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Post by kajeayn on Apr 4, 2020 16:17:58 GMT -6
TIME: Mid morning WEATHER: Overcast, hint of rain on the wind. SETTING: Somewhere in the forests of Onea, probably. STARTING PROMPT: The Cracked Hoof Inn is a place of seedy renown. Adventurers are a common sight here, but so are thieves, ruffians and brigands alike. The tavern is a little off the beaten path, but easily found by following the smell of unwashed bodies and cheap booze. Tucked away into the woods, the building rears up suddenly, made up of dark wood and darker windows, but raucous song and laughter float out from under the crooked sign above the front door.
Right now, the tavern is mostly full, as always. How you managed to find a seat in this place is nothing short of a miracle, but you must dodge sloshing drinks and drunk patrons alike, and fight to keep your spot.
It is a fairly typical meeting place for a job like this. There are plenty of witnesses, should it go awry, and plenty of cheap drink to drown yourself in during discussions of payment.
You are here because you have heard through the grapevine that someone will be here today, in search of adventurers to hire. The job has not been described, but has promised a hefty payment to any and all who make the cut. Your employer has also not named himself, nor has anyone called out to you.
Time to settle in and order a drink, perhaps.
DM post 1
WC: 219
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Post by mai | nychnymph on Apr 4, 2020 20:26:30 GMT -6
 Ioana;a simple Warlock
That's MRS. Warlock to you, bitch.
She arrives at the Cracked Hoof Inn at the behest of the demon metaphorically on her shoulder. She particularly detests the stench and overall population of the place the second she wanders through the door, wide-brimmed sorcerers’ hat squished to the sides of her face as she slithers between two burly unicorns with a shrill and prissy, “Excuse me”. The demon tucked against her saddlebag jitters in glee at her discomfort and she flicks her tail as casually as possible against the fabric to quiet down the bag of bones before it could get her ousted in front of all these barbarians. It takes far too long to catch the barhop’s attention, and far far too long to find a corner table to plop against with her bubbling pint of ale.
This is the place. She spies a clock on the far wall above a rowdy bunch of stallions playing darts. This is the time and this is the place. The table she has been essentially barred to, considering the crowd at this Inn, has a nice view of the resulting area. She will easily be able to pick out the client if they show.
The savage little thing of a demon in her saddlebags jitters again, demanding treasure and fortune in a foreign tongue. She sighs, mostly annoyed, and to pacify the beast, tilts the pint drink closer to the table so the beastie can sip from it. She doesn’t understand why it insists on feeding and drinking, as the ale sloshes straight through the squirrel skeleton’s exposed ribs, but it’s a demon thing.
The beastie nips at her flank in annoyance and she just tips the stupid pint of ale onto the ground for it to lick it off the floor - the beast’s preferred way of indulgence.
She hopes the client shows soon. Treasure is the only way to satisfy the squirrel demon she is tied to, and she desperately needs a holiday away from the aforementioned Mr. Tibbles.
WC: 329 | Post 1 |
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Post by leukristic on Apr 6, 2020 14:43:56 GMT -6
 Acheron the DruidThe druid isn’t entirely sure what motivates him to go seeking out someone hiring adventurers, especially one who had chosen to meet in such a populated sort of place. He was uncomfortable the moment he’d stepped hoof onto the well-beaten path, honestly, preferring the unpopulated depths of the woods and the quiet company of the earth, but -- well, coin didn’t grow from trees, and there were some items he simply couldn’t produce himself.
His ears flattened back against his head as he stepped into the cacophonous tavern, assaulted by the sounds of a crowded room, and for a moment he almost turned and fled. It was only the soft hooting of the zesla at his side that had him pressing forward, comforted by the sound, seeking out an unoccupied table and finding none. There was, however, a corner table with only one occupant (two, if you counted the… skeletal squirrel seemingly drinking spilled ale) and with a deep breath the druid carefully made his way over with his zesla sticking close to his legs.
(Delta, of course, was asleep in his saddlebags -- the lazy creature had been his first familiar, and while she often caused mischief when awake, she preferred to spend most of her time asleep in the safety of his bags, especially since he’d befriended Zeta and the two had formed an uneasy sort of truce.)
“Excuse me, miss,” His voice is quiet, just loud enough to barely be heard over the rowdy patrons, and he’s sure the discomfort is likely clear on his face. “Do you… do you mind if I share your table? The others are all full.”
[ Post 1 | 272 ] picture by queerly |
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Post by kajeayn on Apr 6, 2020 20:20:02 GMT -6
J O E L
Anyway here's Wonderwall. Adventure or not, he’ll at least make some coin out of tonight.
He prefers to stake out the situation, get an idea of how dangerous a mission might be- if only for planning- and to do so without revealing his own status as an adventurer. He’s barely worthy of the title anyway, just a bard for hire who happened to be able to defend himself and others reasonably well.
He strums another cord, keeping a jaunty dance beat in time to the drum of one hoof, tapping in perfect rhythm as he inclines his head to someone tossing a coin into the open sack at his feet. He doesn’t bother singing, it’s not as if he’ll be heard above the crowd and no one cares to listen anyway, more interested in their own voices. It allows him a little more freedom to scan the crowd, one ear slowly swivelling as he listens, tuning in and out of conversations with the help of his blessing, following feelings like glittering threads strung all over the room, a spider web only he could see.
His eyes flicker towards a spike of irritation, always on the watch for any sign of a brewing fight, but it’s a lovely gray mare spilling ale purposefully on the ground. He’s wondering what has her annoyed when he spots a flash of little bones, and his brow lifts.
Now wasn’t that interesting.
He strums as he lifts his bag, holding it out for any offerings as he makes his way easily through the crowd, sidestepping patrons as he dips his head gratefully to any who tossed a coin his way.
He had no intention of approaching the warlock, but he’s happy to camp out nearby her, as no doubt she is here for the same reason- and she’ll be easier for the client to find.
Post count: 1| Word count: 307
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Post by Luneby on Apr 7, 2020 14:34:41 GMT -6
 L U C I E"Try me, loser!!"
There was nothing the mighty Barbarian feared. Quite unaware of her height, Lucie kicked open the tavern’s heavy wooden door, practically jumping it out of its hinges – or so she thought. Followed closely by her trusty Warlock, the filly, I mean the powerful warrior, walked straight inside the tavern, pushing away anyone on her way with the handle of her heavy war axe. With her pointy helmet screwed on top of her head, Lucie jumped on the first table she came across – where a bunch of drunk stallions just so happened to partake in a heated conversation. “ Oy!” she yells on top of her lungs – high pitched scream breaking her voice as a tiny growl gritted in her ribcage. “ Who was it that is looking to hire some strong warriors for a mission? I’m the strongest there is, and I ain’t got no time to waste!” One of the stallions growled in anger as she spilled his ale all over the table. “ Hey, what the hell kid-“ As his hoof reached towards her, she promptly kicks his chest, knocking him against the wall. The others go silent. “ Don’t you dare calling me kid, moron.” She then proceeds to spit on the table. “ You.” She says, pointing at one of the much taller stallions seated at the table. “ Get me some milk, now. I’m thirsty.” Her eyes darted lightning as she spoke. The stallion silently slipped away and reached for the bar, nervously looking behind him, only to see the barbarian’s eyes locked on him.
***
WC: 255| Post #1
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Post by seechem on Apr 9, 2020 4:47:12 GMT -6
(will pretty it up when the meme is done)
Virgil's badass bff kicked open the door to the tavern, illuminating her soft, palomino coat with the flames from inside. Even though Virgil was blind, they could feel her splendor and glory as though they could see. And she was magnificent.
As the two strutted in, Lucie making sure to assert her skill, her prowess, her threat, Virgil let arcane shadows billow out from under their cloak, rippling along the floor and shifting warningly behind Lucie's head. No one messed with their girl, NO ONE. Their blind, purple eyes swept the tavern, auras flickered in a wave of amusement and then fear. Good. Virgil's precious overlord would have her crown.
Then Lucie spilt an oaf's drink, and the idiot turned on her. Black and purple shadows shot to life, and a language, never before heard, but gutteral and evil sounding came from below the hood. But their intimidation wasn't necessary because Lucie knocked that fool into next week. Virgil was so proud. But pretended not to be, shuffling their feet obstinately. It was all whatever.
They approached the bar, still keeping close to the little beacon of sunshine, and she order milk. When the tavern keeper raised an eyebrow Virgil made no hesitation in showing off their own skills. Their eyes turned black, the mist around them glitches and sparked, images of faces screaming, purples flames blazing, all behind Lucie's head. But the tavern keeper saw. The patrons saw. A milk was presented, and the tavern keeper cowered back a little, eyeing the two children with concern.
Virgil jingled their foreleg, dispelling the spooky visuals in an instance, attempting to catch Lucie's attention. "These guys don't seem like the patron?" They signed, looking at her eyes, though they were just blazing aura spheres to Virgil, "I hope we find them soon. This place is a dump." They wanted to add that Lucie was too good for this place, that this patron clearly didn't have enough gold to pay for her magnificent skills, but they held their tongue, rolling their eyes at the auras flickering around them. This had better be good. Lucie deserved a crown, and Virgil would ensure she got it.
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Post by Waterdrup on Apr 9, 2020 14:58:42 GMT -6
Emelisse | Missionary
Her life was never really dull and she liked to keep it that way. So, when Emelisse heard about someone looking for adventurers to pay them a foolish number of shards, she was instantly interested. The champagne pony had made her way to the mentioned inn and paused, cocking her head. The Cracked Hoof Inn looked and smelled disgusting, even from the outside. She cast her eyes up to the grey skies, threatening with rain, she hated rain. With a sigh that was way too dramatic the mare pushed the door open (did it feel a little loose on its hinges?) and stepped across the threshold.
At least it was warm inside, probably because of the many moving bodies and the consumption of what Emelisse guessed to be watered down beer. The tiny pony pursed her lips and kept her possessions close as she slipped between some of the rowdy patrons. She kept her hood up and narrowed her eyes in distrust as she glanced around the room, what a place to gather. Her eyes briefly rested on a milk drinking filly standing on a table… alright, this might be fun after all.
Emelisse narrowly dodged a drunken mare, the stumbling shire nearly trampling her. When she looked up she saw a familiar sight and a small, knowing smile crept onto her face. The unicorn watched Joel as he strummed his gorgeous mandolin, seemingly keeping tabs on a grey mare wearing a tasteful sorcerers’ hat.
Was he trying to be inconspicuous? By Digend, his fancy ass stood out like a rose in a swamp within this forsaken inn. Emelisse made her way over to the bard, trying her best to look down on him with her 11.2 hands of height. “Fancy meeting you here, Joel.” She said in her lower voice, an arrogant smile on her lips. Though her face was marked with shadows from a lack of sleep, her violet eyes shone bright. “Care for a little duel?”
Wordcount 329 | Post #1 |
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Post by buffyandbramble on Apr 9, 2020 16:16:08 GMT -6
The Cracked Hoof Inn was a regular haunt of his and as a result the regular faces were all too familiar to him. He was likewise a regular face, though for once he was keeping mostly to himself by the bar, his face partially obscured by his hood as he sipped away on his drink and watched the changing crowd. There was certainly quite the selection of new faces appearing today, adventurers by the looks of many of them. He wondered if perhaps they were here for the rumoured job, the as of yet undefined quest that nevertheless promised great reward, as offered by a mysterious, and probably very handsome employer. He hid a smirk behind his mug, bright eyes picking out the newer arrivals and wondering...
After a particularly dramatic entrance by young, most assuredly prodigal adventurers, he decided that maybe it was about time for him to make his own entrance. Lifting his mug he drained the last of his contents and slammed it down, for that was all but the custom when one finished ones drink. He waited a moment more, for timing was important here, before leaping onto the bar in one fluid motion and striking a pose with his neck arched and wings mantled.
"Worthy adventurers who heed my call!" he announced with much gravitas. "Those who seek great adventure, in exchange for great reward!"
"Farooq, get off the damn bar," the bartender interrupted, swatting at the pegasus with a cloth and seemingly more annoyed than surprised.
"I thank you for coming," the rogue continued without acknowledging the bartender at all, though he did at least jump back down to the floor. "For I have need of only the greatest to aid me in seeking out one of the most priceless treasures in the land! The journey will not be easy, and there will be a great many trials along the way, but I have faith!" he declared. "After all, we are already joined by two of the finest warriors we could have asked for," he added, silky smooth as he dropped into a low bow before Lucie and Virgil. "I am humbled to be in the presence of such power," he purred. When he rose again his eyes picked out the adults that were still listening to him, briefly catching each eye and he grinned a little wider. This promised to be very interesting already.
Aware that he might need something slightly more than words, he pulled out something metal and sparkly from his saddlebag and after the briefest of moments he tossed it into the bag of the floral bard with a wink to the assembled group.
"So, do I have any takers?"
Post #1
WC: 450
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Post by kajeayn on Apr 9, 2020 16:40:18 GMT -6
J O E L
Anyway here's Wonderwall.His instrument strums, blue teke glittering as it dances over the strings. He hums, brows lifting as he takes in Emelisse looking at him appraisingly.
“Emelisse,” He greets with a small smile. “What’s a lovely thing like you doing in a place like this?” The challenge made his smile widen a fraction, his song picking up in speed as he shifts his weight, tilting his head as he meets her gaze.
“Mmm, I suppose I could be persuaded to take you up on that,” He replies lightly, strings quivering as the song picks up pace.
The crash of someone kicking their way in makes him glance past her towards the door, watching a scene unfold as a small foal barreled her way through the crowd. He watches, brow raised as the mood in the bar quickly shifts from amusement to genuine fear.
Today was shaping up to be interesting, indeed.
“I think we may have to delay the duel a moment,” He says lowly, moments before a figure leaped up onto the bar and announced himself as the employer.
His eyes flickered back towards Emelisse, giving her a small smile and shrug.
“Maybe we can continue this on the road,” He suggests, right as something shiny drops into his bag. He blinks, glancing into it once before his eyes flicker up towards the grinning pegasus.
“Well, I have never said my services cannot be bought.” He says, sweeping into a brief bow towards the pegasus. He hadn’t expected to be joining a party of children and running into Emelisse again, but he knows this is already shaping up to be an excellent adventure.
Post count: 2 | Word count: 273
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Post by mai | nychnymph on Apr 9, 2020 21:03:28 GMT -6
Ioana;a simple Warlock
That's MRS. Warlock to you, bitch.
Somehow the little solitary table in the corner of the Cracked Hoof Inn has become nearly the epicenter of the seedy place. She had extended a respectful nod to the gray stallion who’s gentle voice asked to sit alongside her, accompanied by a smooth, “Of course’’ because she was feeling a bit generous after his very proper use of ‘miss’ - Where she had come from and been, they rarely called her miss anymore. But somehow after that interaction, the table had amassed two pleasant-enough bards - who she was more than happy to shift away from lest Mr. Tibbles think their music an invitation to run amok - and two frightfully young fillies, armored to the teeth and sizzling with power - which was just the invitation her ale-guzzling demon needed to blow this inn to kingdom come. As subtly as she could, she shifted an angle away from the table to sweep the skeleton into her saddlebags once more, prying the pint glass from squirrel ligaments in order to return the glassware back to the table.
It was then that the employer, a surprisingly loud pegasus rogue, rose and issued his payment - from the tops of the bar and to much chagrin of the barhop - and she was thoroughly stunned to find herself part of the amassed group that the employer had tossed payment towards. With a frantic eye, she surveyed their pack. Not a warrior among them who could swing with an adult’s reach, she eyed. The two bards, tall surely and very much adult thankfully, seemed all too casual to be big hitters (an underestimation that could prove her undoing, she noted) and the last thing she needed was to work herself into the main damaging role - lest Mr. Tibbles take the opportunity to hulk out. As she turned to the younger two of their group, while keeping a close eye on the glittering payment that had been thrown the bard stallion’s way, Mr. Tibbles, in his demonic speech, cackled over the sparkles of the blush-pink unicorn filly’s helmet - already wiggling to be free of her bags in an attempt to push closer.
She hissed an incantation to momentarily shut the bag of bones up before turning the Druid beside her with a soft smile, “Well, I suppose,” she lifted her gaze to the company, “we should all introduce ourselves.”
Then she momentarily pauses, as a group of ruffians previous, turn eyes in their direction, following the shiny gleam of payment in the bard stallion’s bags. She stands not-quite abruptly, and seemingly unhurried, though she knows quite well what might happen if they linger, agreeing with the bard as she says, “But perhaps we may do so on the road.”
If they can make it out of here without a scene or being robbed to their horseshoes, she makes a silent promise she will have a bit more faith in their odds.
WC: 482 | Post 2 |
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Post by Zugunruhes on Apr 9, 2020 21:46:39 GMT -6
▸Inquisitor Basvoq◂
WC 292 | Post 1
What an unfortunate sight. Basvoq surveys the inn disapprovingly, his lip curling as his eyes trace over the aging wood. He doubts that any of its occupants could provide the payment promised, yet intrigue draws him further. He exhales sharply then adopts a new face and enters the tavern as though a common visitor.
His size alone grants him a path through the jostling patrons and those who are not paying attention lose their drink. A horse snarls up at the inquisitor and curses the spilled ale, only to return broodingly to his table when Basvoq's teke traces over his broadsword. He meanders through the crowd for a time, taking mental note on the occupants. There was always the possibility of a trap and the seedy in seemed fitting for a quiet assassination...
A shout- near ear-shattering scream - resounds through the tavern. Basvoq turns, teke instinctively twisting around the pommel of his blade, and finds himself staring up at a tiny barbarian. His teke withers away and he disappears back into the crowd, wondering if youngsters taking up the sword is commonplace at the Crooked Hoof. The promise of coin keeps him from leaving the tavern entirely and when he takes a spot at the bar it is pointedly far away from the nearest drunken patron.
At last their employer announces himself and Basvoq scrutinizes the pegasus as he talks, mulling over Farooq's words. He approaches and eyes those already gathered with a look of indifference. "What rare treasures are you speaking that would need such a.... ragtag party to fetch them?" His tone is falsely polite, the slight behind his words apparent. The promise of searching for relics intrigues him, but he much prefers to do the job alone.
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Post by Waterdrup on Apr 10, 2020 15:21:44 GMT -6
Emelisse | Missionary
He was being a show-off, smoothly speeding up his strumming while he talked. Emelisse was about to pull her own worn-down instrument in front of her but paused, distracted by the energetic Pegasus that had jumped onto the bar. Was it some sort of custom here for horses to get on top of surfaces that where clearly not meant for it? What a great idea.
The pony listened as -Farooq was it?- introduced himself to be their employer, acknowledging a couple more horses. Emelisse quickly and effortlessly changed her body language to look smaller and as nonthreatening as possible. Settling into her façade was something she hardly had to think about anymore. She let the tiredness wash over her as she plastered a smiled on her face, carefully crafted over the years to look genuine. The unicorn spared only a brief glance at the unfamiliar party members for now, while quickly trying to ascertain their usefulness. Oh who was she kidding, they were perfect.
Farooq ended his speech with a bow and a show of something shiny. "So, do I have any takers?" the Pegasus asked. “Sure, I’m in.” Emelisse said slowly, throwing a look at Joel as if to say he was not getting out of their dual so easily. She watched as the grey sorcerer stood up and wisely suggested they should continue this whole thing on the road. Emelisse nodded in agreement before noticing the dark form of a massive unicorn approaching their group. She eyed the sword at his side and only barely managed to hide her wariness. There was a good point to his question though, but ragtag!? … Yeah alright fair enough.
Wordcount 278 | Post #2 |
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Post by kajeayn on Apr 11, 2020 20:18:11 GMT -6
J O E L
Anyway here's Wonderwall.His eyes moved to the side, watching as Emelisse smoothly slid into another person entirely. He smiled to himself, ducking his head slightly to hide it.
At her pointed glance he shot her a quick wink, a promise to continue this later as he glanced towards the newcomer, brows lifting at their comment. He didn’t argue- they were certainly one of the more ragtag groups he’d found himself a part of. The fact that two children made up part of the party was definitely an interesting twist. He’d be a little more worried about their lack of guardians if one hadn’t threatened her way into a glass of milk pretty effortlessly.
The wizard was right, though. Casting out his awareness, he could feel the eyes of almost everyone around them lingering on the pouch he casually tucked under his cloak, able to taste their greed in the back of his throat.
Right, time to move on.
“The lady is right,” He agreed, inclining his head towards her. He glanced towards the newcomer, the one with a sour expression.
“I’m interested in what relics are being fetched as well, but after our dramatic entrance it may be better to discuss this outside.” He said mildly.
Post count: 3 | Word count: 204
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Post by kajeayn on Apr 11, 2020 20:24:16 GMT -6
As several of your party have noticed, multiple patrons are beginning to turn their eyes towards you, and the treasures you have mentioned. The toss of a shiny object has not been missed- greed is beginning to shine in the eyes of drunk and sober customers alike.
Maybe a dramatic entrance was not the way to advertise a promise of treasure, regardless of Farooq’s infamy in the bar.
“Yeah, what kinda treasure?” A voice calls from one of the tables, echoed by his friends.
DM post: 2 WC: 84 |
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Post by Zugunruhes on Apr 12, 2020 1:06:12 GMT -6
▸Inquisitor Basvoq◂
WC 182 | Post 2
Basvoq eyes the crowd of onlookers steadily and answers. "If you're that curious come and find out." His teke taps the hilt of his sword pointedly as though he is itching to draw the blade and make his threat realized. Should any bother the gathered party further he intends to draw his weapon. He's already made up his mind; those who answered Farooq's summoning are acceptable company. He needs allies if the rest of the tavern move against them and it seems easier to convince the others threatened by their envious observers.
Yet he has the feeling he does not get his intentions across- in a tavern riddled with seedy folk his brute size does not have the effect he normally cultivates. "Too late to leave quietly now... I can help clear a path to the door if my sides are guarded. Then we'll be on the road with not a single prying eye nor ear." Idly discussing tearing apart the entire tavern is perhaps not the best way to secure allies, but Basvoq has a feeling he will not be alone.
OOC: Basvoq rolls a 14 for his Intimidation Check!
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Post by Luneby on Apr 13, 2020 8:26:41 GMT -6
L U C I E"Try me, loser!!"
Lucie nodded as she acknowledged her friend’s words, a spark of approval in her eyes as she witnessed their displays of magical prowess. “ Nah, you’re right.” She replied, disdain in her voice as she gave a circular glance around her, watching with glee the confused expressions of the stallions who had fallen silent. “ They’re clearly too dumb.” She retorted, leaping off the table, snickering as she started yet another uproar. It was then that the sparkliest Pegasus she had ever since jumped on top of the bar, chanting for the adventurers’ attention. Now, this one looked fancy enough to be a half-decent patron. And he sure knew how to take to a lady she noticed, as he bowed deeply before her and Virgil, as he should. Virgil, her prized companion, and herself were worthy of the highest regards as she well knew. She gave the stallion an approving nod as she listened carefully to what he had to say. Pretty words wouldn’t be enough to sway her, she kept consulting Virgil through the corner of her eyes, watching their reactions. She knew they were wittier than her. An impressively large stallion made a good point, and he soon decided that bird guy. Now or never was the time to hop in before he tried to turn them into skewered ponies. She’d like to see him try, though. “ Wait! We’re coming too. You’re gonna need a team as incredibly powerful as ourselves. The price better be up to the task though, birdie, or we’ll pluck your feathers out, got it?” After all, she and Virgil’s empire wouldn’t rise on its own.
***
WC: 270| Post # 2
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Post by buffyandbramble on Apr 13, 2020 16:34:37 GMT -6
Always tip your bards, Farooq would tell you, probably. Good music was always a delight and he didn't envy the... unsteady earning potential of performers, so give as yee would like to receive and so forth. There was definitely some deep and poetic philosophy there, but Farooq was not a bard. Plus, a flashy tip was always an excellent way to catch attention, because if that was what he was tipping, what he was paying could only be guessed at.
Maybe drawing too much attention to oneself in the Cracked Hoof Inn was a questionable act, but what was life without a little risk and intrigue?
At the question from the... rather large.... unicorn, Farooq fluffed his wings up and met the look of scrutiny with one of indignation, already defensive of his newly recruited troupe, some of whom hadn't even officially agreed to this yet.
"Ragtag?" he parrots, sounding incredulous before snorting. "I think you mean diverse."
Still, he had to tip an ear in agreement to the warlock's suggestion that perhaps they do formal introductions outside. The Cracked Hoof bunch had their charms, but their propensity to interrupt perhaps wasn't ideal right now.
"No treasure I haven't spoken to you about before," he replies airily to the slightly slurred question with a light flick of his tail, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. "And nothing that I would deny you fine fellows a part of," he added, casting a brief, almost slightly quizzical, look at Basvoq. Interesting that the stallion's first response was to fight...
"Of course, the journey be fraught with danger," he continued, switching back to his melodramatic voice. "It will be long, promising peril and assuring ardour and I could not bear to part you from your wives, your daughters, your flagons of ale! The Cracked Hoof needs her patrons, and the town needs its great and noble inhabitants!" Okay, even he had to admit he was going a little overboard. Hopefully it sounded better through beer-earmuffs, or whatever the auditory equivalent of beer-goggles was.
"And of course for the valiant whom remain, there shall be rounds on me upon my return to celebrate our victory!" Or perhaps commiserate the loss, depending on how things went. Either way, he was adding in some bribery. As interesting as a bar fight could be for showcasing the group's talent, it maybe wasn't the most auspicious start to their great and exciting quest.
WC: 407 (Sorry, he doesn't shut up!)
Post #2
Persuasion check: 18
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Post by leukristic on Apr 13, 2020 18:36:15 GMT -6
Acheron the DruidThe relatively empty table quickly became crowded as horses of all types seemed drawn directly to the warlock and the druid, and the blue roan grew more uncomfortable as their company increased. The zesla at his feet, afraid of possibly being stepped on by the other horses, gracefully leapt up to the table’s surface, although her fluffy tail stayed pressed against the druid’s shoulder as though attempting to soothe his anxiety. Her round eyes peered from horse too horse, lingering on the flashy pegasus that quickly announced himself as the prospective employer, and then to the stallion whose first instinct was that to fight against the interested parties.
“There’s no need to fight,” The druid says softly, his voice likely lost beneath the clamor of the bar, and he clears his throat before stepping forward. “The offer to adventure was open for all. If you would like to join us, you’re free to do so. Otherwise, the ale in your cups seems rather tasty -- I would hate for you to waste it.” A soft hoot accompanies his words from the zesla, who promptly jumps upon his back, although she very deliberately avoids disturbing the bag upon his side.
Charisma check: nat 1 + modifier of 2 so i guess no one even hears him over the crowd lmfao
[ Post 2 | 198 ] picture by queerly |
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Post by ThatDenver on Apr 15, 2020 17:41:24 GMT -6
The tavern fireplace crackles away in the background of the argument.
If you weren’t so busy arguing, you might have noticed that outside your argument – or more accurately, your attempts to avoid a full on bar fight – the whole tavern has suddenly gone unnaturally, eerily, quiet.
A horse chows down on a crunchy salad with gusto, and yet makes no sound.
Someone slurps on a full mug of thick ale, but no sound.
A bandit accidentally hits his own hoof with a knife in an ill-advised game of skill – you guessed it, no sound.
But the fire, the fire, oh the fire roars.
Bright flames lick their way out of the hearth, slipping onto the floor.
And yet the floorboards, even as caked in dirt and oil and snot as they are, do not burn.
The silence is deafening. Even your own voices have faded. There is only flame.
The fire climbs the walls. The air feels thick, warm and heavy.
The room is bright, vibrant, colored in blues and oranges and reds as the flames encase you from all sides. Impossible shadows and dancing orbs of wildfire hang in the air.
A dark, looming shadow forms in the center of the tavern. It is vaguely in the shape of an equine, but much taller than any you have ever seen.
In the silence, fire roars.
Then, the shadow seems to become the heart of the flame; embers and cinders drawn in, until nothing remains but the flaming inferno at the center.
The flame gains form. Scales, antlers and finally a body are made flesh from the fire.
Ignacio, god of fire, stands within the tavern, which seems barely able to contain even a hint of his presence. Light cracks through the floorboards as if the very building is about to blow up from his sheer existence.
Fire is never still.
Fire always seeks to grow.
Adventure is a virtue made flesh; courage and ambition are the guides of each wayfarer.
Ignacio nods to himself, seemingly very pleased with this statement.
Out of thin air, with a wisp of smoke and brush of flame, he pulls the most magnificent bow you’ve ever seen. Black as ebony and decorated with intricate carvings of flames and antlers, it is a seamless piece of craftmanship, with a string the color of freshly worked metal.
A token of my favor.
The bow falls on a table.
The god is gone.
The air clears; the sounds return.
And the bow calls out for a worthy to wield it.
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Post by mai | nychnymph on Apr 16, 2020 2:42:02 GMT -6
Ioana;a simple Warlock
That's MRS. Warlock to you, bitch.
She’s only half listening to the big burly stallion protect their “diverse” group, as their employer so kindly slurred, because it’s very obvious that there is magic beginning to work in the tavern. She casts a glance around the team, spying how the young filly’s companion, a tiny thing of a wizard, but obviously in-tune with magic enough, catches the strings of a godly presence, as she and the Druid beside her have. The skeleton rodent attached to her soul does a merry dance in her saddlebag, sucking in the wisps of godly power like a fine cigar, cackling enough for even the Druid’s ears to twitch in her direction. Enraptured, she stands abrupt and pushes across through to the head of their table, not a bother for an “Excuse me” in her mind as she stares at the exploding flame in the hearth.
The god is merely there for a moment, an awe inspiring burst of flame and ash, the impact of Ignacio heightening the temperature in the inn until the air is stifling - before all that stands formerly before them is a hovering bow of restless and powerful energy.
It crackles and burns where it gently lands, in the center of their table, so hot that it runs cracks through the oak wood like rivers of lava.
[Possession Roll: 1]
She crinkles her nose in a half-show of disgust, tail flickering side to side, “Our venture is now either cursed or blessed, but here we have it. A god’s token for our merry crew. If any had a mind to back down, the chance is gone now.”
She would not wield that thing, for the demon in her saddlebags would greatly push to absorb some loathsome fire.
Ioana hated to push the idea that the more elder horses of their group had wisdom above their younger companions, but she casks a fine look over her shoulder - to the large unicorn with his teke on his sword, to the bard and missionary, and Druid and employer - not just assessing but with a firm look. Last she rests on the two younger, meeting the pale filly’s eyes with an equally smart gaze. She likes the fire in the little one’s expression, despite her age. She needs not nor wants to take charge of course, but this bar brawl would be imminent if the other patrons spy such a bow.
“Ignacio has granted us these few moments, but the second his aura has left this tavern,” She looks pointedly to the bow making a molten mess of the table, “Well we need to have found which of us wields that weapon and be out of here.”
The last thing she needs is a bar fight over a godly and priceless item to ruin her impeccable robes - and the chance of a heavy reward.
[Persuasion Check: 17]
WC: 329 | Post 3 |
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Post by kajeayn on Apr 18, 2020 4:32:36 GMT -6
J O E L
Anyway here's Wonderwall.The world shivers.
Holds its breath.
In the silence, a soft pop of a bubble could be heard, accompanied by a faint, but empathetic Fuck.
Joel puts his mandolin away, moving very carefully towards the rest of the party, standing among them and keeping one wary eye on the bow gleaming temptingly on the table.
He’s shaken, but he won’t admit it, or worse show it. It would be blood in the water here.
His every nerve jangles, screams in response to the brief presence of the fire god, and internally he can almost see his younger self cowering away, hooves over his eyes. The sudden witnessing of the god has stricken him down to his core, leaving him oddly exposed and vulnerable, and he moves closer to his new party unconsciously.
This is the last thing he’d expected to find in this tavern, and definitely the worst. He’d rather have gotten into a full out brawl. At least he could see those blows coming.
He inclined his head towards the warlock, too shaken to even speak. He has no interest in wielding the bow, but someone has to do it, and preferably not one of the damn kids eyeing it hopefully.
Post count: 4 | Word count: 202
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Post by kajeayn on Apr 18, 2020 4:38:28 GMT -6
Your efforts of persuasion did not fall on deaf ears- they were listened to, mulled over, and accepted. Angry grumbles faded into near silence, eyes dropping as for a few, blissful moments, the brewing unease quiets down. Until you realized that the silence was not the result of everyone settling down- it was an unearthly silence creeping over the tavern, muffling all sound, unhappy words merely silenced.
Still, your efforts seemed to have won out. The bar patrons were going to let you go with only a few irritable looks and maybe only one or two planning to follow you out and mug you in the woods.
And then Ignacio showed up, and everything went to hell.
As Ioana has pointed out, you have a few moments of dazed silence, every eye in the bar currently locked hungrily on the bow gleaming temptingly, pulsing in flickers of light like the hearth, now quieted down to its merry crackling once more.
You have mere moments to head this off before it becomes a bloodbath.
Better make a decision quick.
DM Post: 3WC: 178 |
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Post by Zugunruhes on Apr 19, 2020 10:16:09 GMT -6
▸Inquisitor Basvoq◂
WC 241 | Post 3
Basvoq is keen on a fight- every time his teke considers his sword's hilt he feels a spark of warmth emanating from the blade. What's a little bloodshed to keep from tales of their journey spreading? Bandits and scavengers always prove to be such nuisances on his travels and he hates having to watch over his shoulder at every step.
Not all are keen on the fight and he assents grudgingly, withdrawing the teke from his blade. Soon. He tells it confidently, as though pacifying a hungering animal. Perhaps they wish to hide their talents. As long as they are willing to fight when the time calls for it...
A greater presence seeps through the tavern as he ponders- Ignacio, god of the flames, appears from the flames. Basvoq looks away from the brilliant flames and instead gazes at the flickering shadows. He does not wish to look at the god and for a moment fears that Ignacio would know that Basvoq worships a deity that does not walk in his light. The bow is beautifully crafted and for a moment he wants to take for himself- then the feeling passes and he looks to the others.
"I have little skill with a bow, but this is surely the sign of a god's blessing. Take it, and fire an arrow for each horse that approaches and tries to take it from you. No better way than to make our intentions clear."
OOC: Basvoq rolls a 2 for his Possession/Competence check for the bow. He says "....Nevermind".
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Post by Waterdrup on Apr 20, 2020 6:26:10 GMT -6
Emelisse | Missionary
There was a lot going on as their group grew and Emelisse caught herself briefly distracted while Farooq held a melodramatic speech. Her eyes wandered to see a zesla jump from the table onto the back of a blue roan. Emelisse didn’t really hear what the druid was saying, but she noticed the creature was keeping a keen eye on the group.
Actually, she wasn’t hearing anything outside of their little group, was that right? Shaking her hood down and letting her blond and pink mane spill out, the unicorn looked around in confusion. The only thing she could hear was the fire, which was unnaturally loud. Except, within a few seconds the whole tavern seemed to be on fire, so maybe that was a logical volume.
Emelisse squinted against the hot air and the bright fire as her heartbeat sped up with adrenaline. Ignacio’s appearance was as sudden and striking as it was short. The single bow left behind rested on the table and the room returned to normal. “Gee thanks, that’s useful.” The missionary mumbled sarcastically. As they started to discuss who was going to wield the weapon the pony took a step back. “It’s not really my aesthetic, so I’ll pass.” Emelisse smiled sweetly.
Wordcount 207 | Post #3 |
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Post by galekxy on Apr 30, 2020 21:52:31 GMT -6
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