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PostPosted: December 20th, 2007, 4:51 pm 
Lady of Strife
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(your style of writing is so fun to read, LDM! That's awesome! lol!)

Nargoth stood across the street from the Gnome's Foot, a discusted look on his face, and a parchement in his hand. The person who gave him this couldn't be serious. He was the shapeshifter king's brother for crying out loud! Royalty like him shouldn't be found in a part of the city such as this, let alone in a nasty tavern. It's name suited the tavern very well. For from across the street, Nargoth could smell an odur that seemed alot like stinky feet to him.

Nargoth checked the parchment again, and wrinkled his nose. What would a person whose name didn't concern him want a noble to come into such a lowly inn as this? The shapeshifter folded up the parchment and stuck it in his pocket.

Might as well go in the Inn. Nothing else to do four minutes past midnight, and already he could hear a clock tower dinging away telling the city inhabitance that it was midnight.

Norgoth strode across the street into the tavern, and noted that he wasn't given any cookies or a bag of coins. This was curious. Norgoth walked through the taver, avoiding contact with anyone since they all seemed dirty nasty drunks, and took a seat on a table that seemed clean to him. But just in case, he pulled a hanky out of his sleeve, wiped the chair seat and the table top down, and tossed it into the nearest trash can before sitting down.

Now he just had to wait to see what this person whose name didn't concern him wanted...

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PostPosted: December 20th, 2007, 5:02 pm 
Vala
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Tap-tap.

Tap-tap.

Andralagorian Ardyllio tapped his staff on the floorboards, nervously shifting his weight from side to side. If Master Orladio found out that he was out at a tavern again, he would probably enchant the nearest thornbush to latch onto Andra's robes and repeatedly stab him through it--while following him around.

However, the note had been too enticing to refuse. Large bags of gold? It could brighten his future considerably. He was constantly having to spend the money which Master Orladio paid him on new staves or robes, as every once in a while, he would lose control of the incantation to ignite wood, and instead of igniting something else with his staff, he merely ignited his staff, and promptly his robes as well.

Of course, there was still the matter of discovery. At fifteen, drinking was only an occasional, bad-ending thing for him, which he generally got talked into and had to talk a lot to explain to Master Orladio.

And now, he was waiting, absently fingering the note in his pocket. If there was an availabe seat, he would go and sit in it, but that might not turn out so well, either--it seemed that six out of every ten chairs that he sat in had a broken leg that made itself apparent when he sat in it. Maybe it would just be better if he stood.

But why did he have to wait so long? Of course, it was still before half-night, so he wasn't late, but he still was impatient. Very.

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PostPosted: December 20th, 2007, 5:36 pm 
Maia
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Yech.

Saeryn Ashgrove flinched away from the large spider rapidly crawling down the wall towards her, grimacing. That was the third spider she had seen in the past five minutes. Usually she didn't mind spiders all that much, but this tavern seemed to breed especially large, hairy bugs.

Taking the missive out of her pocket again, Saeryn unfolded it and read the words yet again. She was still trying to figure out what she was doing here. If her cousin ever discovered that she had been in a tavern (The Gnome's Foot, no less!), he'd have her hide... and her wages, come to think of it.

<i>Cookies and sacks of gold, eh?</i> She thought, tucking the paper back into her trouser pocket. She certainly hadn't seen either of the above yet. Maybe they would show up with whoever this mysterious person was. Speaking of which, it was starting to get close to midnight.

Figuring she might as well get comfortable, she walked towards one of the few empty seats in the tavern and sat down. The chair creaked dangerously and the legs wobbled. What a dump.


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PostPosted: December 20th, 2007, 5:41 pm 
Tolkien Scholar
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This was looking like a more useless idea by the minute.

Orithon leaned back to plant his boots firmly on the table, rejecting a nearby barmaid's offer of a refill on his ale with a stony look. Once more he dug the scrap of parchment out of his belt pouch and scrutinized it. The phrase 'large coin sacks provided by the door' was the only part he was interested in, and so far it had failed spectacularly to deliver. There had been no coins at the door, and nobody looking as though they were dispensing said coins in generous amounts. In his mind, the only useful idea was one that came with coins.

A glance at the large clock in the corner told him it was seven minutes before midnight. He got out a dagger to flip casually between his fingers and glanced once more at the note. Four minutes after midnight was the indicated time.

Eleven minutes in an inn wasn't exorbitant. Perhaps coins would be forthcoming at the appointed time. "You," he said sharply, catching a barmaid by the elbow as she passed. "More ale."

"'m full, sir, a moment if you pl -" she started, indicating her full tray. Then she saw the dagger. Orithon cocked a dangerous eyebrow. "R-right away," she squeaked nervously.

He allowed himself a sardonic smile. Pleasure wasn't all in coins. Just most of it.

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PostPosted: December 20th, 2007, 6:34 pm 
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White clouds of breath evaporated in the cold evening air and Phileas pulled his dark cloak even tighter around him. It was colder than he had expected..
"Something to spare for a poor blind man, sir?" he asked with a thin voice as a young man approached the entrance of the inn where he'd sat the entire evening. He offered his hat with some silver coins and threw it back on the ground as the man passed without answering. If it hadn't been for the letter -and the money of course- he'd never been here but some place warmer. He didn't like it.. no one was making threats in his part of town. This was his place to double-cross people.
The inn seemed to be the place to be that night for it seemed to fill quickly even before midnight.
Phileas grumbled, jumped on his feet as vivid as a youngster and put the coins inside his pocket. Then he threw open the door of the inn and limped inside, leaning on his staff. "Aye.. you" he cried out with a creaking voice and stared at the man whose feet rested on the table. "Wy don't you buy a poor old man an ale?"

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Last edited by Will on December 21st, 2007, 6:43 am, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: December 20th, 2007, 7:00 pm 
Elven Shieldmaiden for Christ
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Aerandir wrote:
w00t. Tur and I seem to be the only ones with stupid youngsters that'll just get in everyone's way. :D

Of course, not playing the comic relief will be kind of hard (<--personal goal, there).


((*wishes there was a high-five smiley* w00t! Let's do it! :D))

Oh God, protect me.

A young girl...or woman, I guess you could say, looked fearfully around, peering around the dark alleyways corner. She looked up at the small, crumpled, dirty slip of paper she had found in her slave's apron pocket that morning, that ordered her to go the the Inn, which she could now see.

She gulped.

I shouldn't be doing this. Alex thought worriedly, still glancing around. First, I get a stranger note. Then, my masters just so happen to go out of town tonight and I am left alone at the home, then I use about the only skill I have and steal my masters most prized posession, and then sneak out to go visit someone I have never met, when I have never even supposed to have left in the first place!

Alex sighed quickly, checking her trousers (which she also stole) to make sure her masters' dagger was still there. It was. She wasn't even sure why she stole it. She wasn't even sure if she could use it or not. She quickly muttered an very unladylike word and rain across the barren street and into the Inn, just like the note told her.

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Last edited by Turwaithiel Rochben on December 20th, 2007, 7:09 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: December 20th, 2007, 7:02 pm 
Dunadan
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Arete wrinkled his nose as the tavern, the Gnome's Foot; at the dirtiness and smell. He stood out in the grimy space, his pale skin and white shirt marking his location clearly. Normally he would have just ignored the message if it were just offering money (and cookies! Who would come here for cookies?!), but the threat that was not a threat by the person whose name was none of his business was...intriguing.

So here he was, an Elan psion, standing in a tavern whose name described the smell and cleanliness, waiting for the odd time of four minutes past midnight. Disgusted with the locale as he was, Arete did notice that the Gnome's Foot was getting more crowded the closer it got to the appointed time.

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PostPosted: December 20th, 2007, 8:59 pm 
Tolkien Scholar
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Once again, Osnaian found himself wandering around in the streets, his bag that carried his clothing and drawing materials over his shoulder. The last place he was in for more than three days was a noble's mansion, where he was with the lady of the house. He was forced out of the house by the extremely jealous husband. But before he was, Osnaian grabbed a piece of paper that was poking from his coat pocket. Since then, he's been reading and wondering what it meant. The last part was obvious. Cookies and large sacks of gold...he needed that. But who would send such a letter to the noble who was probably now frantically looking for that letter.

The Gnome's Foot, Osnaian thought as he roamed around the streets of the rather disgusting quarter of the city. Despite being raised in such a place, he had gotten used to the high class that he had faked his way into. He finally found a depressing inn. "Well this looks happy," he said to himself as he entered.

The smell of the grimy people and stale alcohol hit him like a hurricane. Osnaian was forced to raise his scarf to cover his nose, for the stench was that strong. He looked around for that enigmatic person but his efforts were in vain.

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PostPosted: December 20th, 2007, 10:15 pm 
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[[Hey Tur, I thought it might be fun if our chara’s knew each other a bit? :teehee: ]]

Of all the places to be on a night like this, Teyrian Cathatrini was standing in an alleyway across the street from the Gnome’s Foot tavern when something caught his eye. He carefully watched this girl, Alex, as she looked nervous. Do I know her…? He thought that he had seen her somewhere before, but perhaps it was only a trick of the mind. Debating whether or not to follow her, Teyr decided that he should go into the tavern as his note instructed.

Looking around the packed tavern, he relaxed, feeding off of the emotions radiating around him. Turning on his heel, Teyr accidentally ran into Arete. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled quietly.


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PostPosted: December 20th, 2007, 10:36 pm 
Ringwraith
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Beinion tapped his foot impashently on the wood floor, brushing his dirty-blond hair out of his face. He didn't like waiting. He didn't like this situation, eather. It was all to strange. Watching the other people around the inn, he took a draught of ale.

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PostPosted: December 20th, 2007, 11:15 pm 
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Wandering aimlessly though the streets, Mataris Innetra looked for trouble. But, as luck would have it, trouble found him in the form of a missive shoved into his pocket when he was in the Market Square crowd.

He pulled it out and read it immediately, as he had nothing better to do. Then he strode through the streets towards the tavern.

Etra curled his lips back in distaste as he looked up at the filthy building which housed the infamous Gnome's Foot Tavern. Smells more like Gnome's Rear to me.

Grinning at his own offcolor joke, Etra entered the creaking doors, fingering his pearls, ready for anything.

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PostPosted: December 20th, 2007, 11:25 pm 
Elven Shieldmaiden for Christ
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((Aramel, that would be awesome!))

Alex coughed slighty as the smell of beer and ale filled her nose. She was more used to the smell of wine when she served it, though she had smelt beer once before, she had never smelt so much in one place or time. It was awful.

She looked around quickly to see if there was anyone that would know her, and tell that she was, technecially, a runaway. But, she couldn't find anyone...

...except for one.

It was somebody who Alex felt she had seen before...but she didn't know his name...only the face. It seemed so filmular...yet, she still couldn't place it. Had he ever gone to the home which she was enslaved? Had she ever served him? She shook her head worriedly and, clutching the dagger under the light cloak that she wore (and stole, for that matter), she tried to make her way to the darkness of the tavern, but it was hard, because there were so many people there. It was midnight, for goodness sakes! Why so crowded?

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PostPosted: December 21st, 2007, 12:27 am 
Maia
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Aina came running into the tavern, stumbling to keep her balance as she almost tripped over the threshhold.
Confused and not really knowing what to do, she did what she did best: talked.
"Hey! I'm here! Where's everyone else? I mean, like, this is where we're supposed to be, right? I mean, I might be wrong, I had to get some stranger to explain the letter to me, not that I'm stupid or anything - *nervous laugh* - why would anyone think that... I mean, I'm just a little... well..."
Realizing her voice didn't quite reach everyone, she shrugged her shoulders and looked around, twirling a bit of her yellow-blond hair around her finger.

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PostPosted: December 21st, 2007, 6:50 am 
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Prince Alexander Balmoral n+2 the Absolutely Peerless of Mauraignia thrust open the door of the Gnome's Foot on Inn Street at precisely four minutes past midnight. Much to his disappointment, the night was clear, and even starry. It would have been much more dramatic had it been storming; lightning would had flashed menacingly in the doorway behind the silhouette of his fluttering, dripping cloak, casting his noble features into shadow.

Unfortunately, this wasn't what was happening. Life was full of disappointment, but at least Alex prided himself, like any true hero, on being an eternal optimist.

Slapping the door open and striding heavily through the room, spurs tinkling, did draw the attention of everyone in the tavern, though. By the look of the customers crouching around the tables and lazing at the bar, the inn was privileged indeed with his presence.

There were no sacks of gold in evidence, but that didn't really concern him. Alex faced the spiny teeth of danger out of the goodness of his heart and the everlasting attraction of adventure. He was a firm believer in noblesse oblige, but slightly confused about one part of the note. What exactly was a cookie?

The prince swept up to the bartender, hands thrust carelessly into his belt. He should at least make an attempt to fit into his surroundings. But one could never conceal a true hero. "Wine, if you please, good man, the best you have."

The barkeep barely glanced up. Odd. "Ain't got no wine here." The words were mumbled, barely formed on his lips.

"Ah... right. That's fine. Just fine..." Alex considered. "Fine, my good man, whatever you have."

The ale was quite possibly the vilest stuff he'd ever tasted. More than a sip would probably kill him.

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PostPosted: December 21st, 2007, 10:12 am 
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((Well hopefully it's not too late too join. I know what you're thinking..."10 posts? this guy's a noob!" But fear not! I can Role Play, though this is my first on this forum so we'll see how it goes.))

Name: Tarrion Nordian
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Age: 17
Profession: farm hand
Weapons: Dagger
Appearance: Dirty blond hair, average hight, simple farm cloths, a fine dagger many though too be stolen on his waist.

Tarrion opened the door too The Gnome's Foot and hurried in. He didn't know who this massive was from but a bag of gold...and cookies... but it was his only chance too leave this place and that stupid farm. He aloud himself a smile, cookies, this better be worth sneaking away from the farm.

Tarrion looked around the tavern, there were others here that were waiting for something. He should have known he wasn't the only one. He leaned on the wall and waited watched the others. What could we all be wanted for?

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PostPosted: December 21st, 2007, 2:30 pm 
Mageling
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Tap-tap.

How many... how many friends did this threatener in denial have? Whatever the number (and Eyfene didn't try very hard at counting, as she honestly didn't want to know), not all of them looked very friendly. And not all of them looked very proficient at this habit called maintaining personal hygiene. It must be a hallmark of this queer race called huma - Was that an elf? An elf! Here! What were her people coming to? (Tap-tap.)

At this, she recalled her own pointy ears and belatedly drew up her hood to cover them. Tap-tap. She checked her pocket watch. A minute before midnight. No coins, no cookies, but ten barmaids and one scowling bartender too many. For the last time, no she did not want ale! Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap -

"Excuse me." She poked the corpulent figure robed in dun. Or dung, if one prefers. She spoke in lilting Common, very slowly so to guide her point across the elf/human intelligence gap. "Maaay I kiindly infoorrm yooouu thaaat yoouu aarre beeiing inaane? Stooop, pleeaase." Proud of her communications skills, she offered an encouraging smile and sat back to continue staring at her pocket watch. Not a moment too late. The minute hand creaked onto the fourth dash after twelve. One second... two seconds... three...

The door banged open.

Her first thought: Not another human.

Her second thought: Oh dear. An arrogant human. Tinkling spurs, polished armor, and all.

Her third thought: But he is rather attractive... I wonder if he uses soap?

He glided back toward her table, and she would have liked to sniff him to find out, but at that precise instant, the door banged open. Again. Except this time, there was no one there. Correction. There was someone there. Only... he came a bit short of her expectations. Literally.

The gnome stood silhouetted in the doorway for all of five seconds - during which the sky darkened, clouds rolled in, and a flash of lightning set his silver beard and cloak aflame. The next instant, the stars were back in the sky, and Eyfene saw that he really wasn't that impressive, and that his beard and cloak were a few glimmers short of silver. His glare, though, could send a dragon squealing back to its lair. Bald pate gleaming, patched robes swishing, he stalked to the center of the tavern and jolly on continued glaring.

Everyone - bartender and barmaids included - stared down at him. As in, down. Physically.

The gnome must have decided that this wasn't the impression he'd had in mind, because he scrambled onto a table. Muttering under bated breath, he rummaged around in a pocket of his robes. With a spectacular "ah-hah!" he drew out... impressively... magnificently...

A twig.

Or was it a twig? Because the next thing Eyfene knew, that twig had grown longer... longer... into a wand... a walking stick... until finally... a full-sized staff.

Crickets chirped.

"Quiet!" the gnome wheezed, thumping his (full-sized) twig against the tabletop.

The crickets ceased their chirping.

His bushy eyebrows drawing to a V, he glared left and right. "You didn't really expect cookies and coin sacks, did you?"

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