[Tavern] Tower's Shard '09

[On Puget Sound]

Yes, he is safe to approach. Move slowly but confidently. He enjoys being rubbed on the top of his head, behind his eyes. Ryk touches Spring's snout to get his attention, then touches Varak's arm to show the dinosaur that Varak is to be accepted.

 

[Kalidrev]

Vistrathis grins at the dwarf and then laughs a bit.

"I'm sorry, I guess I really shouldn't use the term "townie". I suppose that could be considered derogatory, couldn't it? Something I must have picked up from the others in my clan. We use that term to describe anyone who is not nomadic like us. Anyone who lives in a town, really. I think it is interesting that the two of you both worship The Host, yet wear different holy symbols. Do holy men of The Host worship both a specific deity, and pay more attention to this being, yet also worship the entire pantheon as a whole? How does that work? How do you know who do devote attention to at what times?"

The gith looks between the half-elf and the dwarf with his head cocked slightly to the side curiously.

 

[renau1g]

"Typically, most followers of the Host worship all its members, saying their prayers as situations demand it. Like if someone's about to forge a weapon, they might whisper a prayer to Onatar, or if a farmer is planting his crops, he might say a prayer to Arawai to help them grow. I personally find the aspect of Dol Arrah's specific portfolio most to my beliefs. Honourable combat, self-sacrifice, and the sunlight are things that I hold in high regard. If I was questing for some lost piece of information though, I would have no problem asking for Aureon's aide." Vok replies, leaning a bit forward as he seems to be enjoying the theological discussion.

 

[MetaVoid]

Intruding upon theological discussion of The Host comes The Darkness incarnate, very stuff of many people nightmares.

Cloaked drow silently enters, demeanor confident, removing his hood and meeting gazes wherever he could. After sweeping the room and it passes without scrambling for weapons or cover, he smiles quite pleasantly and nods toward two priests. He then enters the tavern fully and closes the door

"Greetings, I am Bellegon Darksun."
he starts toward free table turning to bartender
"You wouldn't happen to have feywine..."
he stops eyeing the dinosaur. "Is this surface version of riding lizard? I've never seen one and I'm in the Lands of Light for some time."
He awaits the answer, just finishing his sentence form before he spoted the dinosaur

"About that feywine? Have any?"

 

[On Puget Sound]

This is Spring. He's a clawfoot. He's warm blooded like a dragon, not cold like a lizard, and much smarter. My tribe rides clawfoots, but Spring doesn't like to be ridden. Well met, Bellegon, I am called Ryk. I've traded with, and fought against, elves before, but you look like no Valenar I've crossed wits or swords with.

Ryk leaves the actual "where are you from" question hanging unasked, so as not to force the black skinned stranger to refuse should he have reasons for not speaking of it.

 

[MetaVoid]

"That's because I'm no Valenar. I come from Xen'drik, land of the ancients."

Bellegon gives generic answer, there are enough complications with being a drow without letting everyone immediately know where he comes from and what's he doing.

Bellegon is slight even for a drow, the eyes are pure black (strange for those who know drow) and he wears clean black robes under which soft armor can be seen. There is ornate dagger on his belt buckle and two rods hang from it. Robes are voluminous, but cut high enough not to drag on the floor and tight fitting breeches can be seen under it.

It appears as if drow can drop down and appear as nothing more then dropped cloak.

 

[pacdidj]

The door opens and a tall, somewhat lankily-built warforged enters the tavern. His metallic footsteps resonate against the hardwood floor with a resounding clang. He wears a suit of shabby chainmail like a second skin, and carries nothing but a slightly battered-looking sword and shield and a few small items stuck in a belt pouch. He surveys the room briefly, “So this is the place…”

As he approaches the bar he nods to Brews saying, “Greetings brother.”

Sitting down in the barstool, his legs emit a loud creak and he grimaces. Presently he asks Brews, “Say brother, might you have an oilcan handy? It’s been a long walk from Thrane, and this refurbished knee doesn’t hold up as well as it used to.”

Brews simply looks at him for a moment, then reaching into the cabinet above the cast iron stove, the bar master produces a tin can full of cooking oil and hands it to the newcomer. Taking the can in his hands the warforged traveler says, “This will do brother, thank you kindly.”

He daubs at the oil with his hand and spreads it out liberally on his left knee, meanwhile extending the joint repeatedly until it emits no more than the faintest squeak. “Ah… much better,” he declares.

Turning around in his stool the warforged surveys the bar once more, his eyes lingering particularly on the halfling with the dinosaur and the diminutive drow. He stands in wonder for a moment at the cosmopolitanism of the city of Sharn, and the strange and diverse travelers it attracts, thinking that it has begun to rival even that of his former home in Metrol.

After a few moments he hails the bar’s clientele, “Greetings friends. I am Crush, and I come seeking friends, fortune, and a worthy cause for my talents in these strange lands. I am a former lieutenant of the Cyran military, but please don’t let that bother you. I owe no further allegiance to that blighted nation, and bear no grudges against former ‘enemies’.” He mumbles under his breath, “except perhaps those of the elven variety…”

“I’ve heard tell that many stalwart souls gather here in Sharn, and particularly at the Tower’s Shard, in search of adventure, and some win their way to fortune and great deeds.”

 

[On Puget Sound]

Spring begins walking slowly about the tavern, nose in the air. Patrons react as their nature directs, some shying away, others approaching, others ignoring or tolerating the beast. Then suddenly the dinosaur hops backwards, mouth open impossibly wide and hissing angrily.

Spring! DOWN! Hssst! Ch Ch Ch!

As the dinosaur backs up toward its master, Ryk apologizes to the dragonborn Harressh. I'm very sorry. I don't know what's gotten into him. Maybe he thinks you're a 'saur? But he usually gets along with them too....

 

[ryryguy]

Harressh recoils when the lizard hisses at him, his crest flaring as small puffs of icy air are expelled from his nostrils. He half-rises from his seat with an angry snarl, but pauses as the halfling speaks and apologizes.

Harressh looks around the room; the other patrons are staring. The anger quickly flees from his expression, replaced by a look of embarrassment. "That's - that's quite all right," Harressh says. "No harm done." He looks down at his table and fiddles with the flagon and dishes there. "He probably just smelled the remains of my meal. That's all."

He squints at the halfling. "You look like you're from the Plains. I've passed through there, some years ago. What brings you to the big city? Please, join me if you like." He gestures; the cloak's sleeve falls away, revealing an arm so thin it's almost skeletal, with gold and silver mottling on the scales. He smiles weakly at Spring.

 

[MetaVoid]

OOC: Yes, ryryguy, very reassuring, smile of a dragonborn

Bellegon slowly, but without hesitation strokes the dinosaur on the side of his neck and along the jaw. He then let's the beast go it's way and is surprised that it didn't react on him, but reacts on other of 'his' race.

Eyeing the new arrival
"There are more who seek the fortunes on the road. What would that talents be?"