End Of Times IC
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End Of Times IC
by Oddball Alice Sat Oct 20, 2012 11:05 am
The moon was scarce, hidden behind the clouds, the air damp and heavy, fog covering the ground, tonight felt foreboding, as if the earth knew the dark days ahead. It had stormed mightily all day, and even though it looked calm at the moment, even the air felt different, violent. The only thing along this small road between Etherium(specifically Lotmard Fjorst) , the lands of the small clan Ljorke (small band of violent Lortherians), and the capitol territory, is a small, battle- scarred inn called Tuli’s Oasis. It is ironic, this particular hovel is only a stop for those who either do not want attention, or those who have no other alternative, like a recent raid on the main road, King’s Way, it is too new to have an old tongue name, or very brave. This particular dirt road is not officially named, but often called Gjorl Matesch Norv (in ancient tongue), or Last Chance Lane in the common tongue, one of the quicker routes to Dorvanstithe Mountain range, but still a long journey from Etherium. The inn is dirty, smelly, damaged, generally disgusting, with unpleasant people working and visiting there, however, since it is not well traveled and dangerous, one can go through pretty much anonymously. It is far from an oasis. However, rumor has it that if you need any information about anything, Tuli has it. Perhaps he has information on Vorlder Maltesken, the World Eater.
The bartender, Tuli, is fat, gross, greedy, but willing to sell anyone the latest word on anyone and anything. There is also his wife, an ugly and unpleasant hag named Morta who sells herself to anyone desperate enough to have her. The mead and food are terrible, the hay beds have bugs and unknown substances in them, possibly bodily substances. The dark, small bar has about 8 sets of tables and chairs, and a long wooden bar runs along the back, everything is caked in grime and filth, possibly blood. Inside this small, dark bar, there were a small number of people, all in their particular corners, away from each other. It was fairly quiet, as quiet as a bar can possibly be, only Tuli really walking about, serving the patrons with a disgusting greasy smile.
From the shadows, a small gloved hand emerged and waved him over. Tuli waddled over, his generous stomach bouncing with every step. Once he reached its table, his false grin fixed, he leaned on the table and said in a sickly sweet and friendly voice,
“What’ll it be luv? What ken ol’ Tuli get ya?”
The hand vanished into the cloak of the figure as it emerged slightly out of the shadows, a dark cloak obscuring the identity of the smallish person. The person had a scythe/staff, a longbow and a quiver on its back, as well as a largish brown owl, who was preening obsessively, as if the grime was contaminating her feathers. The gloved hand casually reached up, stroking the owl affectionately, trying to calm it, which caused it to hoot contentedly. Calmed, it closed its eyes, as if waiting to be gone from the establishment. The figure’s head moved slightly, two large white eyes shone in the dim lighting. Tuli stood back a bit, his smile getting a bit shaky. Either not noticing or not caring, the person spoke quietly, the voice was a woman’s, but not at all feminine, it was harsh and aggressive, with a wild, bird like edge.
“A round of mead, soup and bread, sir.”
Tuli walked away quickly, eager to get his dangerous guest her request. There was no hiding her eyes, which marked her as a Lotmard, a very dangerous Lortherian clan. They are also called “the Unseen” or “Unseeing”, depending on how one translates the old elvish. It was very dangerous for her to be here, out of the safety of her clan, in a place likely filled with people that hate her. Tuli stopped by the door to the kitchen, his wife Morta was leaning against the pass through, speaking hurriedly and softly to her. Morta looked over in the direction of the Lotmard, fear in her small piggish eyes. Tuli swiftly went about his work, as if afraid to anger his guest. He ladled the soup, tore a hunk of bread, and poured a pint of mead , in a few swift movements, walking back to his patron, his grin shaken, but not gone.
“Anything else I ken get ya? We don’t want no trouble.”
The figure took the food and drink from him, placing them in front of her. She removed her gloves, uncovering her black talons and scars on her hands. She stretched her fingers before pulling off the hood, revealing herself fully. Her pale skin was painted green, feathers and moss braided in her matted hair, her characteristic blank eyes and notched teeth, filled with red paste, set against her black lips. Serne, the Owl Woman. Smiling in her fearsome way, she spoke, her blank gaze turned on Tuli,
“I want information, and sources say you're the one to get it from. Have you heard anything about The World Eater? Where is he hiding?”
To be polite, which is something Serne did not do often, if ever, she slid a smallish bag of money in his direction, over the table. Tuli’s eyes glistened, and he snatched the bag, opening and counting it gleefully, like a dog finding a juicy bone. Serne watched him with disgust, waiting patiently, tapping her fingers slightly in annoyance. Finally, he answered her.
“This is all you have to bargain with? This information is worth more.”
The look intensified in her disturbingly blank eyes, which could emote very well despite the apparent lack of iris and lens, her eyes sent a look of pure anger. Her fingers froze, claws digging into the table, which was battle scarred, no doubt being witness to the many brawls there. Her lips lifted, showing her barred teeth in an almost animalistic fashion, the bright red patterns on her canines contrasting against her painted black lips. Tuli was not a brave man, however, where money was concerned, he would do anything to get another copper. A much larger bag was hurled into his face as Serne spat aggressively,
“Here is the gold, now answer me ivandersk!”
Surprisingly not bothered by having a large bag of gold hurled at him, he opened it, counting it in much the same level of excitement as before. Tuli deftly tucked both into his shirt, all business this time, once he was satisfied it was all real.
“Do I wanna know where ya got this?” Tuli said, in a somewhat joking manner, however they both knew very well it could have been one of two ways, and neither was particularly savory.
Money was not widely used by Lortherians, most chiefs collecting vast hordes just for the sake of having it, and perhaps in dealings with ivanderks. However she got it, Serne did not say, she waning by the minute. Seeming to notice his patron’s lack of patience, Tuli got down to business.
“I hear there is an old sage that lives on Kokovstithe, the smallest mountain in the Dorvanstithe range. He’s called Mathais Morv, Mountain Man, he’s an old mage that supposedly knows the mountains like one might know their spouse. I hear he was raised by the yetis, which made him friends with the Jolergtilbern. They say he knows which mountain the World Eater lives on, even been there. Now, take it for what it is, it's just what I hear.”
With that, Tuli waddled away to the next patron, leaving his impatient and unpleasant patron to eat, drink and be merry or be gone, he obviously didn’t care. Serne’s eyes followed him, her demeanor calmed, but now a look of brooding replaced it. Silently, Serne pulled at her hunk of bread, dipping it in the swill they called soup, and drank greedily, thoughtfully scratching at the table, as if drawing a map in her mind of the route she needed to take. If Serne was anyone else, she would have admitted she was afraid to leave the land she always knew as home, ironic for the fact many would leave such a life gleefully. Knowing nothing else, Serne almost missed the company of her clan, however evil and barbaric they were to outsiders, they were her family, her warriors, and probably as close to friends as an Lotmard gets. Thoughtfully, Serne stroked her necklace, made of bones, carved with runes and animals, her expression far away and sad. Once she reached a leather pouch attached to it, her expression changed, hardened. Her hand tightened around the pouch and a few of the bones, her owl pecked softly as if to calm her, return the favor as it were. Serne’s hand released the pouch, and stroked the owl absently, the angry and hard expression fixed on her face. She appeared like a caged beast, rage that would someday break free, claw its way to the surface.
The bartender, Tuli, is fat, gross, greedy, but willing to sell anyone the latest word on anyone and anything. There is also his wife, an ugly and unpleasant hag named Morta who sells herself to anyone desperate enough to have her. The mead and food are terrible, the hay beds have bugs and unknown substances in them, possibly bodily substances. The dark, small bar has about 8 sets of tables and chairs, and a long wooden bar runs along the back, everything is caked in grime and filth, possibly blood. Inside this small, dark bar, there were a small number of people, all in their particular corners, away from each other. It was fairly quiet, as quiet as a bar can possibly be, only Tuli really walking about, serving the patrons with a disgusting greasy smile.
From the shadows, a small gloved hand emerged and waved him over. Tuli waddled over, his generous stomach bouncing with every step. Once he reached its table, his false grin fixed, he leaned on the table and said in a sickly sweet and friendly voice,
“What’ll it be luv? What ken ol’ Tuli get ya?”
The hand vanished into the cloak of the figure as it emerged slightly out of the shadows, a dark cloak obscuring the identity of the smallish person. The person had a scythe/staff, a longbow and a quiver on its back, as well as a largish brown owl, who was preening obsessively, as if the grime was contaminating her feathers. The gloved hand casually reached up, stroking the owl affectionately, trying to calm it, which caused it to hoot contentedly. Calmed, it closed its eyes, as if waiting to be gone from the establishment. The figure’s head moved slightly, two large white eyes shone in the dim lighting. Tuli stood back a bit, his smile getting a bit shaky. Either not noticing or not caring, the person spoke quietly, the voice was a woman’s, but not at all feminine, it was harsh and aggressive, with a wild, bird like edge.
“A round of mead, soup and bread, sir.”
Tuli walked away quickly, eager to get his dangerous guest her request. There was no hiding her eyes, which marked her as a Lotmard, a very dangerous Lortherian clan. They are also called “the Unseen” or “Unseeing”, depending on how one translates the old elvish. It was very dangerous for her to be here, out of the safety of her clan, in a place likely filled with people that hate her. Tuli stopped by the door to the kitchen, his wife Morta was leaning against the pass through, speaking hurriedly and softly to her. Morta looked over in the direction of the Lotmard, fear in her small piggish eyes. Tuli swiftly went about his work, as if afraid to anger his guest. He ladled the soup, tore a hunk of bread, and poured a pint of mead , in a few swift movements, walking back to his patron, his grin shaken, but not gone.
“Anything else I ken get ya? We don’t want no trouble.”
The figure took the food and drink from him, placing them in front of her. She removed her gloves, uncovering her black talons and scars on her hands. She stretched her fingers before pulling off the hood, revealing herself fully. Her pale skin was painted green, feathers and moss braided in her matted hair, her characteristic blank eyes and notched teeth, filled with red paste, set against her black lips. Serne, the Owl Woman. Smiling in her fearsome way, she spoke, her blank gaze turned on Tuli,
“I want information, and sources say you're the one to get it from. Have you heard anything about The World Eater? Where is he hiding?”
To be polite, which is something Serne did not do often, if ever, she slid a smallish bag of money in his direction, over the table. Tuli’s eyes glistened, and he snatched the bag, opening and counting it gleefully, like a dog finding a juicy bone. Serne watched him with disgust, waiting patiently, tapping her fingers slightly in annoyance. Finally, he answered her.
“This is all you have to bargain with? This information is worth more.”
The look intensified in her disturbingly blank eyes, which could emote very well despite the apparent lack of iris and lens, her eyes sent a look of pure anger. Her fingers froze, claws digging into the table, which was battle scarred, no doubt being witness to the many brawls there. Her lips lifted, showing her barred teeth in an almost animalistic fashion, the bright red patterns on her canines contrasting against her painted black lips. Tuli was not a brave man, however, where money was concerned, he would do anything to get another copper. A much larger bag was hurled into his face as Serne spat aggressively,
“Here is the gold, now answer me ivandersk!”
Surprisingly not bothered by having a large bag of gold hurled at him, he opened it, counting it in much the same level of excitement as before. Tuli deftly tucked both into his shirt, all business this time, once he was satisfied it was all real.
“Do I wanna know where ya got this?” Tuli said, in a somewhat joking manner, however they both knew very well it could have been one of two ways, and neither was particularly savory.
Money was not widely used by Lortherians, most chiefs collecting vast hordes just for the sake of having it, and perhaps in dealings with ivanderks. However she got it, Serne did not say, she waning by the minute. Seeming to notice his patron’s lack of patience, Tuli got down to business.
“I hear there is an old sage that lives on Kokovstithe, the smallest mountain in the Dorvanstithe range. He’s called Mathais Morv, Mountain Man, he’s an old mage that supposedly knows the mountains like one might know their spouse. I hear he was raised by the yetis, which made him friends with the Jolergtilbern. They say he knows which mountain the World Eater lives on, even been there. Now, take it for what it is, it's just what I hear.”
With that, Tuli waddled away to the next patron, leaving his impatient and unpleasant patron to eat, drink and be merry or be gone, he obviously didn’t care. Serne’s eyes followed him, her demeanor calmed, but now a look of brooding replaced it. Silently, Serne pulled at her hunk of bread, dipping it in the swill they called soup, and drank greedily, thoughtfully scratching at the table, as if drawing a map in her mind of the route she needed to take. If Serne was anyone else, she would have admitted she was afraid to leave the land she always knew as home, ironic for the fact many would leave such a life gleefully. Knowing nothing else, Serne almost missed the company of her clan, however evil and barbaric they were to outsiders, they were her family, her warriors, and probably as close to friends as an Lotmard gets. Thoughtfully, Serne stroked her necklace, made of bones, carved with runes and animals, her expression far away and sad. Once she reached a leather pouch attached to it, her expression changed, hardened. Her hand tightened around the pouch and a few of the bones, her owl pecked softly as if to calm her, return the favor as it were. Serne’s hand released the pouch, and stroked the owl absently, the angry and hard expression fixed on her face. She appeared like a caged beast, rage that would someday break free, claw its way to the surface.
Last edited by Oddball Alice on Sat Oct 20, 2012 8:40 pm; edited 1 time in total
Oddball Alice- Mist
- Join date : 2012-10-03
Posts : 30
Age : 33
Re: End Of Times IC
by Ruu Sat Oct 20, 2012 1:46 pm
A young man with chestnut hair just recently cropped short and piercing crystalline eyes sat at the back of Tuli's establishment. At his side sat a deep, coal-colored dog, like a lab, with a wide jaw and a rather sharp set of teeth. One would think twice before approaching the animal, and even when Tuli had somewhat politely asked the young man to remove the creature, a quick growl from Fargus' throat had silenced the request. The young man was still wrapped in a navy blue, almost gray cloak, a hood hiding most of the features on his face. He knew he couldn't be too careful in a place like this, and even without his signature locks, there would be those who would recognize the youth. Besides, his keen eyes had spotted a few of the Lortherians, and he was not keen on dealing with their kind.
The owner, a greasy, oily, fat man with air of one who loved nothing more than the sound of jangling coins, approached him.
"What'll it be for ye, laddie?" he asked, "You are gon' to be a payin' customer, am I right?"
The dog made a sharp sound between a bark and a growl and Kyal just looked at the bartender, shifting his intricate staff from his left to his right hand.
"Aaaah...you be one of them there mages. Pardon my rudeness, but you can't be none to careful these days."
"I understand," Kyal replied, his voice soft and muted yet filled with a quiet strength, "I'd like just a glass of water and a plate of meat and cheese."
"Certainly, lad, certainly," nodded the old innkeeper, feigning deference.
Old Tuli went back to whisper something to his wife, who smiled sultrily at the youth. Another snarl from the dog was enough to avert her glance, and to bring Tuli back with the food.
"Hold one second," Kyal said quietly as Tuli turned to leave, "I hear that if anyone knows anything about these parts, it would be you."
"And what would you be liking to know?" asked Tuli, turning back with a grin, "I do indeed know everything, if ye should pay the right price."
Kyal sighed and took a rather hefty bag of gold from somewhere inside the folds of his cloak, "This should suffice for you to tell me what you know about the World Eater?"
Try as he might, Tuli's eyes could not help but bulge at the vast sum.
"Well now...this be enough for a mere pittance," he said slowly, licking his lips.
"The information is bought and paid for," said Kyal simply, even as Fargus stood up and barred his teeth.
"Ah, well...looking at it again, I should say it will suffice. On Kokstivthe, the smallest mountain in the Dorvanstithe range, you'll find the mountain man, Mathais Morv. He should be givin' you the information you seek."
"Thank you good sir," Kyal nodded, "That is all."
Tuli moved on, grinning to himself. If everyone would ask about the World Eater, he'd be a rich man tonight.
The owner, a greasy, oily, fat man with air of one who loved nothing more than the sound of jangling coins, approached him.
"What'll it be for ye, laddie?" he asked, "You are gon' to be a payin' customer, am I right?"
The dog made a sharp sound between a bark and a growl and Kyal just looked at the bartender, shifting his intricate staff from his left to his right hand.
"Aaaah...you be one of them there mages. Pardon my rudeness, but you can't be none to careful these days."
"I understand," Kyal replied, his voice soft and muted yet filled with a quiet strength, "I'd like just a glass of water and a plate of meat and cheese."
"Certainly, lad, certainly," nodded the old innkeeper, feigning deference.
Old Tuli went back to whisper something to his wife, who smiled sultrily at the youth. Another snarl from the dog was enough to avert her glance, and to bring Tuli back with the food.
"Hold one second," Kyal said quietly as Tuli turned to leave, "I hear that if anyone knows anything about these parts, it would be you."
"And what would you be liking to know?" asked Tuli, turning back with a grin, "I do indeed know everything, if ye should pay the right price."
Kyal sighed and took a rather hefty bag of gold from somewhere inside the folds of his cloak, "This should suffice for you to tell me what you know about the World Eater?"
Try as he might, Tuli's eyes could not help but bulge at the vast sum.
"Well now...this be enough for a mere pittance," he said slowly, licking his lips.
"The information is bought and paid for," said Kyal simply, even as Fargus stood up and barred his teeth.
"Ah, well...looking at it again, I should say it will suffice. On Kokstivthe, the smallest mountain in the Dorvanstithe range, you'll find the mountain man, Mathais Morv. He should be givin' you the information you seek."
"Thank you good sir," Kyal nodded, "That is all."
Tuli moved on, grinning to himself. If everyone would ask about the World Eater, he'd be a rich man tonight.
Last edited by Ruu on Thu Nov 08, 2012 5:25 pm; edited 1 time in total
Ruu- Poltergeist
- Join date : 2010-09-25
Posts : 758
Age : 35
Location : Home
Re: End Of Times IC
by Oddball Alice Sat Oct 20, 2012 10:14 pm
(OOC: Accidentally posted as Alice, this is Bob and this is my post for Yurdhof. Please ignore the fact it's from Alice' account.)
The pigsty Yurdhof found himself in now, was the first place that had caused him to question the mead in the dirty pewter mug that sat on the bar before him. He'd had mead that tasted like donkey piss, or what one would think it would taste like, but he'd never actually believed it was donkey piss. Until now. Aside from the layer of scum that clung to the rim of the mug, the mead itself had a pungent, sour smell to it, almost as if it had spoiled or never was mead to begin with. Unable to resist even the foulest of alcohol, Yurdhof reluctantly lifted the mug to his lips and sipped. Instantly he regretted it and spat the viscous liquid back into the mug and pushed it away from himself, no wearing a grimace of disgust. Herdej's beard!
"Wot you on about, short one? Me mead aint good enough for summin' like you? Bah!" The grimy bartender took the mug in passing and dumped the mead onto the floor before returning the freshly emptied mug back to the rear of the bar with the other dirty mugs waiting to be refilled.
The bartender, Tuli, was not mean per se, but his attitude could certainly use some improving, along with the state of his establishment. With nothing much to do but wait until the room quieted down a bit, Yurdhof sat listening in on any conversation that took place near him. Some he wished he could not hear, some mildly piqued his interest, but none were what he was wishing to overhear. Yurdhof could, and most likely would if all else failed, get information from Tuli. The man was known to be one of the most 'knowledgeable' people in the area, at least when it came to things that seldom reached the ear or eye of anyone with a just reputation.
Over the time Yurdhof had spent inside the dank building, very little of actual interest had taken place. However, several happenings did not go unnoticed by his watchful eyes. A strange young woman with an owl had aggressively thrown what appeared to be a large sum of coin into Tuli's face after a seemingly heated discussion, of which, thanks to the somewhat noisy atmosphere of the bar, was impossible to overhear. One word he did pick up at the end of the discussion: "ivandersk!" He assumed it to be some curse she'd used, seeing how she rather aggressively spat it at Tuli, it was the only thing that was barely audible over the low rumble of the environment. The second occurrence was far calmer an exchange, between none other than Tuli and a fairly young man who'd entered the bar earlier with his hound. Nothing could be heard in this exchange, only the passing of what seemed to be another bag of money. It seemed that these travelers had either a debt to pay to Tuli, which was highly unlikely, as neither person looked to be someone who'd be involved with filth such as Tuli, or they were buying information. The latter of the two options was obviously the most likely of the two.
Sometime after the last exchange, and several failed attempts from Tuli's scag of a wife to coerce him to "A nice little room in the back..." Tuli was once again close enough to the bar to be motioned over by Yurdhof.
"Wot is it ya want now? Don't 'pose yer wantin' more mead, are ya?"
"I want some information and I heard yer the one to come to."
"Another on-" He caught himself before he could finish his mistake, trying to collect himself as best he could. After clearing his throat and spitting on the floor, he continued. "Well, ya heard right, and I'm sure ya heard it'll cost ya. Aint nothin' fer free 'round here; 'specially these days."
"These days, eh? What's so special these days? Could it be," Yurdhof paused momentarily, leaning over the bar in an attempt to get closer to Tuli, before finishing in slightly hushed tone, almost mockingly "The World Eater?"
"Eh... Not wot I mean, just meant, ya know, times are tough, not many folks out this way..." Not totally a lie, but obviously not what he had meant. The room was in no way empty, even if it was not as bustling as some of the inns in the larger cities, the man was still making gold, even if he didn't put it to good use. He spat again, straightening himself up to seem more confident and in control. "Now, iz'at what yer wantin' to know? This 'ere, 'World Eater'?" He paused, raising a greasy hand to fiddle with the scruff on his dirty chin. " 'nyway, I might 'ave summin' fer ya, but, it'll cost ya."
"Ah, Tuli," Yurdhof said in a much friendlier tone, as if he'd known the man for years, "I'll make ya a deal." Tuli's ears seemed to perk up at the promise of some form of gold, much to his dismay, he was in for quite a letdown. "You tell me 'bout this 'World Eater' an I don't start a riot tellin' everyone 'ere how I saw it flying this way with Dorvan on his heels." A sly grin crossed the Dwarf's face, barely visible behind his beard.
Tuli's face turned red in an instant, but the thought of all his customers being frightened and tearing up his pigsty in an attempt to flee from The World Eater, kept him from shouting at the Dwarf just what he thought. Through gritted teeth, Tuli spoke in a tone that was drenched in hate, a tone that implied that, if words could kill, Yurdhof would be dead on the floor. "I'll tell you wot I've told every fool who's been askin' 'bout that blasted thing; on Kokstivthe, Mathais Morv, he's a man who knows 'bout things like that. Now, get the fuck out of my inn 'fore I throw you out, knee hugger!" He shouted, spitting on the bar in front of Yurdhof.
Yurdhof calmly hopped down from the rickety stool he'd been siting on and made his way towards the door, completely ignoring the fuming man behind the bar. He walked through the door and was greeted by fresh air that instantly seemed ten times lighter than the musky thick air inside the tavern, slowly he made his way over to the stables where he began to check over his ram, making sure everything in the saddlebags was still in place.
Yurdhof
The pigsty Yurdhof found himself in now, was the first place that had caused him to question the mead in the dirty pewter mug that sat on the bar before him. He'd had mead that tasted like donkey piss, or what one would think it would taste like, but he'd never actually believed it was donkey piss. Until now. Aside from the layer of scum that clung to the rim of the mug, the mead itself had a pungent, sour smell to it, almost as if it had spoiled or never was mead to begin with. Unable to resist even the foulest of alcohol, Yurdhof reluctantly lifted the mug to his lips and sipped. Instantly he regretted it and spat the viscous liquid back into the mug and pushed it away from himself, no wearing a grimace of disgust. Herdej's beard!
"Wot you on about, short one? Me mead aint good enough for summin' like you? Bah!" The grimy bartender took the mug in passing and dumped the mead onto the floor before returning the freshly emptied mug back to the rear of the bar with the other dirty mugs waiting to be refilled.
The bartender, Tuli, was not mean per se, but his attitude could certainly use some improving, along with the state of his establishment. With nothing much to do but wait until the room quieted down a bit, Yurdhof sat listening in on any conversation that took place near him. Some he wished he could not hear, some mildly piqued his interest, but none were what he was wishing to overhear. Yurdhof could, and most likely would if all else failed, get information from Tuli. The man was known to be one of the most 'knowledgeable' people in the area, at least when it came to things that seldom reached the ear or eye of anyone with a just reputation.
Over the time Yurdhof had spent inside the dank building, very little of actual interest had taken place. However, several happenings did not go unnoticed by his watchful eyes. A strange young woman with an owl had aggressively thrown what appeared to be a large sum of coin into Tuli's face after a seemingly heated discussion, of which, thanks to the somewhat noisy atmosphere of the bar, was impossible to overhear. One word he did pick up at the end of the discussion: "ivandersk!" He assumed it to be some curse she'd used, seeing how she rather aggressively spat it at Tuli, it was the only thing that was barely audible over the low rumble of the environment. The second occurrence was far calmer an exchange, between none other than Tuli and a fairly young man who'd entered the bar earlier with his hound. Nothing could be heard in this exchange, only the passing of what seemed to be another bag of money. It seemed that these travelers had either a debt to pay to Tuli, which was highly unlikely, as neither person looked to be someone who'd be involved with filth such as Tuli, or they were buying information. The latter of the two options was obviously the most likely of the two.
Sometime after the last exchange, and several failed attempts from Tuli's scag of a wife to coerce him to "A nice little room in the back..." Tuli was once again close enough to the bar to be motioned over by Yurdhof.
"Wot is it ya want now? Don't 'pose yer wantin' more mead, are ya?"
"I want some information and I heard yer the one to come to."
"Another on-" He caught himself before he could finish his mistake, trying to collect himself as best he could. After clearing his throat and spitting on the floor, he continued. "Well, ya heard right, and I'm sure ya heard it'll cost ya. Aint nothin' fer free 'round here; 'specially these days."
"These days, eh? What's so special these days? Could it be," Yurdhof paused momentarily, leaning over the bar in an attempt to get closer to Tuli, before finishing in slightly hushed tone, almost mockingly "The World Eater?"
"Eh... Not wot I mean, just meant, ya know, times are tough, not many folks out this way..." Not totally a lie, but obviously not what he had meant. The room was in no way empty, even if it was not as bustling as some of the inns in the larger cities, the man was still making gold, even if he didn't put it to good use. He spat again, straightening himself up to seem more confident and in control. "Now, iz'at what yer wantin' to know? This 'ere, 'World Eater'?" He paused, raising a greasy hand to fiddle with the scruff on his dirty chin. " 'nyway, I might 'ave summin' fer ya, but, it'll cost ya."
"Ah, Tuli," Yurdhof said in a much friendlier tone, as if he'd known the man for years, "I'll make ya a deal." Tuli's ears seemed to perk up at the promise of some form of gold, much to his dismay, he was in for quite a letdown. "You tell me 'bout this 'World Eater' an I don't start a riot tellin' everyone 'ere how I saw it flying this way with Dorvan on his heels." A sly grin crossed the Dwarf's face, barely visible behind his beard.
Tuli's face turned red in an instant, but the thought of all his customers being frightened and tearing up his pigsty in an attempt to flee from The World Eater, kept him from shouting at the Dwarf just what he thought. Through gritted teeth, Tuli spoke in a tone that was drenched in hate, a tone that implied that, if words could kill, Yurdhof would be dead on the floor. "I'll tell you wot I've told every fool who's been askin' 'bout that blasted thing; on Kokstivthe, Mathais Morv, he's a man who knows 'bout things like that. Now, get the fuck out of my inn 'fore I throw you out, knee hugger!" He shouted, spitting on the bar in front of Yurdhof.
Yurdhof calmly hopped down from the rickety stool he'd been siting on and made his way towards the door, completely ignoring the fuming man behind the bar. He walked through the door and was greeted by fresh air that instantly seemed ten times lighter than the musky thick air inside the tavern, slowly he made his way over to the stables where he began to check over his ram, making sure everything in the saddlebags was still in place.
Oddball Alice- Mist
- Join date : 2012-10-03
Posts : 30
Age : 33
Re: End Of Times IC
by Digital Muse Sun Oct 21, 2012 9:38 pm
Zira stood outside a tavern she’d heard was called Tulli’s Oasis. The unfamiliar, yet wondrous feeling of water that fell from the sky made her doubly reluctant to enter the filthy and claustrophobic interior. The animals kept by the Out Worlders lived in better conditions that they did. Though Zira was soaked to the skin, she didn’t shiver from cold. The desert nights were colder than this and she was used to the vast gap in temperature of her homeland in the Bone Bleach desert.
Despite the stench of unwashed bodies, wood smoke and Riva only knew what else that emanated from the inside of the tavern, Zira knew she had to enter and try to learn what she could of the World Eater. She had been sent to join with other warriors from the peoples outside the desert to hunt the Black Dragon and send it back into its prison within Riva’s belly.
Still enjoying the feel of the rain against her exposed skin, Zira watched a hulking man exit the tavern and stalk toward her. The desert warrior’s fist tightened around the shaft of her obsidian-tipped spear, but she gave no other movement as the man approached her.
The shaggy-bearded man was even taller than Zira and he grinned affably at her. “Hey.” He started. “Ya know it’s rainin, yeah? Gonna catch yer death if ya don’t come inside.”
Zira’s brow arched upwards in confusion. Did the water from the sky carry disease? She wondered. She lowered the foot that had been propped against the opposite knee and peered up into the sky, soaking her face further before looking back to the man again.
“Ya know how ta talk?” He grinned at her again. “I’m guessing yer far from home, yeah?”
Zira nodded at him cautiously, not trusting him entirely. “I speak.” She assured him. “12 suns walk am I here.” Her halting use of the common tongue only added to her appearance to identify her as a foreigner.
The man chuckled briefly, then hid his humor. “You hungry…or want something to drink? I kin take you inside. You can sit with me and my mates.” The man barely held back a grin, “We’ll keep ya safe.”
When the man turned to head back inside, Zira hesitated, but finally followed after him. The stench assaulted her like a living thing. The warrior had to pause to fight back the bile rising in her throat. Nearly every eye turned to the 6 foot desert warrior when she entered the tavern and more than 1 patron drew sharp breaths when they recognized her tribe. Zira let her eyes travel around the low-ceilinged room, but there didn’t appear to be an immediate threat offered. Her gaze paused briefly on a feral-looking woman seated at a table in the back of the room. Something about her seemed familiar, but Zira was certain she’d never met anyone like her before.
Continuing into the room, Zira followed the big man that had approached her outside. He sat at a long table already occupied by 4 other men in various stages of inebriation.
Her ‘host’ patted the bench beside him, “Come ‘n sit. We don’t bite.” His companions broke out in bursts of laughter at that, but were shushed by the grinning man.
Zira perched at the very end of the bench, near the big man and peered at each of the other men at the table in turn.
“The name’s Grady. You got a name?” The man asked her.
Zira looked at him directly and nodded. “Zira. Zira D’Lani. I am D’jerran.” She stated with her chin up.
Snickers broke out among the men at the table with her. Again the big man grinned and waved his companions to silence. “D’jerran, eh? Thought they were nuthin’ but stories. Ghosts mothers invented to scare little kids.”
“She don’t look scary to me.” A skinny bald man piped up. “Looks plenty solid.” He leered, “Specially in all the right places.” His wit sent his pals into gales of laughter again.
Zira scowled. They laughed? Her patience began growing thin.
After catching his breath, the big man noted Zira’s furrowed brow and cajoled her, “Oh come now. Just a bit o’ harmless fun. We don’t mean nuthin’ by it.” He leaned closer to her and reached around Zira’s waist to pinch her backside. “We can be right friend-“
Before the man had a chance to move away, Zira had leapt to her feet, grabbed his wrist in a grip of iron, twisted and slammed his head into the rickety oak table with such force, it broke beneath him. Zira didn’t release him as he fell to the floor screaming. Tankards of ale fell with him, dousing him in the swill served in the place. Zira twisted his arm further until an audible pop could be heard when his shoulder dislocated. Releasing him, Zira’s spear spun up as the man’s friends shot to their feet with growled threats. But none was brave enough to move against her first.
Narrowed eyes faced each man down as she backed away so she could keep an eye on everyone else in the room as well. “I am Zira D’Lani!” She shouted in challenge. “I am D’jerran! I seek the Black Dragon!”
Tulli watched the confrontation with amusement at first, but when the tall warriror wrecked one of his tables, he rushed around from behind his bar, but stayed well out of range. “Hey ! Hey! Someone’s gonna pay for that!” Zira’s mention of the Black Dragon made the barkeep’s eyebrows shoot up sharply. “By all that’s holy…another one?” He muttered to himself.
No one stepped forward to challenge Zira, so she backed up slightly, choosing an empty table to sit at and brood. Tulli licked his lips, surely he couldn’t be so lucky as to be paid thrice for the same information, could he? The fat man sidled up to Zira’s table, earning him a narrowed-eye look. “I couldn’t help but hear what ya said. About the Black Dragon, that is.” He rubbed his hands together as if he could already feel the weight of the gold he’d collect from her. “I have information that can help ya.”
Zira merely continued to stare at him silently waiting.
Tulli cleared his throat, “Information like that don’t come free, friend. It’ll cost ya.”
Zira simply shook her head at him, “I have no coin. You will tell me.”
Tulli grunted out a nasty laugh. “That ain’t how this works. You pay or you get nothin’.”
The warrior continued to stare at Tulli impassively and stated flatly. “I have no coin.” She turned her head away from the fat barkeep. “I will wait for another to come.”
“You don’t seem to get it…” Tulli started in a low growl. His words died away when Zira drew a knife sharply and buried the blade into the table top near his bulging belly.
“I will wait for another to come.” Zira repeated.
Despite the stench of unwashed bodies, wood smoke and Riva only knew what else that emanated from the inside of the tavern, Zira knew she had to enter and try to learn what she could of the World Eater. She had been sent to join with other warriors from the peoples outside the desert to hunt the Black Dragon and send it back into its prison within Riva’s belly.
Still enjoying the feel of the rain against her exposed skin, Zira watched a hulking man exit the tavern and stalk toward her. The desert warrior’s fist tightened around the shaft of her obsidian-tipped spear, but she gave no other movement as the man approached her.
The shaggy-bearded man was even taller than Zira and he grinned affably at her. “Hey.” He started. “Ya know it’s rainin, yeah? Gonna catch yer death if ya don’t come inside.”
Zira’s brow arched upwards in confusion. Did the water from the sky carry disease? She wondered. She lowered the foot that had been propped against the opposite knee and peered up into the sky, soaking her face further before looking back to the man again.
“Ya know how ta talk?” He grinned at her again. “I’m guessing yer far from home, yeah?”
Zira nodded at him cautiously, not trusting him entirely. “I speak.” She assured him. “12 suns walk am I here.” Her halting use of the common tongue only added to her appearance to identify her as a foreigner.
The man chuckled briefly, then hid his humor. “You hungry…or want something to drink? I kin take you inside. You can sit with me and my mates.” The man barely held back a grin, “We’ll keep ya safe.”
When the man turned to head back inside, Zira hesitated, but finally followed after him. The stench assaulted her like a living thing. The warrior had to pause to fight back the bile rising in her throat. Nearly every eye turned to the 6 foot desert warrior when she entered the tavern and more than 1 patron drew sharp breaths when they recognized her tribe. Zira let her eyes travel around the low-ceilinged room, but there didn’t appear to be an immediate threat offered. Her gaze paused briefly on a feral-looking woman seated at a table in the back of the room. Something about her seemed familiar, but Zira was certain she’d never met anyone like her before.
Continuing into the room, Zira followed the big man that had approached her outside. He sat at a long table already occupied by 4 other men in various stages of inebriation.
Her ‘host’ patted the bench beside him, “Come ‘n sit. We don’t bite.” His companions broke out in bursts of laughter at that, but were shushed by the grinning man.
Zira perched at the very end of the bench, near the big man and peered at each of the other men at the table in turn.
“The name’s Grady. You got a name?” The man asked her.
Zira looked at him directly and nodded. “Zira. Zira D’Lani. I am D’jerran.” She stated with her chin up.
Snickers broke out among the men at the table with her. Again the big man grinned and waved his companions to silence. “D’jerran, eh? Thought they were nuthin’ but stories. Ghosts mothers invented to scare little kids.”
“She don’t look scary to me.” A skinny bald man piped up. “Looks plenty solid.” He leered, “Specially in all the right places.” His wit sent his pals into gales of laughter again.
Zira scowled. They laughed? Her patience began growing thin.
After catching his breath, the big man noted Zira’s furrowed brow and cajoled her, “Oh come now. Just a bit o’ harmless fun. We don’t mean nuthin’ by it.” He leaned closer to her and reached around Zira’s waist to pinch her backside. “We can be right friend-“
Before the man had a chance to move away, Zira had leapt to her feet, grabbed his wrist in a grip of iron, twisted and slammed his head into the rickety oak table with such force, it broke beneath him. Zira didn’t release him as he fell to the floor screaming. Tankards of ale fell with him, dousing him in the swill served in the place. Zira twisted his arm further until an audible pop could be heard when his shoulder dislocated. Releasing him, Zira’s spear spun up as the man’s friends shot to their feet with growled threats. But none was brave enough to move against her first.
Narrowed eyes faced each man down as she backed away so she could keep an eye on everyone else in the room as well. “I am Zira D’Lani!” She shouted in challenge. “I am D’jerran! I seek the Black Dragon!”
Tulli watched the confrontation with amusement at first, but when the tall warriror wrecked one of his tables, he rushed around from behind his bar, but stayed well out of range. “Hey ! Hey! Someone’s gonna pay for that!” Zira’s mention of the Black Dragon made the barkeep’s eyebrows shoot up sharply. “By all that’s holy…another one?” He muttered to himself.
No one stepped forward to challenge Zira, so she backed up slightly, choosing an empty table to sit at and brood. Tulli licked his lips, surely he couldn’t be so lucky as to be paid thrice for the same information, could he? The fat man sidled up to Zira’s table, earning him a narrowed-eye look. “I couldn’t help but hear what ya said. About the Black Dragon, that is.” He rubbed his hands together as if he could already feel the weight of the gold he’d collect from her. “I have information that can help ya.”
Zira merely continued to stare at him silently waiting.
Tulli cleared his throat, “Information like that don’t come free, friend. It’ll cost ya.”
Zira simply shook her head at him, “I have no coin. You will tell me.”
Tulli grunted out a nasty laugh. “That ain’t how this works. You pay or you get nothin’.”
The warrior continued to stare at Tulli impassively and stated flatly. “I have no coin.” She turned her head away from the fat barkeep. “I will wait for another to come.”
“You don’t seem to get it…” Tulli started in a low growl. His words died away when Zira drew a knife sharply and buried the blade into the table top near his bulging belly.
“I will wait for another to come.” Zira repeated.
Digital Muse- Guardian Ghost
- Join date : 2009-08-12
Posts : 1381
Location : South Dakota
Re: End Of Times IC
by Spectre Tue Oct 23, 2012 1:36 pm
Faolan had been walking for three days now. He had heard from a nearby city that by following the last chance lane, or nameless road, he would reach a newly built, but quickly dilapidating inn. Someone here would know more about the world eater. He had become used to being around people now, however this still didn't mean he enjoyed it. As he quickly traipsed through the wet ground near the last chance lane- he could see a large dark figure in the distance. This was his tavern. He saw as a female had entered after staring up at the sky.
He didn't travel on the roads, he traveled in the bush near the roads. To him it seemed safer. Though of course not always the case, as if a thief wanted to strong arm you into taking your money, they'd find you eventually. Though he exited the treeline, and the rain seemed louder, not being broken by the treetops.
He could hear a commotion going on inside the Inn...
Great. Of course those fools would send me to a place riddled with highwaymen...
He stepped up the small rickety stairs to the patio and went for the door, hearing something from within about someone not having any coin, and such. He just assumed someone had drank themselves into impoverished anger and wanted more wine.
The door creaked open, letting some fresh air into the room just as a dagger was thrust into a tabletop.
Or, maybe they were being robbed...
Faolan stood in the doorway, and looked upon the large barkeep, and the large warrior woman who seemed to be instigating the room. Faolan sighed, he'd seen it a hundred times before. Especially in remote taverns like this. If the barkeep was being hassled by the woman, and no one else was doing anything about it, Faolan wouldn't either. He was no knight- far from it. He sighed and stepped in from the doorway, and continued slowly, looking to the man who was groaning something about his arm and shoulder.
He felt like there were a hundred eyes upon him, even though there weren't many in the tavern at the time. He walked casually, seeing a few people eyeing him as he pulled out a chair, listening to it drag across the floor. Un-slinging his bow from his shoulder, he propped it up against the table as he sat down, his fur around his shoulders dripping with rainwater. He sat with his back to a wall, and an uneven window. He faced everyone else in the tavern, looking on. He wasn't about to interrupt what appeared to be happening. He was tired of humanity's constant squabbling.
He wasn't craven, he was just apathetic. He really wanted a place to stay, and maybe overhear some information... Perhaps he would have better luck spying from outside, he thought, looking to the patrons for the brief moment he had already been there. Sitting here, slightly uneasy now, he continued to look on. Faolan would wait, for now. Taking a passive stance.
He didn't travel on the roads, he traveled in the bush near the roads. To him it seemed safer. Though of course not always the case, as if a thief wanted to strong arm you into taking your money, they'd find you eventually. Though he exited the treeline, and the rain seemed louder, not being broken by the treetops.
He could hear a commotion going on inside the Inn...
Great. Of course those fools would send me to a place riddled with highwaymen...
He stepped up the small rickety stairs to the patio and went for the door, hearing something from within about someone not having any coin, and such. He just assumed someone had drank themselves into impoverished anger and wanted more wine.
The door creaked open, letting some fresh air into the room just as a dagger was thrust into a tabletop.
Or, maybe they were being robbed...
Faolan stood in the doorway, and looked upon the large barkeep, and the large warrior woman who seemed to be instigating the room. Faolan sighed, he'd seen it a hundred times before. Especially in remote taverns like this. If the barkeep was being hassled by the woman, and no one else was doing anything about it, Faolan wouldn't either. He was no knight- far from it. He sighed and stepped in from the doorway, and continued slowly, looking to the man who was groaning something about his arm and shoulder.
He felt like there were a hundred eyes upon him, even though there weren't many in the tavern at the time. He walked casually, seeing a few people eyeing him as he pulled out a chair, listening to it drag across the floor. Un-slinging his bow from his shoulder, he propped it up against the table as he sat down, his fur around his shoulders dripping with rainwater. He sat with his back to a wall, and an uneven window. He faced everyone else in the tavern, looking on. He wasn't about to interrupt what appeared to be happening. He was tired of humanity's constant squabbling.
He wasn't craven, he was just apathetic. He really wanted a place to stay, and maybe overhear some information... Perhaps he would have better luck spying from outside, he thought, looking to the patrons for the brief moment he had already been there. Sitting here, slightly uneasy now, he continued to look on. Faolan would wait, for now. Taking a passive stance.
Spectre- Spectral Light
- Join date : 2009-06-07
Posts : 376
Age : 37
Location : United States- Ohio
Re: End Of Times IC
by Syrena Tue Oct 23, 2012 11:29 pm
Sylvanna
Rotten mead and violence lingered in the air. The smell was a suffocating, physical presence; permanently welded into the dirty floors and walls of Tuli’s tavern. And Sylvanna followed the lurid stench to Tuli’s front door like a fly to an orange flame.
The smell washed over her, welcoming her back into civilization. Her nose crinkled back in disgust, but she quickly adjusted. Tuli’s Oasis was something of an acquired atmosphere. Semi-regular visits to the establishment dulled the smell. But the hay bugs still bit and the food was still spoiled.
Sylvanna wrung her hair out at the entrance. Rainwater hit the ground, joining old blood and food stains. She yanked her heavy, woolen cloak off. The grey cloth was drenched; no amount of squeezing was going to get all the water out. She gave the cloak an obligatory squeeze all the same.
Rainwater started to puddle at her feet; a small part of her was surprised when Tuli didn’t amble over and make a fuss. Taking Tuli’s absence as a small blessing, Sylvanna looked over the tavern occupants. Mostly the regular types were loitering at tables, drinking and eating. But there were a couple of irregular types, too—not that such a thing was unusual.
Nothing was unusual at Tuli’s.
Sylvanna was too grateful for the reprieve from the rain to care about irregulars or much else. As she stalked across the tavern, searching for an empty table in a corner, an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Rotten mead and violence weren’t the only things thick in the air. A palpable tension was lingering, too.
The uneasy feeling made her feel restless. She wanted to pace. Instead, she took a seat at an occupied table with one of the irregulars. Her tablemate didn’t look friendly or unfriendly. His bow was within reach propped against the table, but there wasn’t a knife buried in the tabletop.
Sylvanna shrugged as Tuli finally ambled towards her before her new tablemate could say anything. The tavern keeper was fatter than she remembered from her last visit. His belly stuck out further, and his butt waddled unattractively.
“Well, if it ain’t Sylv.”
She rolled her eyes at Tuli’s greeting. Nicknames didn’t sit well with her. Neither did small talk. The social graces of society were not a field of study Sylvanna exceled at. “Yeah. If it isn’t me.”
“Wot kin I do for ya?”
“Dinner. And The World Eater.”
Sylvanna watched Tuli’s brow furrow. A small frown curled her lips. Something was going on; she doubted she was the first to ask about The World Eater. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t looking for glory. She was seeking death and didn’t care who was privy to information about The World Eater.
“Information’s gonna cost ya.”
She unhooked a small leather bag from her waist belt. The bag was unimpressive, but coins clinked together inside. Slipping a finger through the drawstring, she spun the bag in a slow circle. Tuli’s beady eyes fixed on the bag, and Sylvanna watched him follow the spinning bag.
“Like dinner is free,” she said sarcastically.
“There’s an ole mage on Kokovstithe. Mathais Morv. He’s said to know which mountain The World Eater lives on. Been there too.”
Sylvanna’s frown deepened. The information sounded bad. An old mage traveling to The World Eater’s Mountain sounded like a joke. But, Mathais Morv was her first solid lead. Sighing, she dropped the bag on the table where Tuli snatched it up.
Rotten mead and violence lingered in the air. The smell was a suffocating, physical presence; permanently welded into the dirty floors and walls of Tuli’s tavern. And Sylvanna followed the lurid stench to Tuli’s front door like a fly to an orange flame.
The smell washed over her, welcoming her back into civilization. Her nose crinkled back in disgust, but she quickly adjusted. Tuli’s Oasis was something of an acquired atmosphere. Semi-regular visits to the establishment dulled the smell. But the hay bugs still bit and the food was still spoiled.
Sylvanna wrung her hair out at the entrance. Rainwater hit the ground, joining old blood and food stains. She yanked her heavy, woolen cloak off. The grey cloth was drenched; no amount of squeezing was going to get all the water out. She gave the cloak an obligatory squeeze all the same.
Rainwater started to puddle at her feet; a small part of her was surprised when Tuli didn’t amble over and make a fuss. Taking Tuli’s absence as a small blessing, Sylvanna looked over the tavern occupants. Mostly the regular types were loitering at tables, drinking and eating. But there were a couple of irregular types, too—not that such a thing was unusual.
Nothing was unusual at Tuli’s.
Sylvanna was too grateful for the reprieve from the rain to care about irregulars or much else. As she stalked across the tavern, searching for an empty table in a corner, an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Rotten mead and violence weren’t the only things thick in the air. A palpable tension was lingering, too.
The uneasy feeling made her feel restless. She wanted to pace. Instead, she took a seat at an occupied table with one of the irregulars. Her tablemate didn’t look friendly or unfriendly. His bow was within reach propped against the table, but there wasn’t a knife buried in the tabletop.
Sylvanna shrugged as Tuli finally ambled towards her before her new tablemate could say anything. The tavern keeper was fatter than she remembered from her last visit. His belly stuck out further, and his butt waddled unattractively.
“Well, if it ain’t Sylv.”
She rolled her eyes at Tuli’s greeting. Nicknames didn’t sit well with her. Neither did small talk. The social graces of society were not a field of study Sylvanna exceled at. “Yeah. If it isn’t me.”
“Wot kin I do for ya?”
“Dinner. And The World Eater.”
Sylvanna watched Tuli’s brow furrow. A small frown curled her lips. Something was going on; she doubted she was the first to ask about The World Eater. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t looking for glory. She was seeking death and didn’t care who was privy to information about The World Eater.
“Information’s gonna cost ya.”
She unhooked a small leather bag from her waist belt. The bag was unimpressive, but coins clinked together inside. Slipping a finger through the drawstring, she spun the bag in a slow circle. Tuli’s beady eyes fixed on the bag, and Sylvanna watched him follow the spinning bag.
“Like dinner is free,” she said sarcastically.
“There’s an ole mage on Kokovstithe. Mathais Morv. He’s said to know which mountain The World Eater lives on. Been there too.”
Sylvanna’s frown deepened. The information sounded bad. An old mage traveling to The World Eater’s Mountain sounded like a joke. But, Mathais Morv was her first solid lead. Sighing, she dropped the bag on the table where Tuli snatched it up.
Syrena- Shadow
- Join date : 2012-10-01
Posts : 243
Re: End Of Times IC
by Oddball Alice Sun Nov 04, 2012 6:35 pm
Tuli’s Oasis seemed to be doing more business than usual, Serne noted. Several people who looked about as out of place as she did, all were here and approached Tuli, undoubtedly for information, seeing as how there could be no other reason for being there, for Serne could find no other redeeming quality, unless you liked bad food, bad drink, bad sex and bad lodging all at once. In that case, a person was at the right place. Her hut was cleaner and more luxurious, by Lotmard standards anyway. Many would possibly find it unsettling for it was not decorated to outsider’s tastes, however, home is home. Wrinkling her noise, Serne pushed aside her half eaten food and drink, hunger and thirst only forgiving so much. Serne had been moving constantly mostly for a week or more, since the last new moon, keeping to the shadows and fringes of towns in Etherium, listening for rumors, and terrorizing the people along the road. One particular merchant , after he had generously donated all of his gold and possessions, told her of this place, and that this was the place for information. She was sure he was now haunting the road and woods, like many others who had lost their lives. More blood on her hands, which, were already metaphorically soaked in it. No matter, Serne was not afraid of anything in the afterlife, Magnos, the stag-god would reward her if she died in battle.
Deciding to look around, Serne paid a little more attention to the others outside her dark corner. One person caught her attention and curiosity in particular. The person, who was female, was unlike any other person Serne had seen before. She was tall, and tan, narrow eyes and very light clothing, given her tattoos and apparent ferocity, Serne deduced she was another Lortherian. Serne then remembered stories of the D’jerran , or the Lotmards called them Sand People, who lived in the great Marahj Blinde, their strange home and traditions. Lortherians were not necessarily all the time friendly towards another clan, in fact they were more likely to kill than shake hands, but their clans had never fought each other, given the geographic distance, so Serne felt more curiosity than anything else. And, another Lortherian was always better than a outsider to have around, if for no other reason there might be some level of understanding , at least more than there would be with a Lortherian and an outsider. Whisper, Serne’s owl, turned her head slightly when she stopped preening and noticed Serne was looking at something. Hooting slightly, Whisper flapped her wings, saying essentially she was restless, and wanted to leave, she paid very little attention to the other Lortherian. Serne once more stroked Whisper’s chest, pondering going over, deciding why not? Serne did not much like traveling the road by night, one is more exposed and vulnerable, something Serne tried to avoid as much as possible. It was not fear but common sense that made her avoid this.
Gracefully, Serne got up, walking over to the other woman. Once she had closed most of the distance, although she left about three feet between them just to be safe, Serne lightly hit her fist against her chest in greeting, parting her black lips in a semi-awkward smile, it was hard to look friendly as a Lotmard, even on the rare occasion one was. The scars, the teeth, the blank eyes, in general, most people either ran, or fought on sight. Her longer canines had runes and animals carved in them, set off by the red paste she put in them. Serne’s scars identified her as a killer, but Serne was certain just as much blood was on the other’s hands, given who they were. Saying in greeting, Serne said
“D’jerran? I have heard of your kind. I am a Lotmard. Greetings. You are far from home.”
Deciding to look around, Serne paid a little more attention to the others outside her dark corner. One person caught her attention and curiosity in particular. The person, who was female, was unlike any other person Serne had seen before. She was tall, and tan, narrow eyes and very light clothing, given her tattoos and apparent ferocity, Serne deduced she was another Lortherian. Serne then remembered stories of the D’jerran , or the Lotmards called them Sand People, who lived in the great Marahj Blinde, their strange home and traditions. Lortherians were not necessarily all the time friendly towards another clan, in fact they were more likely to kill than shake hands, but their clans had never fought each other, given the geographic distance, so Serne felt more curiosity than anything else. And, another Lortherian was always better than a outsider to have around, if for no other reason there might be some level of understanding , at least more than there would be with a Lortherian and an outsider. Whisper, Serne’s owl, turned her head slightly when she stopped preening and noticed Serne was looking at something. Hooting slightly, Whisper flapped her wings, saying essentially she was restless, and wanted to leave, she paid very little attention to the other Lortherian. Serne once more stroked Whisper’s chest, pondering going over, deciding why not? Serne did not much like traveling the road by night, one is more exposed and vulnerable, something Serne tried to avoid as much as possible. It was not fear but common sense that made her avoid this.
Gracefully, Serne got up, walking over to the other woman. Once she had closed most of the distance, although she left about three feet between them just to be safe, Serne lightly hit her fist against her chest in greeting, parting her black lips in a semi-awkward smile, it was hard to look friendly as a Lotmard, even on the rare occasion one was. The scars, the teeth, the blank eyes, in general, most people either ran, or fought on sight. Her longer canines had runes and animals carved in them, set off by the red paste she put in them. Serne’s scars identified her as a killer, but Serne was certain just as much blood was on the other’s hands, given who they were. Saying in greeting, Serne said
“D’jerran? I have heard of your kind. I am a Lotmard. Greetings. You are far from home.”
Oddball Alice- Mist
- Join date : 2012-10-03
Posts : 30
Age : 33
Re: End Of Times IC
by Digital Muse Thu Nov 08, 2012 4:19 pm
Zira watched as the feral-looking woman approached her with deceptively smooth steps. She took in the sharpened teeth with carved runes and red paste in them, the owl that sat at the woman’s shoulder and the distance that she stopped from Zira. Wise.
Just as Serne had heard of her people, Zira had heard of the warriors called Lotmard. They both came from the same Earth Mother and so were sisters. Zira rose smoothly and touched her chest over her heart in response to Serne’s more emphatic salute. “Greetings, Lotmard. I am Zira D’Lani.” Zira indicated a chair at her table for Serne to join her before shooting a wary glance as the big man’s friends dragged him out of the tavern and into the rain.
Taking a seat opposite to Serne, Zira looked the woman over with open curiosity, wondering at the scars and the carvings in her teeth. The bird was something Zira had never seen before was the creature magical in some way? She wondered. “I have been sent by the elders.” Zira explained in answer to Serne’s question. “We seek other warriors to force the World Eater back into its prison beneath our lands once more.”
Zira tilted her head curiously at Serne’s ferocious features, “And you, Lotmard? Are you not far from your home as well?” Zira paused, letting her eyes pass around the room once more, a habit she repeated fairly frequently. Zira looked back to the woman sharing her table, “Where is your clan?”
While she waited for the Lotmard to answer her, Zira noted a few others in the main room of the tavern that looked almost as out of place as she and the Lotmard did. The small elegantly dressed young man certainly was far afield and the beast at his side was nearly 5 times the size of the few desert jackals Zira had ever seen.
Another table also caught Zira’s attention. The man had the look of a hunter, his eyes never stopped scanning the room and the bow he had leaning against the table only confirmed her suspicion. The woman that had joined him didn’t seem to know him, however the fat bartender did. Zira had to wonder what she was doing here.
Zira turned her attention back to the Lotmard at her table. “What brings you so far from your home?”
Just as Serne had heard of her people, Zira had heard of the warriors called Lotmard. They both came from the same Earth Mother and so were sisters. Zira rose smoothly and touched her chest over her heart in response to Serne’s more emphatic salute. “Greetings, Lotmard. I am Zira D’Lani.” Zira indicated a chair at her table for Serne to join her before shooting a wary glance as the big man’s friends dragged him out of the tavern and into the rain.
Taking a seat opposite to Serne, Zira looked the woman over with open curiosity, wondering at the scars and the carvings in her teeth. The bird was something Zira had never seen before was the creature magical in some way? She wondered. “I have been sent by the elders.” Zira explained in answer to Serne’s question. “We seek other warriors to force the World Eater back into its prison beneath our lands once more.”
Zira tilted her head curiously at Serne’s ferocious features, “And you, Lotmard? Are you not far from your home as well?” Zira paused, letting her eyes pass around the room once more, a habit she repeated fairly frequently. Zira looked back to the woman sharing her table, “Where is your clan?”
While she waited for the Lotmard to answer her, Zira noted a few others in the main room of the tavern that looked almost as out of place as she and the Lotmard did. The small elegantly dressed young man certainly was far afield and the beast at his side was nearly 5 times the size of the few desert jackals Zira had ever seen.
Another table also caught Zira’s attention. The man had the look of a hunter, his eyes never stopped scanning the room and the bow he had leaning against the table only confirmed her suspicion. The woman that had joined him didn’t seem to know him, however the fat bartender did. Zira had to wonder what she was doing here.
Zira turned her attention back to the Lotmard at her table. “What brings you so far from your home?”
Digital Muse- Guardian Ghost
- Join date : 2009-08-12
Posts : 1381
Location : South Dakota
Re: End Of Times IC
by Oddball Alice Sat Nov 10, 2012 7:03 pm
Tentatively, Serne sat at the table opposite Zira. She nodded at Zira’s greeting, returning it with a simple statement
“I am Serne, this is Whisper.”
Serne gestured to her owl, who politely bobbed her head as if she knew what they were saying. Serne paused, matching the curiosity Zira was examining her with. Obviously, the climate Zira was from was very different, as she did not appear to be equipped for the foul weather. However, Serne guessed she must also look very odd to her companion, what is normal to one person is oddity to another, she supposed. Pulling herself out of her momentary lapse of awareness, Serne always liked to be aware of what was going on around her, it was a sort of security measure.
Listening intently, Serne was not very surprised when Zira mentioned the World Eater, undoubtedly only something so serious and unusual would bring a D’jerran to the very edge of Etherium, between Etherium and the capitol, in a sort of no-mans land. The diffrence between herself and Zira was that Zira was sent, whereas Serne was forced to go on this journey, partly revenge, partly because at the moment, she was not even safe amongst her clan. Serne listened for an appropriate time to answer Zira’s queries, politely waiting until Zira was finished. When she had, Serne responded somewhat reservedly,
“Not as far as you, D’jerran, but yes, farther than normal. The rest of my clan is no doubt roaming around the forest, as usual, looking for outsiders. I do not think they are aware of what happened as of yet, my clan is large enough we travel in smaller bands for speed of travel, we only met up once a month. I was not sent, I have to find the World Eater for revenge. My husband and six children were killed at the last new moon. Two of my children were newborns. I carry pieces of them so their ghosts will haunt me until I have avenged them.”
Serne touched her bone necklace absently, her eyes wandering around the room, noting the other oddities in the bar. A man with a big dog, a hunter and another female, seated by the hunter. Judging by their body language , they were all equally tense , and none seemed to have any relation amongst them, however, they all must have a special reason for being there, most of them looked out of place, as she did. Absentmindedly, she commented,
“I wonder if they all have similar goals, I cannot imagine the man with the dog being used to such surroundings, or the hunter, for that matter. We are not the only irregulars, I believe. I cannot imagine they are here for the food, or the company”, Serne said, somewhat amusedly, eyeing Tuli’s wife with disgust and amusement.
“I am Serne, this is Whisper.”
Serne gestured to her owl, who politely bobbed her head as if she knew what they were saying. Serne paused, matching the curiosity Zira was examining her with. Obviously, the climate Zira was from was very different, as she did not appear to be equipped for the foul weather. However, Serne guessed she must also look very odd to her companion, what is normal to one person is oddity to another, she supposed. Pulling herself out of her momentary lapse of awareness, Serne always liked to be aware of what was going on around her, it was a sort of security measure.
Listening intently, Serne was not very surprised when Zira mentioned the World Eater, undoubtedly only something so serious and unusual would bring a D’jerran to the very edge of Etherium, between Etherium and the capitol, in a sort of no-mans land. The diffrence between herself and Zira was that Zira was sent, whereas Serne was forced to go on this journey, partly revenge, partly because at the moment, she was not even safe amongst her clan. Serne listened for an appropriate time to answer Zira’s queries, politely waiting until Zira was finished. When she had, Serne responded somewhat reservedly,
“Not as far as you, D’jerran, but yes, farther than normal. The rest of my clan is no doubt roaming around the forest, as usual, looking for outsiders. I do not think they are aware of what happened as of yet, my clan is large enough we travel in smaller bands for speed of travel, we only met up once a month. I was not sent, I have to find the World Eater for revenge. My husband and six children were killed at the last new moon. Two of my children were newborns. I carry pieces of them so their ghosts will haunt me until I have avenged them.”
Serne touched her bone necklace absently, her eyes wandering around the room, noting the other oddities in the bar. A man with a big dog, a hunter and another female, seated by the hunter. Judging by their body language , they were all equally tense , and none seemed to have any relation amongst them, however, they all must have a special reason for being there, most of them looked out of place, as she did. Absentmindedly, she commented,
“I wonder if they all have similar goals, I cannot imagine the man with the dog being used to such surroundings, or the hunter, for that matter. We are not the only irregulars, I believe. I cannot imagine they are here for the food, or the company”, Serne said, somewhat amusedly, eyeing Tuli’s wife with disgust and amusement.
Oddball Alice- Mist
- Join date : 2012-10-03
Posts : 30
Age : 33
Re: End Of Times IC
by Digital Muse Mon Nov 19, 2012 6:34 pm
When Serne introduced first herself and then the wide-eyed bird that sat calmly upon her shoulder, Zira tilted her head at the creature in open curiosity. Here was another creature she’d never encountered before. The talons that clung to Serne’s shoulder spoke of a predator, but its calm demeanor seemed at odds with that impression.
Serned began to explain the reason she was separated from her clan, causing Zira’s brow to knit into a frown. Her honey-brown eyes dropped to the bone necklace about the other’s throat. She wore the bones of her children? It seemed wrong to Zira, but the pain of a Mother that has lost her family was not something Zira had ever experienced, so she could not judge if this gesture was appropriate or not. It certainly would not have been for her own people.
The idea of revenge, however, Zira understood very well indeed. Human, animal, dragon. It made no difference to the D’jerran. If you killed on of the The People, you died. Zira had to believe it was no different for Serne. The talk of ghosts made Zira curious, “You are a Wise Woman for your people? You have magic?” If her guess was correct, the scarification along Serne’s arms were connected to the woman’s magic. Giving of yourself was the most powerful, and the most dangerous of magics.
Before Serne answered her queries, Serne drew the warrior’s attention to the other occupants of the room. The Lotmard had also noted those few that appeared as out of place as they were. She couldn’t speculate what their purpose to be in the filthy inn might be, but when Serne speculated that they might also be here for the same reasons that had brought Zira and Serne there, she had to agree. There was one way to find out and Zira had no concept of subtlety.
Rising fluidly from her seat, she moved to the table occupied by the hunter and the woman with wary eyes. She stopped only a pace away, unconsciously towering over the pair. “You seek the World Eater?” She asked bluntly. “Come.” Turning from the pair without waiting for an answer, Zira then approached the young man with the enormous wolf-like beast. It rose from where it lay beside the youth to place itself between the warrior and its Master. Zira paused eyeing it suspiciously, but didn’t appear daunted, merely cautious. Looking from the beast to the youth when it did not move toward her, Zira repeated her question; “You seek the World Eater? You will come.” Again, she didn’t wait for an answer, simply believing she would be obeyed if she was right. Zira returned to the table she’d left Serne at and took her seat once more.
“Now we will know.” She stated simply.
Serned began to explain the reason she was separated from her clan, causing Zira’s brow to knit into a frown. Her honey-brown eyes dropped to the bone necklace about the other’s throat. She wore the bones of her children? It seemed wrong to Zira, but the pain of a Mother that has lost her family was not something Zira had ever experienced, so she could not judge if this gesture was appropriate or not. It certainly would not have been for her own people.
The idea of revenge, however, Zira understood very well indeed. Human, animal, dragon. It made no difference to the D’jerran. If you killed on of the The People, you died. Zira had to believe it was no different for Serne. The talk of ghosts made Zira curious, “You are a Wise Woman for your people? You have magic?” If her guess was correct, the scarification along Serne’s arms were connected to the woman’s magic. Giving of yourself was the most powerful, and the most dangerous of magics.
Before Serne answered her queries, Serne drew the warrior’s attention to the other occupants of the room. The Lotmard had also noted those few that appeared as out of place as they were. She couldn’t speculate what their purpose to be in the filthy inn might be, but when Serne speculated that they might also be here for the same reasons that had brought Zira and Serne there, she had to agree. There was one way to find out and Zira had no concept of subtlety.
Rising fluidly from her seat, she moved to the table occupied by the hunter and the woman with wary eyes. She stopped only a pace away, unconsciously towering over the pair. “You seek the World Eater?” She asked bluntly. “Come.” Turning from the pair without waiting for an answer, Zira then approached the young man with the enormous wolf-like beast. It rose from where it lay beside the youth to place itself between the warrior and its Master. Zira paused eyeing it suspiciously, but didn’t appear daunted, merely cautious. Looking from the beast to the youth when it did not move toward her, Zira repeated her question; “You seek the World Eater? You will come.” Again, she didn’t wait for an answer, simply believing she would be obeyed if she was right. Zira returned to the table she’d left Serne at and took her seat once more.
“Now we will know.” She stated simply.
Digital Muse- Guardian Ghost
- Join date : 2009-08-12
Posts : 1381
Location : South Dakota
Re: End Of Times IC
by Ruu Mon Nov 19, 2012 7:23 pm
Kyal had been quietly watching the interactions of the other members. Particularly interesting to him were the ones who paid extra coin. It seems like he wasn't the only one after a certain type of information. As his eyes rested on two Lortherian women, one of them got up and addressed a hunter and another woman. A moment later, she strode towards him. Fargus leaped to his feet and barred his teeth with an angry snarl, but a silent signal from his master stopped his advance. While Kyal was not fond of Lortherians, it would do little good to attack them or provoke them in any way. How would she know anything more than old Tuli about the World Eater? Unless she was suggesting they make an alliance of some sort. He knew there would be little he could do against the World Eater alone, even if he was a powerful mage in his own right. It only seemed natural to find a group to work with. But Lortherians...could they be trusted? Even in times of crisis, if they learned of his lineage...He shook his head at the thought. If he truly wanted to help the people of this land, he would have to put personal prejudices aside.
He stood up, walking deliberately over to join the Lortherian women, and taking his place across from them. Fargus followed and stood directly beside his master, a fierce grimace on its face that would make one think twice before approaching him.
"Do you know any more about the World Eater?" he asked, his voice soft, like a song or a lyric, "What are you proposing?"
He was careful to keep his face hidden in the recesses of his hood as best as he could. He wasn't sure if news of escaped Lortherian slaves traveled quickly or if they weren't as close knit as some believed. Either way, he wasn't going to take the chance. He gripped his staff firmly, ready to channel his powers at a moment's notice. He could feel Fargus tense beside him. If this was an elaborate trap, he would be ready. He had been young and foolish, and beset by a dozen warriors at his capture. He would not be ambushed again.
He stood up, walking deliberately over to join the Lortherian women, and taking his place across from them. Fargus followed and stood directly beside his master, a fierce grimace on its face that would make one think twice before approaching him.
"Do you know any more about the World Eater?" he asked, his voice soft, like a song or a lyric, "What are you proposing?"
He was careful to keep his face hidden in the recesses of his hood as best as he could. He wasn't sure if news of escaped Lortherian slaves traveled quickly or if they weren't as close knit as some believed. Either way, he wasn't going to take the chance. He gripped his staff firmly, ready to channel his powers at a moment's notice. He could feel Fargus tense beside him. If this was an elaborate trap, he would be ready. He had been young and foolish, and beset by a dozen warriors at his capture. He would not be ambushed again.
Ruu- Poltergeist
- Join date : 2010-09-25
Posts : 758
Age : 35
Location : Home
Re: End Of Times IC
by Oddball Alice Fri Nov 23, 2012 1:14 am
Serne had answered Zira’s query with a “yes” , but Zira had not apparently heard her, she seemed to be far more direct than Serne herself was. As a shaman, Serne was unused to direct confrontation, as her skills lent themselves to more supportive and secretive roles, her husband used to be the brute force to her brain. Such as it was in her culture, however, given the scythe blade attached to her staff and her bow, she could fight and was good at it if need be. One does not survive long as a Lortherian of any type if one cannot fight. Peace was not in most tribe’s nature, there was safety in knowledge of combat and numbers. Fear, was also a powerful tool, one Serne supposed Zira understood just as well as she.
Watching with curiosity, Serne observed Zira go to each of the oddballs, speaking not very quietly or subtlety, Serne surmised that was not one of Zira’s many obvious talents, no matter really. Only thing to do is wait and see if her approach worked. Zira approached the pair and the loner bravely, saying to each
“You seek the World Eater? Come.”
A woman of few words, something many Lortherians respected. One could say volumes without saying anything, that was something Serne’s mother told her many times. One of the few things Serne remembered about her mother, most of the non-essentials had been blocked out over her not long existence, the world was too harsh and cruel for indulging in useless emotions. Tensing ups slightly upon Zira’s return subconsciously, responding quietly with a
“Yes, we shall, fairly soon actually. The hunter and hound come.”
Serne gestured briefly as he approached, vicious mutt in tow. Serne was not fearful or impressed. Wary, but not much else. Serne had seen far worse in her lifetime, however, she had also seen that death follows the unwary, another common saying, something she did not intend on being until her quest was fulfilled. Her large unsettling blank eyes turned to the man, fangs somewhat displayed in a half smile-half snarl.
"Do you know any more about the World Eater? What are you proposing?" he said, sitting opposite herself and Zira, hiding behind a hood, tense and obviously showing a lack of trust. Serne’s smile widened. Wise.
“Depends, ivandersk. We might have information, so might you. Or, you might be trying to trap us, which would show profound foolishness. Given that you are keeping a distance and hiding, I am assuming you have something to hide, or are intelligent enough to not display trust until a display of trust is given. Or it could be simply you distrust Lortherians, a common opinion, and a wise one. Either way, the truth is the same. I have information that might possibly lead to the World Eater, I am on a quest to slay him. He is far to large to be taken by myself, Zira is on the same quest I assume. You obviously are as well, or else you wouldn’t be here, nor would you be asking. So, what is proposed is we put aside hatred and distrust , which would mean we as a group would have more chance of defeating him. It is up to you. If no one will join, I go alone. If others join, more chance of victory. Now, if we proceed, it is up to you. I suppose introductions are in order. I am Serne, the Owl Woman, Lotmard obviously,” and Serne touched Whisper, saying, “ this is Whisper and this is Zira, a D’jerran. I would have your name, I would advise answering honestly.”
Serne paused, awaiting his reply calmly. Noticing his staff, Serne touched hers, saying plainly,
“Mage?”
Watching with curiosity, Serne observed Zira go to each of the oddballs, speaking not very quietly or subtlety, Serne surmised that was not one of Zira’s many obvious talents, no matter really. Only thing to do is wait and see if her approach worked. Zira approached the pair and the loner bravely, saying to each
“You seek the World Eater? Come.”
A woman of few words, something many Lortherians respected. One could say volumes without saying anything, that was something Serne’s mother told her many times. One of the few things Serne remembered about her mother, most of the non-essentials had been blocked out over her not long existence, the world was too harsh and cruel for indulging in useless emotions. Tensing ups slightly upon Zira’s return subconsciously, responding quietly with a
“Yes, we shall, fairly soon actually. The hunter and hound come.”
Serne gestured briefly as he approached, vicious mutt in tow. Serne was not fearful or impressed. Wary, but not much else. Serne had seen far worse in her lifetime, however, she had also seen that death follows the unwary, another common saying, something she did not intend on being until her quest was fulfilled. Her large unsettling blank eyes turned to the man, fangs somewhat displayed in a half smile-half snarl.
"Do you know any more about the World Eater? What are you proposing?" he said, sitting opposite herself and Zira, hiding behind a hood, tense and obviously showing a lack of trust. Serne’s smile widened. Wise.
“Depends, ivandersk. We might have information, so might you. Or, you might be trying to trap us, which would show profound foolishness. Given that you are keeping a distance and hiding, I am assuming you have something to hide, or are intelligent enough to not display trust until a display of trust is given. Or it could be simply you distrust Lortherians, a common opinion, and a wise one. Either way, the truth is the same. I have information that might possibly lead to the World Eater, I am on a quest to slay him. He is far to large to be taken by myself, Zira is on the same quest I assume. You obviously are as well, or else you wouldn’t be here, nor would you be asking. So, what is proposed is we put aside hatred and distrust , which would mean we as a group would have more chance of defeating him. It is up to you. If no one will join, I go alone. If others join, more chance of victory. Now, if we proceed, it is up to you. I suppose introductions are in order. I am Serne, the Owl Woman, Lotmard obviously,” and Serne touched Whisper, saying, “ this is Whisper and this is Zira, a D’jerran. I would have your name, I would advise answering honestly.”
Serne paused, awaiting his reply calmly. Noticing his staff, Serne touched hers, saying plainly,
“Mage?”
Oddball Alice- Mist
- Join date : 2012-10-03
Posts : 30
Age : 33
Re: End Of Times IC
by Syrena Mon Nov 26, 2012 1:02 am
Sylvanna leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out in front of her. The warm, putrid tavern air cocooned around her almost felt good. She could feel the cold rushing out of her bones as grime stuck to her damp skin and clothes. She slowly flexed her hands as a slender shadow fell across the table.
The small hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she turned to look at Lortherian woman. Sylvanna narrowed her eye, studying the woman with a killer’s fluid grace. The woman was pretty in a feral sort of way. But the woman’s beauty was a poor disguise for danger.
Gingerly, she perched her foot on the chair.
A tick of time passed and nothing happened. Sylvanna rolled her shoulders to ease the building tension in her muscles. And she scoffed when the woman demanded Sylvanna joined her if she had interest in The World Eater. Turning away from the woman, she studied her tablemate.
Her tablemate was quiet. A man of no words—she could appreciate the silence. She could also appreciate his disinterest in her affairs even more. Yet The World Eater was her latest quarry and she couldn’t hope to track the legend without help.
Sylvanna groaned and climbed to her feet. Grabbing the back of her chair, she dragged it across the floor to the Lortherian’s table. Another barbarian and a hunter were at the table. Trying not to scowl, Sylvanna straddled her chair.
Tension bubbled up from the group. Everyone acknowledged interest in The World Eater, but no one seemed willing to trade substantial information.
Licking her lips Sylvanna said, “Tuli said there’s a mage on Kokovstithe. A Mathais Morv. Or something. The mage is supposed to know which mountain The World Eater lives on. He’s supposedly been there, too.” She looked over the group.
“So.”
The small hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she turned to look at Lortherian woman. Sylvanna narrowed her eye, studying the woman with a killer’s fluid grace. The woman was pretty in a feral sort of way. But the woman’s beauty was a poor disguise for danger.
Gingerly, she perched her foot on the chair.
A tick of time passed and nothing happened. Sylvanna rolled her shoulders to ease the building tension in her muscles. And she scoffed when the woman demanded Sylvanna joined her if she had interest in The World Eater. Turning away from the woman, she studied her tablemate.
Her tablemate was quiet. A man of no words—she could appreciate the silence. She could also appreciate his disinterest in her affairs even more. Yet The World Eater was her latest quarry and she couldn’t hope to track the legend without help.
Sylvanna groaned and climbed to her feet. Grabbing the back of her chair, she dragged it across the floor to the Lortherian’s table. Another barbarian and a hunter were at the table. Trying not to scowl, Sylvanna straddled her chair.
Tension bubbled up from the group. Everyone acknowledged interest in The World Eater, but no one seemed willing to trade substantial information.
Licking her lips Sylvanna said, “Tuli said there’s a mage on Kokovstithe. A Mathais Morv. Or something. The mage is supposed to know which mountain The World Eater lives on. He’s supposedly been there, too.” She looked over the group.
“So.”
Syrena- Shadow
- Join date : 2012-10-01
Posts : 243
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