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Inn of the Wayward Soul - Pre-Game RP

 
"Say, barkeep, are there free nuts that go with this free ale?" Fracko asks with a hopeful smile.

As he awaits an answer, the gnome starts to twist and spasm a bit in his seat. A low hiss emits and a sharp snapping sound is emitted from his robes. Fracko yanks open his cloak and a very small owl climbs out, alighting on Fracko's shoulder, hissing and snapping it's bill.

"Fer the last time, I ain't asking for them to bring yeh mice!" the gnome says peevishly. "Can yeh not see that I am busy here with people? People who talk proper and polite? Get yer own damned dinner yeh accursed night-chicken."

More snaps and hisses from the pygmy owl, which nips at the gnome, then flies off through an open window.

Fracko turns back to the barkeeper like nothing happened, smiling crookedly, waiting for his free nuts.

Soulan takes note of the piece of wood and nodds his head. "I will have the stew as well..." He answered seeming a bit distracted by the new arrivals for a moment, returning to the remainder of the tavern, looking for a proper place to sit. Preferably some where that his back could be to the a wall. There were many weary fighter types here, and he was not comfortable enough with social interactions to wish to test the boundaries of their potential for agression. He turned back to the barkeeper dropping 4 silver pieces on the counter in the same fluid motion as he placed a 5th a few inches from the pile. His eyes fell upon the barkeeper once he had his attention once again. "Any idea where I could perhaps find a room for the night?"

In the background, the noise of patrons entering the inn grew and grew with each creak of the wooden door. It didn't bother him in the least having become used to large groups of people, especially when the drink was to flow. There were some words said but Tanvas was too enthralled with the scale to pay notice. He was like this... Very one trace minded. Ate her reply his eyes grew. "You ate a dragon?" He started before following up, repressing his enthusiasm. "Your father must have been quite the warrior. I can only hope to join the ranks of such men." His mind drifted off a moment to the imagining himself a fulfilled dragon-slayer, but quickly shook off the feeling in time to catch Lamére say something about the how she was being look at. He chuckled openly. "No, no. Most may have seen merfolk in the water, but, Lam.." Tanvas paused tucking the scale back into his shirt. He had also given her a nickname, having too much trouble exerting the thought to attempt pronouncing the name. "...This ain't the water," he said stamping his boot on the floor, producing heavy thuds. Taking one of the few remaining swigs from his drink, he sighed in relief, his throat wet. "Best get used to it to such eyes. Hell, some make a living off of it." A weak smirk came to his face at the thought remembering Varisian women and their fickle ways of stealing the hearts of men along with their coin.

He took an opportunity to look about the room at those who had recently come in. The company varied yet most seemed merrier, or at least content with themselves enough to keep to themselves, partaking of the free ale when offered. Gnome, half-elf, half-orc, humans. Sure it wasn't the full hand but it worked for this corner of the world. As expected, there were many a sword-swinger, such as himself, here. Other, like Lam, dotted the room but you were hard pressed to find them.

Damaris notes the man with the big sword and the dragon scale talking to the merfolken. He leans into the stool a little and takes a drink of his ale. He gathers up his confidence, figuring anyone with a greatsword to be his unspoken competition for work.

The samurai smoothly stands up from the barstool and makes his way over to what he now thinks of as TAN & LAM's BOOTH.

"You really think you could take a dragon on, bigsword? Seems to me you're ill-equipped for such, combat." He speaks somewhat louder than intended. And perhaps the barbarian wasn't the best choice of warrior to mess with--even sitting down, Tanvas is an inch or so taller than Damaris. The samurai figures if things get hairy, he can at least take on the biggest warrior in the whole tavern and ride the glory of that victory.

And here it was. The precise reason he disliked entering establishments at all, let alone during roughneck hours. He looked to the barkeep for his answer on the room, hoping he would answer before violence broke out. He loathed unnecessary violence, not that it frightened him but the recent implications of his curse have left a bad taste in his mouth for agression. Though he carried no weapon and appeared clad only in armor, he wasn't the purely defensive being he seemed to be. He walked with a warrior's gate and studied the room with eyes burdened with the images he had seen over the span of his life. There was blood in the air, if not physical, the spiritual equivalent was nearly tangible.

His eyes jumped between the samurai, warrior and barkeep, waiting for something to happen...and hoping it was an answer to his inquiry, leaving him enough time to slip out the way of the apparently popular table and the postrating of their current inhabitants. He ran his thumb over the tips of each finger on their respective hands, as if he was feeling the tension building up from that single, potentially mood altering statement.

Isaiah flourishes his left hand as he gets close to the gnome. A large bowl of nuts and popped corn materializes just to the right of Fracko. He then moves to the newest member of those at the bar. The stew it is. Along with a room upstairs. Afterwards, without turning back towards the opening, Isaiah screams. Frog, you're needed out front for a moment.

Seconds later, from the door to the right of the bar, a minotaur with one horn broken off wearing an apron around his waist and a very large marble rolling pin in his right hand steps out. Any trouble, you answer to Gladys. Raising the rolling pin to the ceiling.

Other of the corner of his eye, a sword carrying one. A small sword but if someone was walking towards you with a weapon, you get antsy. But if their was one thing that he hated more, it was people who couldn't mind their own business. You're free to listen and judge in silence, but its another thing although if you try to start something with it.

His happy demeanor immediately went away as soon as the man began to talk. Looking at him with an aggrevated stare, studying the man for a moment. He wasn't much bigger than him and certainly not as bulky but only clad it a vest of armor. Remembered stories of great warrior who cared themselves with such weapon. Right now, this guy wasn't going to part of his nostaliga. He rose from his chair speaking as he did. "Seems to me you looking to piss me off." His fist clenched as waiting for him to say something else, but before the other could, a Minotaur walked out to greet them. He looked at him and the marble rolling pin, weighting his chances, and found the fight wasn't worth the trouble if it got him kicked out. "Nah. Ain't no trouble... Just my friend here making a joke." He spoke with a weak grin, hints of suppressed angry in his voice. "Ain't that right, friend?" He dilerbately gave the warrior a big smack ont he arm, disquising it as a friendly gesture. After he slowly retook his seat and continued to watch both the minotaur and the warrior, waiting for them to disperse so that he could enjoy the less annoying company in the room.

Sidryn's eyes widen as she peers at Isaiah. "Four silver for stew?! By whatever you consider holy, man, you must make a killing here!" she notes with a shake of her head. The bowl is taken, and slid towards Soloun. "You can take mine, I ain't /THAT/ hungry," she notes as she does so.

Then the young woman just shakes her head at the merwoman and the warrior wanting to kill a dragon. Lofty goal, impractical, but none of her business - she shouldn't have said anything as it was. Shrugging to herself, Sidryn is about to turn back to the bar and her mug of ale, when the warrior in strange armor - she had heard of something like that in the East - walks over to the mermaid and human talking. Groaning, Sidring runs a hand down her face, and then sighs. She doesn't turn around completely, she doesn't see the Minotaur come out of the kitchen - though it's hard not to hear nor smell him, after all. She doesn't seem to be all that interested in the scene going on, but she doesn't turn away from it either as she takes a sip of her ale, and her hand rests on her hip where a heavy leather pouch seems to just happen to reside.

Oh, sorry. I thought you wanted the shark steak. That's 4 silver. The stew is 6 copper squires a bowl. Frog doesn't understand much of the common tongue, which is why when I say an order, he brings whatever he thinks is what I'm asking for. If you'd like to stay, I'd be more than happy to take out the cost of that from your silvers. What's the name, I'll keep up a running total and inform you when the silvers are spent. Isaiah gives Sidryn a smile.

Ahhh, a minotaur for a cook. This town is interesting indeed.

Damaris takes the hit to the arm goodnaturedly, his grin hiding no anger. In one gesture, he'd garnered reactions from the tavern, reactions that told him more than what one person might have said.

"That is correct, friend, just an old joke between swordarms. And good it is I didn't call you Mr. Compensator! I mean," Damaris shifts his weight to see behind Tanvas, speaking to Lamére. "You could probably get away with calling this guy something like that, he seems to have taken a fancy to you. Might as well see what buttons you can and shouldn't push."

Damaris keeps on grinning. Not many five-foot-seven humans could mess with a guy standing a head taller than them and not end up pummeled or skewered. He guesses there's some glory in that, and the thought makes him smile a little brighter.




 

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