A cloaked, long and slender figure walks into the inn. His hood covers his head completely, only leaving a shadow on his face. He wears simple midnight black robes, although it is made of high quality. He takes a seat in the middle of the bar against the wall so that he has a view over everyone.
The barmaid approaches him to take his order. The man takes a while to inspect the woman up and down, meanwhile extending his arm and then stroking her from her ankle up to her lower back and then suddenly jolting her forward closer to him. He then orders her in a low voice Some wine please, then gets a firm hand on her behind, and then after a few seconds lets her go.
The figure then continues to sit on his chair quietly, observing the room. He places his elbows on the table and placing is finger tips together so that his arms makes a pyramid and then leans forward slightly. Anyone who pays special attention might notice the white from his eyes, or might have briefly noticed the black of his skin peering under his gloves as he grabbed the maid.
Buck Inn
Re: Buck Inn
OOC- I apologize if this post was offensive. My only intention was to attract the attention of some of the underground elements in cear. And to portray my character as ruthless, twisted and maby dominating,
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Mon-da-oth
- Forum Troll
- Posts: 2013
- Joined: Sat Sep 23, 2006 2:21 am
- Main Player Character: Rhode Wraigh
- Other PCs: Reginald Schudotter
- Location: Edgewood, MD
Re: Buck Inn
The door to the inn creaks open allowing the faint smell of sea air to chase away the stuffy odor of oil lamps and fried cooking. A cloaked silhouette is framed in the doorway as it slowly climbs the stairs until the dim light from the lamps illuminate the aged ragged face of a man. His one uncovered eye shifts quickly over the inn patrons resting knowingly on several individuals who each receive a disturbing smile.
He turns quickly at the top of the stairs and makes his way to an empty stool next to the bar. Once his back is turned several of the inns patrons quickly rush out of the inn and back into the supposed safety of the city streets.
A single coin is placed on the bar counter which Villiam removes and replaces with several bottles of ale. The man uses the thumb from one hand to remove the cork as he tips a bottle up emptying the contents. It isn't until the empty bottle is returned to the counter that a collective sigh is felt in the room.
He turns quickly at the top of the stairs and makes his way to an empty stool next to the bar. Once his back is turned several of the inns patrons quickly rush out of the inn and back into the supposed safety of the city streets.
A single coin is placed on the bar counter which Villiam removes and replaces with several bottles of ale. The man uses the thumb from one hand to remove the cork as he tips a bottle up emptying the contents. It isn't until the empty bottle is returned to the counter that a collective sigh is felt in the room.
Re: Buck Inn
When the man enters the inn, Raen'Rhyl's attention immediately turns to Villiam. He notices the tension and fear in the air. The patrons running for the door puts a evil grin on his face.
When the barmaid nervously approaches the dark elf, he once again grabs her by the wrist and drags her closer to his face. He then whispers in her ear: Who is that man over there? Looking over her shoulder and throwing a nod in Villiam's direction.
[OOC]If it is suitable, can you take the role of the barmaid and then let her repeat what someone like she would know about your character?
When the barmaid nervously approaches the dark elf, he once again grabs her by the wrist and drags her closer to his face. He then whispers in her ear: Who is that man over there? Looking over her shoulder and throwing a nod in Villiam's direction.
[OOC]If it is suitable, can you take the role of the barmaid and then let her repeat what someone like she would know about your character?
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Mon-da-oth
- Forum Troll
- Posts: 2013
- Joined: Sat Sep 23, 2006 2:21 am
- Main Player Character: Rhode Wraigh
- Other PCs: Reginald Schudotter
- Location: Edgewood, MD
Re: Buck Inn
Apryl squirmed against Raen'Rhyls' pull. "Alright, alright not so hard! His name is Rhode but no one has seen him in, Oof!" her conversation is cut short as her head is suddenly forced down against the table top and a small shriek of surprise escapes her lips while pain crosses over her face and tears well in her eyes. "I didn't tell him anything Rhode. Really I didn't."
"Is knows." They man answers tightening his grip on the back of Apryl's neck. He then turns to look at Raen'Rhly. His face is old and weathered and specks of green leaves stick to his yellowed teeth while a ragged bit of cloth is wound around his head covering one eye. "If'n yous wants 'er yous gots to pay mes."
"Is knows." They man answers tightening his grip on the back of Apryl's neck. He then turns to look at Raen'Rhly. His face is old and weathered and specks of green leaves stick to his yellowed teeth while a ragged bit of cloth is wound around his head covering one eye. "If'n yous wants 'er yous gots to pay mes."
Re: Buck Inn
The dark elf lets go of his grip of Apryl and leans back. He leans back on his chair and looks up to Rhode. A small grin forms on his face. "I do not have business with this....sweet woman. I might have business with you though.. He then waves his hand to the chair opposite him, indicating for Rhode to sit down. "Get the man something to drink woman".
[OOC]Not sure if we should continue this via PM's from now?
[OOC]Not sure if we should continue this via PM's from now?
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Mon-da-oth
- Forum Troll
- Posts: 2013
- Joined: Sat Sep 23, 2006 2:21 am
- Main Player Character: Rhode Wraigh
- Other PCs: Reginald Schudotter
- Location: Edgewood, MD
Re: Buck Inn
Rhode releases he grip on Apryl allowing her to stand up. Once free she turns quickly to face him and takes several steps backwards towards the bar area only stopping when her back hits the edge of the counter.
He winks at her with his one showing eye and drops down into a seat opposite the dark elf. Leaning forward he stares at the elf for several moments before speaking. "Is 'eard bouts you ans Is knows wot yous look'n fer. Yer bussiness taint wit mes buts Is gives yous a name." He stands up and leans across the table to whisper. "Dar bes a 'ling named Mergo yous gots to talk wit, but yous can't go empty 'anded. Look in da bank fer a Tief ans she tell yous wot yous need'n to do. Take dat thin she ask fer wit yous and show it to Mergo. Den maybe 'e bes will'n to talk wit yous."
As Raen"Rhyls watches Rhode leans back into the chair and seemingly vanishes.
He winks at her with his one showing eye and drops down into a seat opposite the dark elf. Leaning forward he stares at the elf for several moments before speaking. "Is 'eard bouts you ans Is knows wot yous look'n fer. Yer bussiness taint wit mes buts Is gives yous a name." He stands up and leans across the table to whisper. "Dar bes a 'ling named Mergo yous gots to talk wit, but yous can't go empty 'anded. Look in da bank fer a Tief ans she tell yous wot yous need'n to do. Take dat thin she ask fer wit yous and show it to Mergo. Den maybe 'e bes will'n to talk wit yous."
As Raen"Rhyls watches Rhode leans back into the chair and seemingly vanishes.
Re: Buck Inn
New thing was pinned overnight by some unknown visitor to Buck Inn's Board...
One of The Mist chidren of First and Second blood
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Baelas
- Commoner
- Posts: 13
- Joined: Mon Aug 22, 2011 3:44 pm
- Main Player Character: Mori
- Bioware Username: Baelas
Re: Buck Inn
A young white-haired human woman enters the establishment, peering around briefly before making her way to the bartender.
"Greetings. I am looking to contact Combat Engineering Ltd, do you know how I can get in touch with them?"
"Greetings. I am looking to contact Combat Engineering Ltd, do you know how I can get in touch with them?"
Mori the Enchantress
Critics at work
The two noblemen seem deep into their conversation by now. If only judging by the gathering of bottles on their table.
“... and she's completely naked, just lunging, lunging I say, at... something. With her chest forward. Very much. Forward...”
The speaker gets a faraway look. His companion takes a moment to refill their goblets.
“He outright refused to show it to me. Almost called him out on it. What an affront! Just because of that little incident with the jug and the handmaiden...”
The mind of the other participant returns, although it appears to be already packing for a longer trip,
“Well, that was some nasty business. She is still walking around complaining about it, from what I hear”
“Can't get good help nowadays, that's what I say.”
“Hear hear”
The goblets are raised. The goblets are drained. The man denied first-hand experience continues,
“Kind of silly, from the sound of it. Who fights without armor?”
“Well, she has a shield, but... see, it's an allegory for human soul, really. See, she's scarred all over, but naked. The shield is our experience, protecting us somewhat from the unknown danger, but we are still naked when we face it.”
A moment of a pause,
“Also... well, you would just have to see it.”
The other speaker looks thoughtful, swaying lightly,
“I do question the presentation. Shouldn't the wisdom of experience be the armor, not just the shield? After all...”
The discussion continues deep into the night, the words increasingly more difficult to understand. Any passing menial would probably not comprehend anyway – this is high art, after all.
((A certain member of Cear nobility has procured a very well executed painting he dubbed “Lady of Battles.” Being extremely protective of it, only a very select group of close acquaintances can see the work, and the wards and guards protecting his manor make it highly unlikely that anybody else would gain access to the room where it is displayed.
Somebody moving in the high circles, however, just might get to see it. And might even recognize the subject as a certain Vanguard officer... though, usually, she does wear a lot more.))
“... and she's completely naked, just lunging, lunging I say, at... something. With her chest forward. Very much. Forward...”
The speaker gets a faraway look. His companion takes a moment to refill their goblets.
“He outright refused to show it to me. Almost called him out on it. What an affront! Just because of that little incident with the jug and the handmaiden...”
The mind of the other participant returns, although it appears to be already packing for a longer trip,
“Well, that was some nasty business. She is still walking around complaining about it, from what I hear”
“Can't get good help nowadays, that's what I say.”
“Hear hear”
The goblets are raised. The goblets are drained. The man denied first-hand experience continues,
“Kind of silly, from the sound of it. Who fights without armor?”
“Well, she has a shield, but... see, it's an allegory for human soul, really. See, she's scarred all over, but naked. The shield is our experience, protecting us somewhat from the unknown danger, but we are still naked when we face it.”
A moment of a pause,
“Also... well, you would just have to see it.”
The other speaker looks thoughtful, swaying lightly,
“I do question the presentation. Shouldn't the wisdom of experience be the armor, not just the shield? After all...”
The discussion continues deep into the night, the words increasingly more difficult to understand. Any passing menial would probably not comprehend anyway – this is high art, after all.
((A certain member of Cear nobility has procured a very well executed painting he dubbed “Lady of Battles.” Being extremely protective of it, only a very select group of close acquaintances can see the work, and the wards and guards protecting his manor make it highly unlikely that anybody else would gain access to the room where it is displayed.
Somebody moving in the high circles, however, just might get to see it. And might even recognize the subject as a certain Vanguard officer... though, usually, she does wear a lot more.))
Art critic's work is never done
The battle is reaching its end, the detritus of its passage strewn across the table like... well, a bunch of empty bottles and plates.
The two men, leaning unsteadily over the continuation of their discussion, take a somewhat long time to respond to each other. Perhaps because of the gravity of the discussed matter, or perhaps because the words themselves require time to register through the alcoholic stupor. The words themselves are spoken in solemn slowness, the enunciation carefully precise.
“... and she's sitting in the nude, with the lute across her chest. Delicious little morsel, really. Anjiran, too, from the look of things, and you know what they say about their women...”
“Should keep away from oct... octy... octopuses?”
“Yeah, I... wait, what?”
“Famous Anjiran work. Or something. One of them showed me a copy. This woman and the...”
“All right. Maybe. I don't know. But I'm talking about the new painting, and you're interrupting.”
“My most sincere apologies. Do continue.”
“Right. So, where... ah, yes. She has this real innocent face, right? But there's this glint of one of their swords behind her. And the composition is just... fabulous. Innocence and danger, clashing over velvet covers. Superb! The expression, the poise, with just a hint of another facet gleaming of the curve of the cold steel.”
“So... do you see her...”
The speaker raises his hands, unsteadily, and makes a few highly desynchronized cupping gestures. His companion's eyes, once they register the motions, narrow in a clearly disapproving reaction.
“What? No, this is... art, not some.... See, that's why he never lets you see the paintings!”
The argument continues into the depth of the night, when two groups of liveried servants cautiously carry them off from the premises.
((Somebody well traveled in the noble circles of Cear might recognize a certain recently arrived Anjiran bard - even if by the description of the subject, as her hair style and color are somewhat distinct. ))
The two men, leaning unsteadily over the continuation of their discussion, take a somewhat long time to respond to each other. Perhaps because of the gravity of the discussed matter, or perhaps because the words themselves require time to register through the alcoholic stupor. The words themselves are spoken in solemn slowness, the enunciation carefully precise.
“... and she's sitting in the nude, with the lute across her chest. Delicious little morsel, really. Anjiran, too, from the look of things, and you know what they say about their women...”
“Should keep away from oct... octy... octopuses?”
“Yeah, I... wait, what?”
“Famous Anjiran work. Or something. One of them showed me a copy. This woman and the...”
“All right. Maybe. I don't know. But I'm talking about the new painting, and you're interrupting.”
“My most sincere apologies. Do continue.”
“Right. So, where... ah, yes. She has this real innocent face, right? But there's this glint of one of their swords behind her. And the composition is just... fabulous. Innocence and danger, clashing over velvet covers. Superb! The expression, the poise, with just a hint of another facet gleaming of the curve of the cold steel.”
“So... do you see her...”
The speaker raises his hands, unsteadily, and makes a few highly desynchronized cupping gestures. His companion's eyes, once they register the motions, narrow in a clearly disapproving reaction.
“What? No, this is... art, not some.... See, that's why he never lets you see the paintings!”
The argument continues into the depth of the night, when two groups of liveried servants cautiously carry them off from the premises.
((Somebody well traveled in the noble circles of Cear might recognize a certain recently arrived Anjiran bard - even if by the description of the subject, as her hair style and color are somewhat distinct. ))
What makes true art
---The subject is a young human female. A very distinctly young female.
Her naked body is illuminated by the shifting colors of the magic swirling in the background. Their reflections dance as highlights in her short mane of platinum hair, its cut playfully disarrayed.
She stands leaning lightly forward, facing he viewer, her right hand raised palm-up just below the curving line of her lips. Her eyes, hued in the unusual light red tone, catch the light of the translucent flames playing above her hand. Tendrils of yellows and orange sneak around her fingers, a thicker strand coagulating over her arm from the ambient energy into a bracelet of pure magic snaking over the entire length of her forearm.
The other hand pulls at the blue-shifting strands from below. These cling to her body, climbing upward as they follow the outspread fingers leaving bright trails in the surrounding vortex.
The shape of her body, and facial characteristics, are very pleasing to the eyes, even dismissing the meticulous composition clearly aimed at enforcing the effect.
“What do you think, Farran? I decided to call it 'Temptation of Power'.”
“Well... you can't really see much, what with the blue stuff all over her, can you?”
“I heard you finally got to see his paintings?”
“Why yes. Then he threw me out for pointing the obvious flaw in his latest addition.”
The speaker drowns the injustice in another goblet of wine, as more bottles arrive on the table.
Art appreciation is Serious Business.
((Another piece joins the growing collection of the reclusive nobleman. Should one have a chance to see it, they might be able to notice the fitting portrayal, as the model is very clearly a very specific recent arrival in Cear.
Although the greatsword is missing. As is any hint of an insectoid addition to the painting. ))