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Author Topic: Kann Day I  (Read 14073 times)
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Foraste Lydan
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Human, Erpheronian


« Reply #15 on: March 31, 2009, 08:39:42 AM »

I hate the heat. Foraste trudged through the tunnel absentmindedly itching his scar. The tavern door beckoned him inside. Foraste made a quick note of the exterior of the tavern and darted inside.

  He sat down at a table near the bar and wiped his brown hair out of his eyes. After putting own his pack he saw that a dwarven cook was taking orders from a pair of Kasumarii. As he scanned the room he took note of the other patrons, he felt a tug at his shoulder, Thad had climbed out of his pocket and was waving his whiskers in the air. Foraste scratched him behind the ears an murmured "Don't worry I'll get some food in a minute." Thad dipped his head in acknowledgment and curled up in Foraste's hood.

  Squealing from outside moved Foraste's attention back to the tavern. Glancing around he saw a stable through the open door. In it there was a fat pig and to his horror, a dwarf mage. Fingering the melted coin around his neck Foraste felt his scar begin to prick and tingle. He hoped that he could avoid any altercation and made himself smaller.

  Foraste's stomach growled and he realized that he ha not eaten in 2 days, he had been in a rush after a traveler had told  him about Tyr Donian and the Kann Kemruhnt. Foraste caled to Galein " A pint of ale and a sandwich if you please" and put down 6 sans with another one as a tip.
« Last Edit: March 31, 2009, 08:50:17 AM by Foraste Lydan » Logged

If you won't take my money, how about a write up?

Foraste Lydan
Hragnúr Pakthroon
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« Reply #16 on: March 31, 2009, 11:02:42 PM »

Hragnúr watched the mercenary newcomer with interest when she saw Galein serve him some of her strongest brew. "This may be entertainin'...I'll 'ave to watch 'im while he tries to drink this", she mused to herself. She momentarily set down the breakfast that Galein had given to her, and leaned back on her staff, a wry smile playing across her face. The mercenary took a moment to smell the the drink hesitantly. "Oh hoho, he thinks its burnin' his dear throat now, ha, he'll know better in a moment", she chuckled to herself. She was surprised, however, when the man managed to down a gulp of the fiery liquid with relative calm. "This one will do," he rasped when he set the drink down. "Well," thought Hragnúr, "he seems to 'ave gud nerves fer a tall un, but his throat be just as weak as any of 'is kin." She raised herself up a little and ambled over to where the man sat. He was asking some question as she approached, but she did not hear it. "Let Galein worry 'bout answerin' 'is questions, I got a little proposal for this weakling," she inwardly laughed to herself. Out loud, she greeted the man heartily, "Well, welcome to the Warhammer tavern! Ye seem to have gud nerves for un o'the tall kind. Well, if ya plan on staying a bit, I'll bet ya that I can drink ya right under this 'ere table. Fer now, I be taking a bit o' breakfast to me muther, but if ye got the guts to stick around with us dwarves, then we'll see whose got the most nerve when I be down 'ere agin, eh?" She winked broadly at him, a coy but slightly mean grin lighting up her features.

She turned back to the bar to let him think that one over, and while she walked she heard a call from the other side of the room. "A pint of ale and a sandwich if you please." She turned to see that the speaker was a small man, at least he was small by men's standards. He seemed a little frail, the learned type maybe, and was cowering a bit in the corner of the room. Hragnúr decided that she could at least get him the ale, since she was by the bar anyway, and she could let Galein get his sandwich and collect his money. Looking him over once more, the freckled man was now nervously fingering a metal object that hung from his neck. "Eh, no nerve at'tall in that one over there, I'll give him something on the weak side." She drew off a pint of her Shorr brew, a weaker version of her special recipe. She amble across the room to the corner, a large mug in one hand, her other hand leaning on her staff. She set the mug down on the table with a thud, and welcomed the newcomer to the tavern. "This be a special brew o' me own, of a power suit'ble for ye talk folks. But watch ye, mind, it still be ale of dwarven kind, so don't be belittling its might. Drink it slow, and enjoy it. Besides, if ye gulped it down, methinks ye might dissolve away entirely!" She guffawed for a moment at her own joke, and gave the man a wink to reassure him that she was only kdding with him. "Enjoy yer stay at our fine tavern, here."

Now she finally returned to the bar, picked up her mother's breakfast, and mounted the stairs to the upper floor of the tavern. She knew she had been a bit tardy in getting breakfast this morning, and her mother would most likely not be pleased. Hragnúr could just now here the complaints and guilt-laden insults her mother would reign at her. Hragnúr braced herself for the confrontation. When she reached the room, she began to greet her mother as cheerily as she could. She told what a nice morn' it was, and told her to be happy on such a nice day. Her mother was unresponsive. Hragnúr laid the breakfast on a small table beside the bed, as inobtrusively as she possibly could. She watched her mother warily, waiting for any sign, whether of reconciliation or explosion. It took a moment or two, but her mother chose explosion. Oh, did she choose an explosion. The old dwarfess threw the entire breakfast at the far wall of the room. The plate and glass shattered to pieces all across the room. The tray that had held them clattered on the floor. The food itself, and the Hearth-berry juice that had been in the glass, was smeared across the wall. It oozed slowly down its surface, falling in clumps to the floor. Hragnúr wanted to cry, but she must stand up to her mother if she was to calm this storm. How could she though, when she felt so responsible for her mother's plight? Hragnúr was still deciding what action to take when her mother start screaming all manner of horrible things at her, and began beating on the wall and bedpost. A tear trickled down the cheek of the younger dwarfess, as she hoped someone would help her clean up. She could not speak, but may be the noise would bring someone.



As Galkhirril neared the tavern, he hummed an old tune to himself absent-mindedly. Absent-minded was how Galkhirril always seem to be nowadays. He was the oldest dwarf in the city of Tyr Donian, at a ripe 277. The folk of the town looked at him and marveled that he still was around, expecting him to simply up and die any day now. But Galkhirril still hung to life with a vengeance, keeping active and feisty, almost like his younger days. His snow white hair and beard were gray and shadowy in the tunnels of the city, and the torchlight reflected off of them in patches of golden orange. His bright blue eyes still shone, even in the dimness of the tunnels. His name meant "old jewel", and though not his birth name, he was called that by everyone because of those bright eyes. He was on his way to the trading outpost of Tyr Donian later this afternoon, but for now he wanted whatever company he get at the Kann Kemruhnt. It was his favorite tavern, for he liked the dwarves who ran. "Sensible, with a gud 'earty spirit to them, they are." He had described Galein, Thorgas, and Hragnúr to many people in this way.

He entered the common room, and took a moment to survey his surroundings. There were a good number of customers in for this morning. Business looked good, which cheered Galkhirril. He was not upset by the presence of foreigners here. In fact, as the overseer at the trading outpost, he regularly came into contact with the other races. He was called upon to keep order and judge disputes between these peoples and his dwarves when they traded, and so was more understanding of the tall folk than most dwarves. Galkhirril was eager to talk to someone today, to tell a good story. He looked down at the staff he carried with him. It was etched with countless runes, and each one was associated with some story of his past. He was the greatest storyteller of the city, in his opinion, though nowadays people listened to him less often and with less patience. He would forget occasionally who he had told stories to, and often repeated himself. But here at the tavern he could usually get a fresh audience, which was what he was seeking today.

He spotted two elfesses sitting at separate tables, not too far apart from each other. They looked like they might need a good story to rouse them this morning. Galkhirril sat down at the table where the sandy-skinned elf was sitting, looking a bit bemused, as if she had just awakened. He faced himself towards the pale, icy-blue elf, who did not appear to be looking at anything in particular. Galkhirril thought it was odd that her indifferent gaze was so unfocused, but he was determined to tell these ladies a good tale. What to tell them? He saw that they both had dogs with them, did he know any stories of dogs. He glanced down at his staff to try and aid his memory. That time in New Santhala? Boy, that had been a trip, but no dogs in that one. Another rune reminded him of when he had been trapped in a tunnel for two days after an accident. That was an exciting, but dogs didn't live in tunnels. Hmm, but hadn't he seen a few dogs in the market of the outpost a few weeks ago? Oh yes, that would make a good tale. Of course, it did need a little livening up, but that was an easy matter for one as experienced as Galkhirril.

He cleared his throat a little ostentatiously, waving his staff a little in order to ensure he had the ladies attention. He hoped he did, cause he couldn't tell with the dark-haired one. She was still staring abstractly for some reason. Oh well, he wouldn't let anything deter this tale. "Good morn', lasses, I hope ye be enjoyin' the tavern. Good fine eating they have here, and the ale be even better. I were just thinking, I were, as I strolled to this fine table, as to what pretty ladies ye be, with such pretty dogs besides ya. Ya know, those dogs remind me of some of the uns I seen at the market just a week or two ago. Funny thing, those market dogs. They was fer hunting, methinks, and of a gud size. Fierce, too, but one of 'em seemed to have a little queer side to him. He was a yelping out alouder than the rest, which mad a terr'bul racket, and he seemed quite friendly. Seemed, mind ye. That was when one of the farm lads, coming in with a wagonful of food, mostly mushrooms, I thinks, ya mushrooms. Anyway, this boy he sees the dogs and he decides to himself that he'll greet that queer loud one. Friendly looking, he was. The dog, that is. Though the boy looked pretty friendly, too, I s'pose. But by any rate, this boy came a'greeting this dog all cheerful like, ya know, and then the funniest thing happened. Oh yes, the funniest..." The old man was now really getting into the story, and the joy of the telling of it. He hope the two elfesses appreciated this tale, as he continued to pour out the account to them.
« Last Edit: March 31, 2009, 11:38:09 PM by Hragnúr Pakthroon » Logged


If only a drink could truly wash away pasts and wipe away fears; maybe then life would be happy.

-Hragnúr Pakerim-Theroon
Salena smith
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« Reply #17 on: April 01, 2009, 01:08:50 AM »

   "Need to keep going," Salena thought to herself while taking another wrenkened step. Her feet were in such pain, as if every step she took were on a bed of nails. Looking down at her feet she seen that up to her ankles, she was wet from all the slush.  "Well that's what spring brings, a lot of wetness!" She said angrily to herself.

 Not knowing how long she'd been walking for or even where she was she noticed what seemed to be a tunnel in the distance.  Thank God, the lord has givin me a place to rest for the night," yeeped Salena.     Walking a few miles sure made its tole on her slim littl body, but that was because she had never walked that far for that long. She was just used to doing shop work and house work with grandpa.

She often thought of her little sister, and wondered how they were doing. If they were safe, warm and have plenty to eat. But she knew she had to be a bird and fly away from the nest, it was the only way to find the truth.
 Before she realized it she was in the tunnel and not day dreaming anymore. Noticing the repairs on the signs, Salena saw a Tavern sign. "The Kann Kumruhnt," the sign said in big bold letters. Even though she couldn't read the sign she liked the thought of trying.

 Walking into the Tavern, you could feel the warmth from the fire that was across the room. Two elvin ladies sitting at two different tables and a man and a child sitting together at another.    All of a sudden she heard a smash as if someone throwing dishes. "What on earth.. I hope everythings alright up there" turning her head up the staircase. 
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I am and always will be me. I have my faults and mood swings so if you cant handle me at my worst then you dont deserve me at my best. :) Salena's CD
Thorin Broadfist
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« Reply #18 on: April 01, 2009, 08:37:29 AM »

“Well I'll be, elves. I haven't seen an elf for quite some time. They are strangely colored though, one like sand and the other like ice. They aren't bad company, usually, but there was that one elf back in Strata…” Thorin's attention was brought back from his musing to Morten's voice. "Wherever there be fellow dwarves to drink with, any place can be a good sight for tired eyes. Let's enjoy an ale or two, to our successful trip and safe return, eh? Two ales over here please!" Morden was one of the few dwarves he had met who he had befriended almost instantly. Thorin normally would not have, not wanting to feel the pain of loss again, but Morden was just one of those people you couldn't not be friends with. He was someone Thorin was not afraid to call “chingu”.

As they waited for the drinks to arrive, Morden pulled out his baroomith and began to play a cheerful tune. The eye of his mind took him back to when he was a boy as he sat listening to some of his clan members as they played for Brokden, a festival honoring Brok Strongarm. Thorin has longed for the sense of belonging he got from his childhood, but nothing could ever replace that which was lost. However, sitting in the inn, he was the closest to that feeling that he had been for as long as he could remember. With his ears starting to moisten, Thorin waited until Morden paused before he quietly whispered, “That brings back wonderful memories, thank you.” Thorin wiped one thick finger under his eye to keep from crying in joy as he accepted a mug of ale from the cook with a nod and a smile. "If that isn't quite the flavor you are looking for you might also try Hragnúr's Hlarn Ale.”

Before Thorin even took a drink, a man and a child waltzed into the inn. Thorin saw the man head over to the bar, obviously intent on ordering some food or something to drink, while the child took a seat at one of the tables. “Well, that's odd. Those humans look familiar, but I just can't seem to place them. I can't remember why but I feel like I should know what's different about them, besides the child having white hair. I'll just have to think on it some.” Thorin took a long draught from his mug as he overheard the man ordering his drink. Thorin intently watched him swallow his first gulp, and then another. “Well, he doesn't seem to be as weak as the slim humans usually are.” Thorin smiled to himself. “His voice doesn't sound as strong as it was, but that what dwarven ale does to them.”

Thorin hardly noticed the other two humans who came in after the one had ordered the dwarven ale, but the crash of dishes against wood brought him out of his thoughts. He glanced upwards, where the sound had come from, and concluded that was a guest who wasn't too happy about their breakfast. Thorin wasn't quite sure how they could be, with what fine ale they had, but you never could be too sure of how others would react. He leaned over towards Morden and asked in a low volume voice, “Does that happen often around here? It didn't seem to affect the cook very much.” Thorin glanced back towards the door when he heard it creak open to admit another visitor, and a dwarf at that! "By my hammer! He looks like he must be at least 250 years old! I can't recall any of the elders from my clan being that old. This inn sure is full of surprises." Thorin took another drink as he stared in wonder at the dwarf who had just joined the two elves, and by the sound of it, started spinning a yarn.
« Last Edit: April 01, 2009, 08:45:37 AM by Thorin Broadfist » Logged

I am a blacksmith, nothing more, nothing less.
-Thorin Broadfist
Isei Fenrir
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« Reply #19 on: April 01, 2009, 09:46:34 AM »

Well, welcome to the Warhammer tavern! Ye seem to have gud nerves for un o'the tall kind. Well, if ya plan on staying a bit, I'll bet ya that I can drink ya right under this 'ere table. Fer now, I be taking a bit o' breakfast to me muther, but if ye got the guts to stick around with us dwarves, then we'll see whose got the most nerve when I be down 'ere agin, eh?  Isei smiled as the dwarf spoke, knowing that it was probably meant to be more of an insult that anything else.  Dwarves weren't too fond of humans most the time, he was pretty sure they disliked elves more though.  Either way, he knew he had no chance of outdrinking the dwarf, he wasn't much of a drinker even for a human, he just knew how to resist the urge to cough and sputter.

"Well, I'm not much of a drinker for a 'tall one' either, so I'm positive you would outdrink me, besides, I wouldn't want to be too intoxicated in front of my son, not a good thing to be teaching him at such a young age," Isei smiled, "But, if you have any othe challenges for me, I might just be interested."  He was sure he could outmaneuver, and probably outfight as well, all the dwarves here, but that was all he could do.  He thought about what the dwarf would want to do besides drink, and it came to him.  Gamble.  He would try his luck for a while, they weren't exactly low on money.

He looked around the tavern now, as more people were filing in at a rapid rate.  Elves, a human, and of course the dwarves.  That was to be expected though, the tavern did lead up to a dwarven city.  As he was studying some of the people in the bar he heard a loud crash from upstairs, someone must be having an argument or a fight, again though, it was a tavern, not an unusual occurrence.  So he didn't pay it much atttention.  He looked to Valric and asked, "What do you think of the people here?"

Valric shrugged and said, "They're interesting."  That was a typical response for the boy, he was rather quiet, but he was correct.  That was the best word to place over the people that were gathered in the tavern.  They were probably pretty interesting themselves though, Kasumarii mercenaries weren't normal visitors at a dwarven bar.
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Foraste Lydan
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« Reply #20 on: April 05, 2009, 07:54:38 PM »

Foraste straightened as the dwarven brewmistress, Hragnúr, approached and set down a mug of ale. "This be a special brew o' me own, of a power suit'ble for ye talk folks. But watch ye, mind, it still be ale of dwarven kind, so don't be belittling its might. Drink it slow, and enjoy it. Besides, if ye gulped it down, methinks ye might dissolve away entirely!" Foraste smiled at her joke and thanked her for the ale, making a note to mention her in his article. He nodded in thanks at her welcome as she walked away. He took a quick gulp of the ale and savored its flavor as it slid down his throat.
   
   A crash upstairs drew Foraste's attention back to the tavern, he wondered if a patron had disliked his meal. The door opened and a wizened old dwarf strode in and sat down next to the 2 elven women and started to tell an old story. The looked incredibly old and Foraste thought he might even be the oldest dwarf in the city.
   
   He took out his notebook and started writing a few sentences about the dwarf and the other patrons in the tavern. Obviously this city was a melting pot of races, unlike other dwarven cities. Another customer walked in, a girl no older than 18. She was obviously very tired and looked like she had never traveled before. Foraste thought about his first few months on the road, smiling in remembrance. The pair of Kasumarii were talking again and Foaste wondered if they were here on a job, though he had not hear of a pair of assassins before.
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If you won't take my money, how about a write up?

Foraste Lydan
Isei Fenrir
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« Reply #21 on: April 06, 2009, 01:40:40 AM »

Isei looked over from Valric to find one of the humans looking at them at writing in a journal.  That can't be good, he thought to himself.  In his homeland heads would have flown for something like that, but he was more civil than that, plus there were bouncers.  either way, he didn't like the fact that a human in a tavern, who came in after him, was taking notes on him.  He might just be a journalist, but it seemed suspicious.  Due to his line of work, trust was hard to come by, especially when someone was jotting down facts about you in a bar.

He waited tuntil the man was writing a long stretch in his journal, then did a quick circle around the bar, trying to stay out of the man's line of sight, then walked up to the man from behind, careful to make as little noise as possible, though his footsteps would be silently in a noisy bar, masked by all the laughter, slamming and clanking bottles, and other general noise.  Finally, he stood behind the man, so far unnoticed. He tapped the man on the shoulder and asked, "Keeping tabs on us?"
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Morden Peshirgolz
The Mystic Voice
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« Reply #22 on: April 06, 2009, 04:45:52 AM »

Morden played on for several minutes, not wishing to break the mood of the music. He was enjoying himself, and it had been some time since he had been able to rest like this. He ended his short melody with a light trill, flourishing his baroomith on its way back into his cloak pocket. Thorin seemed touched by the music, saying, “That brings back wonderful memories, thank you.”  Just then, Morden heard the crashing of dishes from upstairs. Well, he thought, that certainly be a mite unusual. He immediately knew who it was that was responsible for the outburst, from previous experience, but was surprised that Hragnúr's old mother would be that outraged at something. She normally did not cause damage to inn property, instead contenting herself with verbal tirades. She must 'ave awaked cranky this morn', Morden mused to himself, brushing the incident out of his mind.

A few other members of the inn, however, seemed a little more worried by the interruption to the breakfast routine. Thorin leaned over to him and asked, “Does that happen often around here? It didn't seem to affect the cook very much.”

"Yes an' no, my friend. That would be the elderly mother of our brewmistress, and that old lady is prone now to outbursts. Something to do with a 'ard life in the past. But, 'tis strange that she took her anger out on the dishes t'day, in most cases she limits herself only to blows from her tongue. She must 'ave been in a moody spell t'day, but don't ya mind her, she'll most likely be quiet the rest o' the day."

Noticing that a young lady was now staring curiously up the stairs, Morden called to her, "That's just a poor elderly mother, who's losing her senses to the cruelty of time, I fear. I don't think ye'll be needing to worry about her, but if ya want to meet our brewmistress, she's up there with the old dwarfess. Maybe if ya help dear Hragnúr control her mother, she'll give ya a drink! But no, I'm only kidding ya. Ye can help her out if ye feels so inclined, but rest assured, somebody'll be up there to help in a minute anyway."

Morden turned back to Thorin, and asked, "Well, we've had some drink, do ye feel at all like breakfast, my friend?"
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Salena smith
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Human, Centoraurian


« Reply #23 on: April 07, 2009, 10:12:18 AM »

    While starring up the staircase, a man's voice interrupted her thoughts,  "That's just a poor elderly mother, who's losing her senses to the cruelty of time, I fear. I don't think ye'll be needing to worry about her, but if ya want to meet our brewmistress, she's up there with the old dwarfess. Maybe if ya help dear Hragnúr control her mother, she'll give ya a drink! But no, I'm only kidding ya. Ye can help her out if ye feels so inclined, but rest assured, somebody'll be up there to help in a minute anyway."

 "Does she always act like that or is it just a special day today?" Laughing at her own joke. " I would help but I think its better if I not. I wouldn't want to intrude," exclaimed Salena. 

 The smell of food made her tummy growl in pain. "Is it possible to get a bit of scrub here, and maybe a place to rest my head for the night?" Asked Salena.     
 
 Every step she tooken felt more and more unbarable like walking on fire. She knew it wouldn't be long before she could put her feet up and have a wonderful dream of when her life was perfect. 
 Taking a seat Salena noticed the chairs were a wooden look and were harder and smaller then what she was used to but that was the fun of traveling she thought. She missed the smell of the rock against metel and the sweet taste of grandpa's cookin.     
 "Wow," she though, "my life has changed completely and yet I'm not very far into my journy."
 
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I am and always will be me. I have my faults and mood swings so if you cant handle me at my worst then you dont deserve me at my best. :) Salena's CD
Foraste Lydan
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« Reply #24 on: April 09, 2009, 03:32:03 AM »

Foraste finished writing down the layout of the warhammer and moved on to the staff. The brewmistress, the cooks, and the gambler plying his trade in the corner. He took a bite out of his sandwich and gave some of it to Thad, who nibbled it happily.

The dwarf playing a baroomith stopped with a flourish and Foraste made a quick footnote about dwarven instrumentalists. Hearing another dwarf explain the crash to the girl, Foraste put a warning about the crazy dwarfess in his notes an hope he would not be woken up at one in the morn like he had at the last tavern he ha been to.

The noise in the tavern grew as more customers arrived. Foraste sat back and wrote idly in his notebook while listening to the old dwarf talk a few tables away. A slight scuffing behind him brought him a little out of his daze, there hadn't been anyone sitting behind me, had there? A tap on his shoulder brought him completely back to earth. A voice said "Been keeping tabs on us?"

"Jitch" he sighed slowly as he turned cautiously. He saw the red haired Kasumarii assassin standing behind him. He pushed his chair away and stood up. "Of course not, I respect people's privacy. Unlike certain assassins."
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If you won't take my money, how about a write up?

Foraste Lydan
Isei Fenrir
Guest
« Reply #25 on: April 09, 2009, 09:35:12 AM »

Of course not, I respect people's privacy. Unlike certain assassins.  Isei smiled, he and Valric got that alot from ignorant people like this one, though it wasn't that far from true.  He wasn't an assassin, though he did have to kill often, he was an oppurtunist, a mercenary, and he didn't need to hide around and wait until an opponent wasn't looking to strike.  He was an Echiilianni warrior, he had been at least, and he had been one of the elite as well.  He had run a troupe of killers all across the Cyhalloi, killing everything from rogue's to orcs to sorcerers, and not once had any of his men struck from behind, the true Kasumarii warriors were beyond such petty tactics.  There was nothing like placing yourself in a situation in which you might not return, it was the ultimate rush, and assassination's didn't give that thrill.

He decided to play along with the man's beliefs, if he wanted Isei to be an assassin, he would be one.  "Watch your tongue, though you might not have to, a sneaky assassin like me might wonder in to your room while you sleep, and after an experience like that you wouldn't have a tongue to wag anymore."  He had no problem pulling an intimidation tactic on the man, who seemed to be more of a scribe or librarian than a warrior.
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Foraste Lydan
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« Reply #26 on: April 10, 2009, 02:29:29 AM »

Foraste bristled at the Echiiliani's smug grin. Had, he guessed wrong? Was this man not an assassin? What then, a mercenary, a spy, who else would be this suspicious? Foraste didn't trust paid killers no matter what their tactics were. He cursed himself for not keeping his sword off of his pack. The man spoke "Watch your tongue, though you might not have to, a sneaky assassin like me might wonder in to your room while you sleep, and after an experience like that you wouldn't have a tongue to wag anymore." Foraste burned at the threat, he felt a small voice in the back of his head telling him to think trained warrior against mediocre swordsman, not good odds.

No, Foraste would not back down from this warrior. "If you think that intimidating me into submission is going to work you 'ave another thing coming. I may be a scholar but I can still fight." He felt his left hand slowly reach for his hunting knife. "I don't want to fight, but I will if you threaten me again." Foraste hoped that the Kasumarii's invasion of privacy would not lead to blows.
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If you won't take my money, how about a write up?

Foraste Lydan
Lucian
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Human, Kasumarii


« Reply #27 on: April 10, 2009, 11:34:08 AM »

Lucian strode with confidence and pride into the bustling inn. He pushed the door forward without pausing, making it swing roughly with little effort. He stood just in front of that doorway for a moment, taking in his surroundings and the people inside. The fox had followed him in, but seemed more interested in socialising with the rather large Kodael across the room. Muttering something about the fox and her inability to listen to anything he says, he walked lightly across the well used floor and found a place at the end of the bar. He hunched forward and cracked the knuckles on his hands, bringing a slight glare from the people around him.

Lucian decided not to meet their eyes. It was only the morning, yes? It was not the time to be defensive… but it was the place. He bent even lower, only a plamspan away from having his nose pressed to the stained wood of the bench. Don’t think like that, don’t think like that. Praying usually did him little good, but common sense had decided to intervene, much to his appreciation.

It was not travel that had brought him here, no, he had done enough of that mindless chore. Apparently, there was someone here, in this town, with certain knowledge about a certain person who he had been ordered to… investigate. Travel could be the word he used for his reasons of coming to this faraway place, but it seemed to be a pointless and empty word to use. Travel. The word spells boredom and effort. Of course, it gave the occasional rush of something new and exciting, he thought with a dull and lifeless tone, but it usually consists of performing a series of tasks and spending a great deal of money in buying supplies, so that you can trek across the land just to say that you have been somewhere.

If it were up to me, I’d find a nice place in a wealthy town with wealthy people so that I could lighten their pockets and live comfortably on my own. Unfortunately, I hadn’t spent my entire life from the age of five doing nothing, so I have to make something of myself so that all those years wouldn’t have gone to waste. Besides, there was always money in killing. Surely I’d make my fortune in no time at all.

Unfortunately, Lucian’s life was not something he had control over. Orders being sent from here and there often shipped him across the land to spend time in one place one day, and another the next. He might dream of running away to that particularly wealthy town with particularly wealthy people, but both he and his superiors knew that that was never going to happen. Instead, he was sitting at a bar with all kinds of people around him, wondering where in the world he was supposed to find the information he needed so that he could move onto the next job somewhere else.

A sharp yap drew Lucian’s attention back to the real world, and he noticed that his fox, Leigh, had not succeeded in making friends with that elfess’ pet. “Leigh,” he grumbled loudly, getting out of his chair, “get over here. Now.” The fox and the dog paused. She had her paw, raised and at the ready to playfully scratch the larger canine, but he did not seem too keen about the idea. She dropped her dark coloured leg to the ground and slowly walked towards her master, her face held a sulky glare, filled with the longing of turning around to go back to provoking that dog. Lucian kept his arm pointed to the empty space beside him, and the fox sat down on that mark. “Stay,” was all he said, before taking a look around the room at some curious faces.

His gaze fell over a particular character, sitting next to a smaller boy who, he imagined, was his son. There was something about the older man. It was something that he knew of very well, but couldn’t place his finger on it. The red hair, blue eyes, the light skin. He finally recognised the man. How could he not? Lucian knew a fellow Kar-ii when he saw one. Or at least, he should know. Why then, did this man have blazing red hair, if his son had heir the colour of snow? Lucian’s curiosity bubbled inside him, and he pleaded with himself to go and sit at that table and shoot questions at the man, but he shoved the idea aside. If this man was an assassin, well, that may not go very well.

Thinking it would be better to leave the man and boy alone, Lucian made his way back to his seat, ordering for the fox to follow him.
« Last Edit: April 14, 2009, 09:19:50 PM by Lucian » Logged

Airyn
The Worrywort
New Santharian

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Gender: Female
Posts: 256


Elf, Kay'rrhem


« Reply #28 on: April 10, 2009, 03:53:41 PM »

What in the world? Airyn looked up at the waitress with alarm. She could not remember whatever it was that she had been dreaming about, but she knew that it would have something to do with the sea. Most of her dreams lately had had something to do with the sea, and every one of them had haunted her thoughts during the day, showing flashes of images or causing her to feel certain emotions, though nothing had been said or done for them to occur. Others called them nightmares, but the elfess merely told them to mind their own business and to let her deal with whatever it was on her own.

Now this dwarf was looking impatient, and the elfess could see why; there had been a few calls to her since Airyn woke, and she was waiting for the girl to make her order so that she could go and serve her customers. Airyn smiled sheepishly and cast her eyes downwards. She couldn’t think of a thing to order, but she knew that her stomache had developed a painful ache and was impatiently grumbling for something to eat. She just said the first thing that had come to her mind, not even caring what it was made of. “Just a sandwich, please?” She asked, watching the dwarf write on her parchment and walk away.

She had tried to think of something more original to order, but she still had that dazed feeling one had after waking from sleep. Her eyes still felt somewhat fuzzy, and her head was spinning. Airyn groaned softly when she noticed that there were a few newcomers in the tavern. She wondered what they would have seen when they saw her sleeping; she was probably hanging half over the back of the chair with her mouth opened in quite an unladylike fashion.

When the elfess felt that she was seeing a little clearer, she dared to look around the room. No one, it seemed had taken any notice. She sighed thankfully, and bent down to scratch behind the ear of the dog at her feet, who was now staring lazily up at her.

A cheerful voice attracted Airyn’s attention, and she found that an old man was trying to speak with her and the other elfess across the room, though it seemed that she had not noticed. Her head was turned slightly, and her eyes were staring as if she were deep in thought; oblivious to the world. He had sat down across from her, sporting a rather jovial smile. Airyn tried her best to return the gesture, but her smile appeared quite half-hearted compared to his joyous expression.

He waved the staff he was holding and cleared his throat – a bit of an odd sound to hear after just waking up, but the elfess tried to be as friendly as possible. Still feeling a little dazed, she only understood his words a few moments after he had started to speak. “…Morn’ lasses… fine eating…” was all se managed to hear, before something rather heavy fell on her foot and brought her to her senses. She quickly looked under the table to find that Sage had decided to lay all of his weight onto one of her feet, making it his place to start going to sleep. She ignored the numbing sensation in her right leg, and continued to listen to this man’s story…

“Ya know, those dogs remind me of some of the uns I seen at the market just a week or two ago. Funny thing, those market dogs. They was fer hunting, methinks, and of a gud size. Fierce, too, but one of 'em seemed to have a little queer side to him. He was a yelping out alouder than the rest, which mad a terr'bul racket, and he seemed quite friendly. Seemed, mind ye. That was when one of the farm lads, coming in with a wagonful of food, mostly mushrooms, I thinks, ya mushrooms. Anyway, this boy he sees the dogs and he decides to himself that he'll greet that queer loud one. Friendly looking, he was. The dog, that is. Though the boy looked pretty friendly, too, I s'pose. But by any rate, this boy came a'greeting this dog all cheerful like, ya know, and then the funniest thing happened. Oh yes, the funniest..."

She began to smile, trying to imagine this man’s reaction to the yelping of one of the dogs. She leaned forward and held her head in her hands. This man had certainly turned her morning around. The elfess had never discovered the knack for storytelling, but this man here somehow had. She was never bored when there was a tale to tell, and even the description of a dog and a boy at a marketplace was something that held her interest. She raised her eyebrows and waited for him to continue, smiling sweetly and ignoring the loud crash that had come from upstairs…
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Isei Fenrir
Guest
« Reply #29 on: April 11, 2009, 09:08:56 AM »

If you think that intimidating me into submission is going to work you 'ave another thing coming. I may be a scholar but I can still fight.  Isei smiled even wider, then the man said, I don't want to fight, but I will if you threaten me again.  A scholar, that's what the man said he was, but he didn't seem very scholarly, generally scholars didn't come to taverns and drink, he didn't think they would anyway, alcohol hindered the thought process, and that didn't seem like something a scholar would want.
 
"A scholar generally doesn't pick a fight, and they certainly wouldn't make assumptions.  After all, they want the truth behind things, not what they think is the truth."  Isei knew that if this man was a fighter at all, then he was very amateur.  People who weren't proficient always respond to a possible threat with more threats, where a true warrior could simply ignore the threat.  True warriors didn't waste time with unimportant battles. "Oh," he added, "You should stay your left hand, if not, I'll cut it off before you can get that knife out of it's sheath."

He looked away from the 'scholar' for a second and saw a man walk in with a fox.  The man was certainly a Kasumarii, but he looked familiar for some reason, as if he was an old friend from the Cyhalloi, though Isei hadn't had any real friends outside of his troupe.  This man though, maybe he was the brother of someone in Isei's troupe, maybe he was someone related to Valric.  Isei couldn't deny his curiosity, he would have to speak to the man eventually.
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