon, naming no specific dates, so they had to be prepared at all times. He stayed in Sylius' tavern a few times before, but that was years before Nura came to work for him. She wished he chose some other place to stay - she didn't like his reputation or the reputation his men had. But they were customers, not to mention the force that led and ruled Waeleden. Who was she to complain? "My sweet child, no creature could ever dislike anything that comes out of your pretty little hands," Sylius said as he took both of her hands into his and kissed them, making Nura laugh again. Not for the first time, she wished her mother could meet him. She was sure he could make her trust him and win her heart. When the stable boys brought five barrels of ale from the basement and stacked them behind the bar, Sylius gave Nura the heavy iron ring that had the keys to every door in the inn and went upstairs to his quarters to bathe and change (something she had no need to do, since she was already dressed for work before they went down to the cellar). When he came down, he was wearing his best suit and smelled strongly of pine-scented shaving cream. "Well, I'm off! Keep a good eye on my property, girls, or you will forever have to support a broken, penniless old man!" he joked and gave them a wave before he left. Monday nights were always slow and Sylius used them to visit his lady, as he called his favorite prostitute at the "House of Flowers", the most exclusive bordello in town. Before Nura came and proved her worth, the inn was always closed on Monday nights but, ever since she became Sylius' second in command, they were ran under her charge. Nura looked at the big clock on the tavern wall. There were, of course, a few customers there, mostly regulars and guests of the inn, but the real rumble should start in about an hour. She gave the orders to the waitresses, sending one to clean up and ventilate the rooms and the others to clean the tables and wipe the floor. She herself took a clean cloth, dipped it in water and started cleaning the bar. Idleness simply wasn't something she took well.
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Post by fyapaladin on Aug 23, 2006 17:57:05 GMT -5
(OK, no bitey; I'm already sore!!!)
About a fortnightago he had left Bishal, on a quest of self discovery; at least that's what he had considered it to be. He had left alone more for his own sake than for the safety of others, he doubted he would find anything if he was constantly looking over his shoulder making sure his compardres were ok.
Regardless, with no set direction to go in, he began walking away from the wandering city and went into the world outside his comfort zone. Many times in the past fourteen sundowns he had come very close to civilisation but, having decided to be more self reliant in order to hone his skills, he refrained from entering any populated areas. It also helped that these areas were Terran-populated and thus enabled him to make his mind up.
However, recently the need for interaction with any type of being was outweighing his inbuilt desire to stay far from non-elven beings. And so he found himself on the outskirts of the closest settlement that he could feel via his connection with the earth, a continous day's run away. Here he was in the shadows of the forest looking in on people going about their daily duty. Unfortunately, destiny had selected him to never know such normality as he was the 'rightful' descendant of the legendary Elf Helios; and with such a title the elders of Bishal suspected that the young elf's journey was in the hands of fate rather than his own. There was a reason why he was born at this time and Tuon Jahdo was searching for the reason why.
Deciding to enter the quaint village, albeit very warily, Tuon raised his hood to cover his ears and confidently strode out of the forest. Glancing about he noticed a couple of must-see sights; an inn, and a blacksmith. The former was key to helping the elf replenish his spirits whilst the later would be necessary to replenish his resources, especially his arrows. Deciding the his spirit was still relatively high he made his way to the blacksmith; hopefully no body would cause him problems...
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Post by Trippy Hare on Aug 25, 2006 22:04:04 GMT -5
Barax did *not* like pubs. Too noisy, too crowded, and alcohol tended to make people believe themselves to posess superhuman strength... which was funny in that, when endowed with alcoholic-enduced strength, they still invariably went after the smallest, most timid person they could find. And outside his armor, that person was almost always Barax.
After a quick glance around the tavern, Barax determined that his king had not yet arrived... in fact, it seemed almost nobody had yet arrived. Barax took in the layout of the main room, before heading outside to inspect his armor once more. In this strange place, his armor was his lifeline, and if it were damaged, it could be lethal.
Barax carefully combed over his armor with a polishing cloth, looking for anything amiss. Aside from a few scratches, it seemed to be in excellent shape. Smiling to himself, Barax turned to head back inside... and heard the telltale splotch of something dripping. He whirled around, and to his horror, saw a leak in his armor. Specifically, an oil leak. He swore violently, and headed back into the tavern.
It was almost deserted at this time of day, but there were a few faces. Barax approached what he assumed to be a serving wench, and cleared his throat nervously. He'd always been very anxious around the ladies. "Par- pardon me, miss. Is the Tavern keeper available? I, er, need to borrow- well, not so much borrow as keep really, an ale tap. You see, I need the seal out of the tap. It's not like I intend to drink it all myself, I doubt I could. Er... sorry, I'm just a bit nervous, you see. Anyway, um, is he... in?"
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Post by VecaVjestica on Aug 26, 2006 14:36:31 GMT -5
Nura was just finishing her cleaning up when she heard the door open. She looked up and saw a short, thin man walk in. He looked nervous and somewhat confused. There was something weird about him, but she couldn't say what exactly. But, before she could even try to take a better look at him, he walked out only to come back in again some time later. He seamed to be rather annoyed by something and even more nervous than before. Nura couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for him. "Par- pardon me, miss. Is the Tavern keeper available? I, er, need to borrow- well, not so much borrow as keep really, an ale tap. You see, I need the seal out of the tap. It's not like I intend to drink it all myself, I doubt I could. Er...sorry, I'm just a bit nervous, you see. Anyway, um, is he...in?" he asked when he approached the bar. Nura raised her eyes, locking them with his. He certainly did look harmless...but, then again, people always assumed the same thing about her. She was not often the one who jumped to conclusions. Just because he was much smaller and lighter than most of their customers didn't mean he couldn't raise a hell of a trouble. "He is not here at the moment, but you may have an ale tap..." she replied and put the cloth she used to clean the bar in a weaved basket under the sink with all the other used cloths, aprons, napkins and tablecloths, reminding herself in the process to have them washed first thing in the morning, "For a reasonable price, that is." Helping people is a good and right thing to do, but not when you're doing it with someone else's money or, in this case, property. "We changed all of our taps not more than ten days ago. A new one costs three pieces of gold," she continued and made her offer, "I'll let you have one of them for two."
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Post by Trippy Hare on Aug 30, 2006 21:30:46 GMT -5
"Well, er, it's not so much the tap that I need, just the seal. So it doesn't have to be new, I don't want to be a bother or anything."
There was something about this woman that Barax couldn't place. There was her personality, so opposite of his own, that stood out clear as day. She wasn't plagued by timidity, and had an air of sincerity about her. Barax was both grateful, and intimidated, by it. 'How frustrating!' he thought to himself. 'I am a Templar! I shouldn't be intimidated by a mere bar maid!'
Of course, he knew almost immediately that this was no ordinary woman, and it wasn't just the vague notion that there was something different about her face. It was the way she walked, and conversed, and generally carried herself. Much more upright and knowing than any barmaid Barax had seen. Perhaps, if he told her why he needed a tap seal, it would ease his anxiety. After all, he was told that the tavern keeper was aware of the situation to some extent. He even briefly entertained the idea that this young woman was, in fact, the tavern keeper.
"It's...well it's a little embarassing, really. My Templar armor has sprung a small leak, you see...and I like to keep it in as good a shape as possible, just in case the need should arise for me to use it."
Ugh, he sounded so weak and snivelly. Barax almost immediately regretting having said anything, but it was no good taking it back now. No doubt she would want to see it, and Barax couldn't blame her. Templar suits were an impressive sight, indeed...and the fact that his had been custom-made for him (of course, Barax didn't know that ALL Templar suits are custom jobs) was a source of pride, as was the fact that his suit stood slightly taller than most. It even had a collapsible ladder to help him climb aboard.
Thoughts of his suit put Barax at ease...or, as far at ease as a man like him is apt to get. He was much more in his element, and visibly relaxed. Hopefully he would get the chance to show it off, even if he didn't actually demonstrate anything. "I...I could show you, if you like," he offered, his bashfulness hidden slightly by an eager anticipation. It was always a rush to see what people thought when they spied his mighty armor.
It ocurred to him that, if this young lady was the tavernkeeper, informing her of his presence as a Templar would make his mission much easier, provided that information easn't openly discussed. 'If the commoners find out a Templar is here, they might presume that someone worth Templar protection is, as well', he thought to himself. But she seemed like a levelheaded woman, and he doubted she would go spouting off to every patron that entered that there was a Templar present.
Of course, in reality, Barax's thoughts on the matter were a little naiive. Many patrons already guessed a Templar was present, based upon the fact that a Templar suit (and an extraordinarily tall one, at that) was, for lack of a bettor word, parked alongside the hitching post, next to an old donkey and a pair of mottled palomino horses.
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Post by VecaVjestica on Sept 2, 2006 11:51:31 GMT -5
"Well, er, it's not so much the tap that I need, just the seal. So it doesn't have to be new, I don't want to be a bother or anything," the man said. Nura looked at him again. Was he kidding her!? She didn't know much about all that technical stuff, but she did know that, if you take the seal out of an ale tap, it doesn't work any more. He would have to take the whole tap off and dissemble it in order to get that seal, making it completely useless, which meant Sylius would have to get a new one to replace it, so, in a sense, he did need the whole tap...but Nura had no intention of getting into a discussion with him. "It's...well it's a little embarrassing, really. My Templar armor has sprung a small leak, you see...and I like to keep it in as good a shape as possible, just in case the need should arise for me to use it," the man explained. A Templar!? Him!? Her surprise was, however, not visible on her face; the things she felt and though usually weren't. Besides, she saw a lot weirder things than a Tepmlar who looked more like a small-town librarian. And, frankly, Nura would've liked him a whole lot better if he really were a librarian. But what was the most important thing to her at them moment was the fact that, if he was a Templar, than it meant the king and the rest of his men would be here soon, maybe even that very night. Fuck! Out of all the days of the week, they just had to pick the only one Sylius didn't spend in the tavern! "I...I could show you, if you like," he offered eagerly, his shyness suddenly taking a step back. Yeah, right, Nura thought. That's all she needs now, some guy showing her off his ride. "Thank you, but toys don't impress me much," she replied simply and called out to one of the waitresses, "Lyn! Take over!" The busty blonde that had just finished sweeping the floor put the broom and the dirt-shovel back in the closet and took Nura's place at the bar, who then returned to the Templar: "I suppose Sylius won't mind if I give you one of the old taps. None of them are rusty or anything, so I guess it'll serve the purpose well. Please, take a seat while I go get it." Not waiting for his response, she went outside to the tool-shed, which was right next to the stable. Sylius wasn't a cheep man, but he never threw away things that might come in useful. He changed all ale taps in the bar once a year, whether it was necessary or not, always keeping the old ones if they were in good order. She picked the one that looked least shabby and went back to the tavern. "Here you go...and if that one isn't good enough, we got three more in the shed," she said and gave the tap to the Templar, "Now - may I get you anything else? A drink? Something to eat, perhaps?"
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Post by vodookyle on Sept 4, 2006 21:14:05 GMT -5
-Go to the city of Swordstroke Moors- -Enter the quaint village-
((Sorry whoever said quaint village, I’m retconning back to the city xD)
“Alright,” Kallias finally exclaimed with a sigh, “It’s all done.” Handing back the heavy, two handed broadsword the elf wiped a good deal of sweat off his forehead with one hand. A supposedly high-ranking guard had wished his sword, which had broken in twain, fixed. Apparently it was something of a family heirloom and he considered the only nearby blacksmith to be utterly incompetent while charging far too much for little more than shoddy workmanship.
Luckily the elf had managed, after a lot of time and no meager amount of magic on his part, to fix it entirely. Unfortunately the sword itself had also been imbued with some type of spell, Kallias guessed an ancient charm to provide it’s bearer good luck, which made applying his own power onto it extremely difficult.
Finally, after quite a number of hours, Kallias finally felt a fresh breeze which felt like pure relief after the very stuffy city guard’s abode. Feeling the very comforting weight of gold in his pouch, well deserved after a job well done, the elf decided he’d be staying in the city of Swordstroke Moors that night. The decision itself wasn’t particularly hard to make, even people who’d never been here before knew of the famous tavern and inn the Matchless Mine.
After traversing the streets for about another hour, dusk finally fell. Eventually, following the rather disjointed directions of a street merchant, he managed to find the tavern, and realized he’d probably accidentally walked straight by it at least three times.
Not wasting any more time, a steady wind was quickly making it very cold; he entered the tavern, feeling at once the warmth which staved back any chill. Seating himself at the bar next to another man, Kallias decided to wait until who he assumed was the tavern owner, finished talking.
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Post by Trippy Hare on Sept 5, 2006 3:17:09 GMT -5
"Thank you, but toys don't impress me much," she told him with an air of nonchalance.
Barax was stunned. Templars? Toys?! How could anybody rightly equate the two? The Templar's suit was a powerful tool of the King's will, bringing justice to the lawless, striking fears into those who would destroy the Wael kingdom, and filling its people with awe and wonder at the glory and power their kingdom contained. Surely, she was joking! "Oh, very well then. Some other time perhaps," he responded halfheartedly. He was beginning to feel out of place once more.
"I suppose Sylius won't mind if I give you one of the old taps. None of them are rusty or anything, so I guess it'll serve the purpose well. Please, take a seat while I go get it."
"Yes, thank you. You're very kind, miss-" he began, but she had already gone off, presumably to get a used tap from which Barax could procure a working seal.
"Here you go...and if that one isn't good enough, we got three more in the shed," she said and gave him the tap. "Now - may I get you anything else? A drink? Something to eat, perhaps?"
"Thank you, miss- I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. I get nervous around new people... my name's Barax. Barax Shaden. And you are?"
Just then, someone new walked into the tavern. Barax didn't dare turn around, as that would have been very rude, but out of the corner of his eye, followed the stranger in. He couldn't tell much from a half-glance about the man...until he came and sat down right next to him. Barax immediately noticed the telltale signs of elvenkind, though nobody else seemed in the least bit perterbed. This man was either a regular, or this town had regular encounters with elves without incident.
Barax's thoughts immediately turned to his Templar suit. Hopefully this seal would work, and he could rest with the peace of mind that his armor would not fail him if he should need it.
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Post by VecaVjestica on Sept 5, 2006 4:50:01 GMT -5
"Thank you, miss- I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. I get nervous around new people...my name's Barax. Barax Shaden. And you are?" the Templar said after taking the tap. Nura was used to people wanting to know more about her. When men were concerned, it usually had the same motive behind. In that case, she would simply direct him to the other girls. Sylius didn't mind at all if his waitresses slept with customers as long as they did their job at the tavern right and Nura had no problem with it either...as long as she is left out of that "business". But this man didn't seam to be interested in her that way and Nura was grateful for that. It could be that he was just lonely or that her earlier comment about his armor had awoken some curiosity. Truth be told, she rather enjoyed the look on his face that appeared in that moment, even though she didn't do it to shock him - she simply expressed her opinion and that was it. Following a customer that had just entered the tavern with the corner of her eye, she replied to the Templar: "Nura Besazar, sire. And I hope you have a nice stay at our inn."As the newcomer took his place at the bar, Nura could now take a better look at him. On first sight, there was nothing odd about him, but his eyes and ears quickly gave up his elven heritage. An Elf!? But he was so short, even for a human! This was starting out as a very strange day, Nura thought. First a Templar, now an Elf...though it was the Elf that surprised her more. They weren't exactly a rare sight in Swordstroke Moors, but they weren't frequent visitors of the bars and pubs either; you were more likely to meet one in the town's green market or the Apothecary Quarter. But a customer is a customer and as long as they treat her with respect, she will treat them even better. She smiled hospitably to both men at the bar and offered: "Could I interest you gentleman in some of our famous ale? We opened a fresh batch just a few hours ago."
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Post by Trippy Hare on Sept 6, 2006 23:26:42 GMT -5
"Nura Besazar, sire. And I hope you have a nice stay at our inn."
"A pleasure to meet you, Nura. I certainly plan on enjoying myself. That is, after I fix my armor." Barax said with a shy smile. He wanted to go install the new seal, but it would have appeared rude at the moment, and he didn't want to provoke any sort of retaliatory action from the waitstaff. As a youth, he'd heard tales of tavern maids spitting, or worse, into a customer's food if he was rude.
"Could I interest you gentlemen in some of our famous ale? We opened a fresh batch just a few hours ago."
Barax's curiosity was well piqued now, as he had heard of the Matchless Mine's ale. Some say that ale was the only reason anyone still lived in Swordstroke Moors, and Barax was eager to see if the stories were true. "Well, I suppose my armor can wait. Fresh ale is always welcome, most especially if it is the Mine's famous ale. I'll take a tankard, please."
Though he hadn't brought a great deal of money with him, as even Templars were poor if they came from tiny backwater villages, Barax did have a few gold pieces in his possession. What's more, an ale couldn't possibly cost more than five gold, and he had at least eighty on him, which he hoped would cover a night's lodging as well as a drink or two. No doubt the King would want Barax to buy him an ale, too.
As he sat and waited for his ale, Barax took another look around the tavern. It seemed few of the locals knew who was going to soon be in their company, which was all for the best. King Waeleth III, though he ruled absolutely and people were loyal to him for the most part, had not been as greatly loved by the people as his predecessor. They were still loyal, and did as they were commanded, but some level of admiration was missing. There was even growing rumors that Waeleth had some sort of secret pact with the rulers of other, less savory, kingdoms... namely Erchaea. Barax himself didn't believe a word of it, as nobody in their right mind would ever have anything to do with Erchaea. That, and Barax didn't believe in the existence of such a place, though the history scrolls said such a kingdom had existed long ago.
The swinging doors squeaked open from a slight breeze, and the sound drew Barax's attention. There was nobody there, but through the momentary glimpse of the street, he could see the blacksmith shop...and unless his eyes were failing, an elf. This town must be very open to outsiders, he thought to himself. You'd never see elves back home. I wonder if he's here for the ale, as well? Or maybe I'm just tired after a very long march. Yes, that must be it. I'm just tired.
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Post by fyapaladin on Sept 16, 2006 10:51:46 GMT -5
Tuon was walking around town, not noticing specific people or landmarks. He had no need as the earth was like a giant map for him, and his race were expert map readers in that sense. Looking around he was both disgusted and intrigued by the terran ingenouity; trying to find a balance between beautiful and serene nature and disgusting and monstrous machinery. It was one of these gargantuan vulgar things that caught his eye. It looked almost like it SHOULD house a whole person, albeit uncomfortably.
He was marvelling with disdain this creation when something hit him squarely. It was mistakable to an Elf of pureblood, especially one who had hardly ventured outside of Bishal. However there it was being carried to him, not only by the earth but also by the wind. Raw, overpowering and as nauseating as the smell was; it forced Tuon to become more alert. For it was the scent of someone who had been in contact with the Elven race's sworn enemy, the Undead.
He did a quick scan of his vicinity, both with his eyes and with his affinity with nature, nothing. He couldn't tell whether or not the threat was a passing one or, Helios forbid, a upcoming foe. All he knew was that an agent of darkness was this far away from it's normal concentration, the Lich King's tendrils were even more far reaching than many anticipated. This was bad for all races, especially those whose rulers were trying to set up treaties with such vile creatures. Slipping out of the open, Tuon found himself a place where he could spy on the agent without being found...
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Post by vodookyle on Sept 17, 2006 7:55:16 GMT -5
“That’d be very nice, thanks. I’ll have the same as him.” In truth, Kallias still hadn’t acquired a taste for such drinks in his time among humans, but considering that the ale was supposed to be particularly famous here, he’d make an exception. Actually, he had plenty of gold right now, maybe numerous exceptions. It was far more difficult for an elf to get drunk then any normal human or other species.
“Ohh, before I forget, are there any open rooms for tonight?” Kallias asked, looking back towards the woman behind the bar. It was then he noticed something slightly odd about her, she was hauntingly familiar…perhaps he had met her once? Always a possibility. Heck, maybe he’d bumped into her earlier around Swordstroke Moors and simply forgotten.
Seconds before Kallias inquired about the Mine’s price for ale and a night’s stay, something decidedly odd happened. A small amulet hanging around his neck began to wildly pulse, the tiny gem in the middle flashing. “Ohh, that can’t be right.” He remarked, removing the amulet from around his neck and depositing it into a pocket. “Sorry, it’s supposed to react around undead; I can’t imagine why it would go off here.” Despite his words Kallias still took around the inn, and didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary. What was the most disconcerting, however, was he knew the amulet wasn’t on the fritz. It couldn’t be, he’d crafted that spell personally. And even worse, the range wasn’t terribly long…by the time it started going off you were very close to any undead.
Within the elf’s pocket, he could still feel it moving.
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Post by VecaVjestica on Sept 17, 2006 11:41:11 GMT -5
"Well, I suppose my armor can wait. Fresh ale is always welcome, most especially if it is the Mine's famous ale. I'll take a tankard, please," the Templar replied. Nura nodded and her gaze moved on to the Elf. "That'd be very nice, thanks. I'll have the same as him," he said. "Coming right up," she smiled and picked up two tankards from the shelf. As she filled them, a group of men entered, laughing out loud, and took one of the corner tables. Nura signaled one of the waitress, Riana, with her hand and the girl went to serve the new customers. "Ohh, before I forget, are there any open rooms for tonight?" the Elf asked. Nura served the two men at the bar and replied to the Elf while giving him his tankard. "You are in luck," he said, "Though most of our rooms are taken, we still have a few vacant ones. If you will be staying alone, the price is 10 pieces of gold. Add another ten, and you'll have dinner and breakfast with it, too."The waitress who served the newcomers came to the bar and asked for half a bottle of plum brandy and four small glasses. Nura put it all on her platter and Riana left...and just in time, because the little amulet the Elf wore around his neck started acting all weird. "Ohh, that can't be right. Sorry, it's supposed to react around undead; I can't imagine why it would go off here," he said, took it off and put it in his pocket. The Undead!? Great! Good thing Riana didn't hear him. She didn't exactly know when was the right time to keep her mouth shut and if the rest of the customers found out there is a magic Necrid-detector that just went off in the tavern, they'd probably get nervous and paranoid and leave...or, even worst, start looking for the Undead themselves. Knowing how men can get, especially when they've had a drink or two, a fight would be the least she could expect in that case.
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Post by Trippy Hare on Sept 22, 2006 5:49:03 GMT -5
The Matchless Mine hadn't changed in the many decades since her last visit, though the purpose was so out of character for her Master as to be ludicrous. Apparently, the Terran king owed him, and her Master was not one to easily forgive a debt, though her own debt was one she would gladly accept, time and time again. He had given her so much, that performing this minor errand for him was of no consequence. Though they did not always see eye to eye, which was odd in and of itself, she agreed to be his emissary for this task. None of his current acolytes had proven very adept at diplomacy. She was surprised at her own knack for it...no doubt it stemmed from the unique nature of her relationship to her Master.
She looked around, her jet black hair barely moving as her eyes scanned the crowd. Ugh, Terrans. Their stench filled her nostrils and bored into her brain. Such disgusting creatures, in both hygiene and arrogance as to consider themselves civilized. Nothing had changed since she'd been murdered, Terrans here were the same as Terrans everywhere else. She could feel their eyes fall upon her, and repressed a shudder. No doubt did everyone who looked upon her, as she was unlike anyone they'd ever seen, even at the Matchless Mine. Her skin was the color of aspen bark: cleanly, perfectly white. Yet nothing else about her seemed clean, or perfect, in any way. Her clothes were dark, her eyes out of view behind her purest black, perfectly straight hair. This was a woman of extremes. None dared to confront her, or even comment on her presence...for they saw her incredible beauty, and were all too afraid if inciting the ugliness that her composition of extremes no doubt had.
As she looked around the tavern, her spine tingled with the thrill of nearby magic. Almost immediately, her eyes fell on the elf. Oh, the delicious scent of Elven blood, so much richer and more pleasant than the Terran filth all around her. Were she not specifically asked by her Master to stick to her appointed meeting, she might have been tempted to bring one back to him as a prize. The Master did love Elves so very much. There was a Terran next to him as well, which struck her as odd. Terrans weren't normally very social to elves... she should know. This man was a small, quiet sort, and had an air of insecurity about him. All the more odd that he should be seated next to an elf, but it was possible that he didn't know his companion to be an elf. Terrans couldn't detect much by smell, after all. She, however, could detect the scent of gun oil and sweat upon him, mixed together like a foul cocktail. Either he was a mechanic (who carried no tools, only a sword) or he was a Templar. She smiled a thin, discreet smile. In his letter the King had mentioned a gift, perhaps this Templar was it.
She watched, from a table hidden in shadow in the corner, the goings on at the bar. So far, none of the waitstaff had seen her, which was just as well. The tavern was, overall, much more efficiently run, not to mention cleaner, than the last time she'd been there. She was curious as to what would illicit such a change, observing the workings of the tavern. The scent of magic tugged at her senses, nearly making her lose focus. Though she could not use it, her Master had given her the ability to recognize it, and her body, filled as it was with her Master's Unlife, was resistant to most magics.
A tavern wench spotted her just then, though by the look on the poor girl's face, she was not looking forward to her job right then. She visibly shuddered, as if someone had run an icicle along her spine. The twin instincts of doing her job and remaining in her comfort zone battled fiercely inside her head, though the thought of her job, and the modest sum it provided, won out. A girl had to eat, after all.
The waitress approached, and asked her "Welcome to the Matchless Mine, milady. Would you care for an ale? We just opened a fresh barrel." Her voice was thick with repressed revulsion and fear. A lesser being wouldn't have noticed, but this one had a great many years of experience, and little escaped her notice.
She smiled, this time revealing her perfectly white, immaculately straight teeth. It was as friendly a gesture as she was able, but it still had an air of something sinister, like the smile of the hyena moving in on an injured lion cub. Her voice was sweet and melodic, but with a hint of malice, flowing from her lips like poisoned honey.
[glow=red,1,30]"Why, yes. Thank you, I think I shall. And give my regards to the foreign gentleman at the bar. You know the one I refer to, don't you?"[/glow]
The girl shivered again, her fear coming off in waves. "Y-yes, milady. Right away," she said as quickly as possible without being overtly rude, before scampering off toward the bar. Her eagerness to leave caused a spark of anger to stir within the exotic stranger's cold heart, but she knew better than to let her emotions show just yet. She'd save that honor for the King.
Calasi followed the waitress back to the bar with her gaze, before leaning back her chair and propping her feet upon the table. Normally, such behavior, especially by a woman, was cause for a stir...but Calasi didn't think anyone here would have the nerve to say anything. And if they did, so much the better. There were precious few among the living that she tolerated, let alone respected. It would depend entirely on the manner in which they approached her that determined how she would respond.
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