CLOSED SIGNUPS D&D: Atlyah

Falcon

Adventure Finder
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week
My Usual Online Time
I have a shifting work schedule, so My online times will be random.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Aggressive, can be passive depending on point in RP.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, scifi, futuristic modern, fantasy modern, Action/adventure, Mystery, Fan-based,
Genre You DON'T Like
MxM or FxF, Libertine, horror, High-school, slice of life
The wind blows across the continent of Atlyah. It follows the sandy coastline until it reaches cliffs and wide planes. There it moves upwards across the border of Sidon and Anderil ignoring the minor conflicts that still plagued the area, for the wind cares nothing for the conflicts of men. It continues through stands of trees and whole forests where leaves are turning various shades of yellows, reds, and oranges. It shifts up into the green hills ripe with harvest-able fields toward the mountain ranges that divides the continent in half. But before it leaves Anderil it shifts into a wide valley where a river has been split in two to flow around. and protect a city.

The city, built on a hill of its own, is ringed in high stone walls that protects the farms and residents of the valley against the many possible dangers of the outside world. In fact so good are it’s defenses that not only does it have the river formed moat and an outer wall, but three rings of inner walls as well. The population grows more prestigious with each gate you pass. But the wind doesn’t have to worry about the checkpoints manned by the red guard as twilight falls. It blows its way into the city, now nothing more than a gentle breeze, ruffling red tabards over steel plate as it passes first the outer gate and then the checkpoint to the second ring. It meanders up the cobblestone street and eventually causes a large wooden sign to creek before it again blows out of the city.

The sign is clear in the lamplight. Whitewashed wooden sign paneling with the words painted in black lettering. It’s easy to see by lantern light, swinging about a sturdy wooden door. More glowing, golden light streams out the window along with laughter, and calls for more ale.

Inside the establishment is full of the regular hustle and bustle expected this time of night. But it’s not quite the expected crowd. True there are some single patrons seated at the bar with a mug of ale and a bowl of hearty stew, and a few tables comprised mostly of friends and comrades having a drink, but for an establishment located directly next to the north checkpoint of the second ring it’s seems a bit tame. Perhaps the evening is still too early for the more rough and tumble guests.

At one corner table sits Mrs Aubrey Treefoot, the halfling instructing her three children to eat their evening meal politely. She’s on the young side of middle age and her children, twin boys and a young daughter, all still under their prepubescent years. She has left one of her helper girls in charge of the next door inn’s reception desk for the duration of the meal. Of course the Inn and Tavern are considered part of the same property.


Two barmaids weave around the room with trays containing customer orders and occasionally an older halfling woman joins in the fray. There is grey in her hair although they face looks very similar to Aubrey’s This is Corella Appleleaf, Aubrey’s mother and the proprietress of the Ox and Lamb. She handles her staff with expert direction and her patrons with a ready smile.

Very occasionally a Patron pulls her aside and speak with a low voice. Corella laughs as if she’s just been told a wonderful joke, and then when eyes have turned away leads that person to the back. Few care to notice that the patron doesn’t immediately return. Most assume they’ve gone to use the water closet just off the kitchen, but those who know understand that Corella has just received the pass-code for the underground speakeasy, and led that patron down below.

The sale of Alcohol is allowed in Whitton, if regulated by age. The setup of a gambling establishment is not. That is the Ox and Lamb’s main attraction, although few know it. Down below the tavern, well insulated to keep noise from escaping, like what one might expect in such an establishment. Past the reception room where all weapons must be checked in and left with the attendant, lies a room just as active as the one above. The bar has an actual attendant. A younger human fellow by the name of Thom. There are two card tables and one for dice games, a set up for darts, and in one corner the boxing ring.

Against a far wall over a bearskin rug sits a little table full of papers and ledgers. At first the halfling sitting there appears a boy in the dim light, but on second inspection one can see white in his blond hair, and wrinkles around his eyes. He appears to be working on the house accounts, but occasionally a drove of people will move to to speak with him right before the start of a friendly boxing match in the sand pit.

Eldrich Appleleaf is the property owner and bookie for his own establishment, and the house always collects ten percent.

Within this establishment also are seven personas of varying decent with goals each their own.
 

Sail

Weaver of Threads
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
Speed of Light, Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
Sunday; 1-6, Monday-Thursday; 3:30-8:30 , Friday;3:30-9:30; Sat 8am-9:30 pm
Writing Levels
Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Scifi, Magical
A thin line of spidersilk, eight tiny white legs attached to a small body; Simba hung from the rafters, a watchman over the denziens of the tavern below. This spider had a passenger, Simba's one and only friend, watching with him. "Simba, climb down onto my table. Our food is here."

The spider released it's grip on the silk, coasting downwards on the slight air currents of the establishments. It landed atop the small wooden table, and scurried over to see his master.

"Good job buddy. I know it's been a while since you've been fed. You deserve it after all we've been through in the past few days. I've been saving this for a while," he said as he poured a bag full of gnats, flies and various other insects onto a completely empty plate near him.

He stabbed his fork into the warm flesh of his loaded potato, throwing the hunk of delectable starches and meat into his open mouth. Once it was sufficently chewed, he washed it down with a drink of cold water.

Many of the races in the tavern would've been an unfamiliar sight to him five years before; being on the run so long had broken him of that. But, some feeling had drawn him here- could it have been his stomach? - and was determined to discover it's source.
 
Last edited:

Lazeration

Gunslinger Extraordinaire
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, One Post a Week
Writing Levels
Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Male
Favorite Genres
Sci-fi, fantasy, post-apocalypse (non-zombie), fandom (if done well) and superhero.
Genre You DON'T Like
Slice-of-life
thandal.jpg Thandal Crostwyn

Shambling into the tavern from the lantern-lit streets came a lithe, weathered figure; the gray of his hair and beard, as well as the scars that adorned his face and neck, suggested him to be a grizzled old mercenary, when coupled with his attire: a light brown leather coat to which were affixed pauldrons of the very same material, with the sleeves tucked into a set of gloves that covered his forearms, beneath which he wore an ornate red vest adorned with gold trimmings, itself atop a plain white tunic with loosened laces about the collar; a pair of well-worn black trousers that delved into equally-worn leather boots; and finally, affixed to a silver chain that hung beside the shortsword on his waist, were a bright green feather and the rank insignia of a legionnaire--two of three trophies that he had obtained from various quarry some time ago. Hoisting a well-crafted oaken crossbow over his shoulder, the man looked about, scanning the faces of the lively crowd that were a common sight at the Ox and Lamb--many of such faces he recognized, even if he was unaware of the names that accompanied them.

Scanning the interior of the building, he quickly spotted Corella, attending to her usual duties of serving drinks and prattling on with the patrons; Thandal took special notice of one man who seemed to take a keen interest to the inside of the halfling woman's ear, prompting her to erupt into her well-practiced jovial laughter before ushering the man out of sight from the rest of the crowd. It was then that he decided to remove himself from the doorway, making an immediate beeline towards Corella before she had the opportunity to slip off and become ensnared by the rabble of the evening. He stopped just short of her, his boots producing a rather audible thump, even above the chatter that reverberated throughout the room, aiming to catch her attention.

He waited before leaning down towards the halfling. "Would you perhaps know where I could find an orange cat?" he asked in a low voice.
 
Last edited:

Elle Joyner

I guess...
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day
My Usual Online Time
8:00 AM - 4:00 PM
Writing Levels
Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Probably a mix. When I GM I tend to prefer mostly aggressive, but with input from my players. I like to offer ideas and receive them. I don't like when people just take the reins and run with it though...especially in a 1x1.
Favorite Genres
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
Genre You DON'T Like
Anime. Ever. Just not my jam.

Smut. Romance as a main plot. Horror. Grimdark.
FIN

Jam and bread were easily the most delightful combination on the planet. The bread was warm still, a fresh batch, the kind with just a pinch of sugar - a sweetness that melded with the tart bite of the blackberry jam. As Delfinia chewed, eyes closed, free hand to her heart, the sounds and spectacles of the tavern faded into an acute hum, and each subtle note of flavor added harmony to the melody as a pleasant smile spilled across the lips of the minute half-elf. Anyone who knew Fin knew it didn’t take much, though, to light up her face. A kind word. A friendly gesture. Anything, literally anything at all, hot from the oven or stewed up in a pot… or cut of the vine… or, well, just food… Nothing, not anything she could possibly think of, could quite outweigh a good meal.

Breathing in through her nose, Fin opened her eyes and setting down the last few bites of bread, she brushed her hands off on her skirt, rising to her feet. As delectable as her meal had been, it was showtime, and her turn to dole out the smiles. Beside her on a chair of its own, strings freshly waxed and wooden body glinting in the tavern candlelight, lay her fiddle. Plucking it up, and the bow beside it, she clambered up, first onto the chair, then the table, and giving the surface a solid stomp with the sole of her foot, she beat out a rhythm. Then, bow skidding along the strings, fingers dancing across their rigid surface, the sound of the instrument swelled above the cacophony of sounds.

Oh once, or’ the land a small girl lived
Blonde was her crown and a crown was she give’n
Broad was her smile, and stout her build
Sit back my friend, get your tankard filled

For this is the tale and a tale I’ll tell
Of a pretty little lass and an a ne’r do well
Trouble down the middle and trouble at the start
Small of Feet and Fleet of Heart.

Her father, he was a powerful man
Held her whole world in the palm of his hand
Theirs was a life, full and gay
Till a man came along and burned it all away.

And the flames climbed high, till all was gone
None but the girl would live to see dawn
The world was lost, leaving only deep scars
Small of Feet and a Broken Heart.

But worry not my friends, for this isn’t the end
Yea, never was song of blind hope penned
Grown is the girl and her scars did heal
Small feet still but a heart of steel.
Oh small feet still but a heart of steel.

Yes, small of feet, but a heart of steel!​

Bow held high overhead as the final notes resonated from the strings, she stomped out one last time, before, with a grin, the song began anew. Sweeping back into the melody, she played with nearly reckless abandon, this time faster and more concentrated, as she danced in circles on the table top. Around and around, nearly dizzying, and all the while the illuminating smile never leaving her lips. There were, perhaps, a few things in life that were better than a good meal, after all.
 

The Wanderer

Mysterious Stranger
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both.
Favorite Genres
Any.
Jon Jon

The trip from the mountains to this city had been a long and arduous one. But Jon Jon prevailed against the freezing cold of the mountain path and whatever blocked his path.

Which came in the form of many things. But little more than a wild animal or random thief or just helping someone along. Try as they might, nothing would stop Jon Jon from delivering the message for that stranger, sure he was sick and barely able to speak beyond incoherent ramblings save for the rare moment where Jon Jon could speak to the man.

The other Monks had called the poor man crazy, stupid or dying while spewing delusions. But Jon Jon believed the man, or at least he wanted to deliver the man's message in the event that what he said was true.

This is where the issue arose. As Jon Jon didn't know where the recipient of the message was, or who to talk to for finding said individual. For while Jon Jon was somewhat strong and agile, the young man's intelligence was below average and wasn't much of a talker. And when he did talk, it was in awkward phrasing and far too blunt for anyone to really understand or take him seriously.

So that's why he found himself currently sitting in an inn, waiting for some nice warm soup to combat the cold weather outside. Wearing a greyish green outfit that most of the other students and monks wore at the monastery. Adjusted to handle the cold of Fall and soon to be Winter, and of course the long distance between said monastery and the city. The outfit mainly consisted of a dull green colored coat that covered the center of his body and head with a hood at the top and decently length coat-tail that reached the back of his knees. Under that, was a drab gray but somewhat roomy shirt that the sleeves of reached his wrists before meeting similar colored gloves on his hands.

The pants were also drab gray colored and roomy before ending in black boots that most travelers wore when traversing different terrains. A strange outfit for sure, but easily forgettable.

His brown hair kept to a very short style with the assistance of knives or other instruments that the monks used, and absolutely no facial hair to be seen on his face, the overall structure of his face was plain and unremarkable, like vanilla. His brown eyes almost adding to the plainness.

To pass the time, Jon Jon focused on a white wooden mask on his table, that was plain to say the least. It had eyeholes and two symbols carved into it but nothing else, as the mask wasn't really meant to be worn constantly and for defense beyond hand to hand. It worked as a badge so to speak, complete a task or something of the sort. Look to the scrolls to find the corresponding symbol to then carve into the mask. Then ultimately brought back when a task was complete to then have a master look over and gage you.

A fact and one of importance that had to be explained several times just so Jon Jon didn't forget it or didn't fully understand it.

The young man sighed as he looked at it. As so far, the carvings he put onto it were only for his first fight and charity. Not much and surely will be judged harshly by the masters. As they seemed to favor multiple carvings as they'd send out the ones with many carvings on their masks out into the world for important tasks. Although the symbols weren't one that Jon Jon knew, must be something he'll get taught later on.

So no one could blame him for wanting to do more things so he could have more carvings to prove his worth.

As he can't help people or do important tasks when his mask was almost completely blank as it was. In fact, the only reason he was let out for his current task was because it was deemed not as important and to be completed easily.

Speaking of which, he couldn't properly locate the man he was supposed to deliver the message to, nor even figure out the city's complicated structure. Or at least complicated to him.

He only walked into this inn because he had approached a random person for directions to a place he could get a warm meal. Beyond that, he was no closer to completing his task. It was difficult when dealing with things that required him to think hard, or not use bestowed wisdom from now deceased mentors or older students or from his own experiences.

So his task may last longer than what he and the masters intended.

And almost as if some unknown force witnessed his troubles, his soup arrived. Filled with a reddish orange steaming liquid, pieces of meat and vegetables floating in it and smelling absolutely delectable. Thanking the waitress, he used a spoon to dig into the hot meal so that perhaps it'll fuel his brain to figure out the puzzle.

That was when he heard someone began to sing a song of sorts, one he hadn't heard before. The singer was a woman with pointy ears and the song backed up with her playing of the stringed instrument. It was pleasant to hear it, and reminded him to look around the inn at the many patrons, noting a few different faces but almost unchanged from what he had seen so far.

Finished with his sweep of the patrons, he went back to his meal and listening of the music. Clapping every time the song ended.
 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
A bit of both, lean more towards passive.
Favorite Genres
Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)
Gora | Location: Ox & Lamb Inn | Interactions: Can't Remember

"Guh... Sore bottom. Never's good for me." A low rumble escaped the half-orc woman, a hand pressing into her stomach. Then came the rippling relief. Whew. That burp was damn impressive, though she knew she could could off way better. Eh... Probably was in need another swig. Yep, sounded about right. That and some distraction from her aching hind end was in order...

Listen. Everyone pulled a butt muscle. It happened, even to someone as trained as her. Heh... Wait, no. She didn't hear a joke, what was so funny?

Everything. Everything was damn funny.

But yeah, about that swig... Grunting while shifting the massive tankard of ale on her shoulder, she unfastened one of her personal gourds with a free hand, popped the lid open and tossed back a long unabashed gulp. Oh yeah. This was the good stuff. She couldn't hail enough praise and gratitude to Diale for her father's existence; his brew was and always would be the best in all of Atlyah. No one could make her believe otherwise.

Clumsily, Gora marched her way through the entrance of the Ox & Lamb Inn, accidentally knocking a stray halfling in the process. "Whoops." She yoinked the poor man up by the back of his collar and set him right on his feet... but bending over had resulted in butt-checking another innocent customer. That fallacy she didn't notice. Eh, whatever. No harm, no foul. Gora patted the halfling on the head for good measure. "All's swell 'n good, yeah? Strength flows from yer roots, remember well."

Satisfied with a her tidbit of wisdom (the halfling had no fucking clue what she meant), Gora finally started meandering towards the bar and slammed the giant tankard to the counter with a wham! She perched an arm on top of it, stole another heavy swig from her gourd, and unleashed a mousy hiccup that clashed strangely with her giant green stature. Gora had the stereotypical makings of an half-orc. The pointed ears, the elongated and sharpened under bite. However, her dark mullet... mohawk... fauxhawk... guh, she couldn't remember what the style was called--point was, it was shaved on the sides of her head and the rest pulled back into a sleek tail running past her shoulders. Combine that with her cropped jacket, billowing trousers bound at the ankles with wrapping gauze, and perpetually flushed cheeks, her persona danced awkwardly with her race.

Eh... Gora was just a messy melting pot. Which was fine by her. Pa said it made her that much more unique and lovable, and she'd take the flattery with bumbling grace.

"Deliiiiiveryyyyy," Gora sang towards the back of the bar, not really caring which employee came to pick up their order. As she waited for someone, her attention was ensnared by a catchy tune flooding the tavern and a cheery smile pulled at her lips. Ohohoho~ Entertainment! This day was getting better and better, yeah? Despite being terribly out of rhythm, Gora stomped along with the little woman, soaking in her twirls and spins and infectious optimism spilling from her makeshift stage on the table. As it came to a close, Gora cheered and hooted and clapped loudly. "Woo! Woo! That's a'what I call talent! Great! Anchor! Anchor!" The proper term was encore, and she knew that. But it was too late to fix the slip up. "Oi, oi, oi," she called out while tapping the bar again. As soon as she had a barmaid's attention, she jabbed a finger in the little musician's direction and slapped down a gold coin, "Get's her a drink of her choice--on me! Lil one damn near earned it, yeah?"
 

Applo

Beautiful like a Forest Fire
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female

Towards the centre of the Ox and Lamb, there was a table. It was in nearly every respect exactly like the tables that surrounded it; the slowly dripping upended ale mug and spotlessly clean stew bowl on it certainly weren't worthy of comment. What did make the table stand out, at least a this point in the day was the tangled mop of brown hair that was sprawled across it. Later on, as alcohol began to claim it’s nightly crop of victims, a passed out drunk wouldn’t be an uncommon sight. Now however, while sober minded folk still occupied the world the sight of a woman rendered unconscious through liquor was enough to draw muttered comments of disgust from ordinary, decent folk. Sylva heard every single slight. She ignored them.

With the ever so slightly sticky wood of the table pressing against the side of her face, Sylva watched the tavern, or more precisely she watched the doorway that lead to the speakeasy. She had been in the hidden room once. There were too many watchful eyes and not enough ways out for her taste. It was better to watch the comers and goers for an ecstatic winner or at least a loser who didn’t look too poor. It was just a matter of waiting.

Sylva was watching a grizzled human man, a soldier by the looks of his outfit, who had made a beeline for Correla when from somewhere out of her line of sight a woman burst into song. Around Sylva the other patrons of the inn roused themselves to the tune and something wet landed on her back. She barely flinched. The soldier her green eyes were fixed on had a whole host of valuable looking trinkets on their person and Sylva was making an effort mentally note what was where. She didn’t want to alert the man to her presence by suddenly recovering from her apparent drunken stupor.​

 

TheQueensGuard

Edgepeasant
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female
Cook
Ox and Lamb Tavern, the Kitchen

In the kitchen of the cozy tavern stood a peculiar figure that didn't share many characteristics with the native races of the region. It was a wide, scaled creature stirring a large cauldron of soup garbed in a brown shirt and green pants, though his clawed feet were too large for shoes. Sitting atop his head was a chefs hat, which was fitting considering the name he gave himself was 'Cook'.
Sprinkling some seasonings in the broth and tasting it with a spoon he smacked his scaly lips some before his gravelly voice murmured aloud. "Mmmhhh, good." Slicing a few more vegetables and tossing them into the pot, he scooped out some with a ladle into several bowls before sending them out towards the current customers in the Inn.

Finally getting a slight break in orders and prepping the evening meal, the large lizard made his way to the Inn. Catching the tail end of a song, Cook scanned the Inn instinctively. At first he did it in hopes of spotting a member from his old group, though now a days he did without thought. Making his way up to the bar, he placed his coin on the bar and motioned for a drink as he slipped the chefs cap off his head.​
 

Falcon

Adventure Finder
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week
My Usual Online Time
I have a shifting work schedule, so My online times will be random.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Aggressive, can be passive depending on point in RP.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, scifi, futuristic modern, fantasy modern, Action/adventure, Mystery, Fan-based,
Genre You DON'T Like
MxM or FxF, Libertine, horror, High-school, slice of life
Elle Joyner Elle Joyner and The Wanderer The Wanderer
The audience applauds Fin's song. Some whistling, some calling for specific tunes they want to hear, Some, like Gora, offer to buy drinks. The upper portion of the Ox and Lamb is the more family friendly venue and a few patrons have children with them. These begin to call out for stories.

Jon Jon, you are mostly left alone at your small table. The barmaid checks in now and again to see he has everything he wants, and every once and a while someone brushes past, but that's to be expected.

Mobley Eats Mobley Eats and TheQueensGuard TheQueensGuard
The halfling Gora knocks into is a sturdy looking fellow with a mop of straw colored hair and bright green eyes. He's dressed mostly in greens and tans and has a heavy blacksmith's jerkin on over the top. He has the shoulders and arm mass to confirm the profession, along with a good solid build and sturdy legs.

"Aye, Don't be worryin' over it, lass. 'Tis a crowded place and all." He frowns slightly at the head pat, not because he's offended but because it seems to have flattened his hair. For anyone watching as they part ways he tries to fluff it up again as he crosses the room to sit at the table with Innkeeper Aubrey and the children. By the cries of "da!" and "Papa!" it's fairly obvious that this man is their father. A few moments later his voice can be heard rising good good naturedly over the crowd again. "The food's not even here yet. You can't be sayin' I'm late," before dropping to a more conversational murmur.

The girl at the bar is Human. She's about early twenties with curling golden hair that frames her face, and a ready smile. This is Lucy. She's been working for the Ox and Lamb since she was about 18 and readily recognizes any regulars by name.

"Oh hey, Gora!" she calls, "Just let me signal the back." Lucy knocks out a rhythm on the wall behind which Gora would know is the top of the stairs which led to the speakeasy, and the seat in which one of the guards sat. The guards were officially hired to lift and carry deliveries like the one Gora brought, but they served a variety of other positions as well. A moment or two after the knocking a large Firbolg appears, his shocking red hair and short beard contrasting greatly with the pale blue rest of him. This is Lamlis. He takes his directions from Gora and heads outside to collect the merchandise.

"Do you need me to grab Mrs. Corella to sign? or is it okay if I do it. And I'll say she earned it." Lucy agreed flashing a grin at Fin who had just finished singing.

"Hi, Cook, Your usual?" Lucy's attention slides easily to the lizard man who has just joined Gora at the counter. The tankard of drink is brought and it sloshes slightly as it's set down prompting Lucy to grab a rag to wipe off the surface. Set in a rectangular cutaway in the wood of the counter and overlaid with a carefully cut piece of glass, looks to be the remains of a hand painted map. The edges are slightly burned but it's easy to see this is Whitton. The Ox and Lamb's roof is painted blue as if someone had wanted to show the guests their current location. It can't be more than 20 years old.


Sail Sail and Lazeration Lazeration
"Ah you must here to see about that stray we found!" Corella's voice is jolly with laughter. "I'm afraid he hasn't taken a shine to the barn cats, so the poor thing is down in my husband's office having a saucer of milk. Come, I'll show ye the way." The matronly hafling woman turns to lead Thandal toward the kitchen door, beyond which is the door to the storeroom and then the hidden speakeasy.

As they move they pass a row of coat hooks on which hung a variety of the patrons' outer garments. But there was something else there. Below the edge of the longest cloak extends two black paws, one of which is bandage wrapped. Following upward Thandal can make out a small shrouded form hidden among the garment. Extremely difficult to see it blends in so well with the shadows. But the paws at the bottom are a dead give away.

For Diero and his spider Simba the give away is the eyes. Diero, you just happen to look up at just the right moment to catch them. A pair of bright blue eye peeking out from the armpit of someone's red overcoat as it hangs on the hook. They appear to watch the food hungrily as it's carried from the kitchen to various tables.

There's a brief moment when Corella pauses in leading Thandal back to the kitchen to allow a few people to exit the room before she leads him in. The first is a serving boy balancing a tray full of soup bowels and warm crusty bread. The second is a stocky, black bearded dwarf who nods polity to Corella, grabs a short cloak from the hook, and leaves the inn. The third is Cook as he makes his way to the bar.

In that brief moment both Thandal and Diero see the little figure disappear from behind the coats, using the cover of those exiting the kitchen to get inside.

Corella leads Thandal inside a minute or so later and there's nothing to be seen except for the fact the the storeroom door on the other side isn't quite all the way closed. Corella doesn't seem to notice. Inside the storeroom also seems empty at first until Thandal, you spot a small feline form sitting ontop a crate near the closet that hides the speakeasy entrance.

Corella jumps like she had no clue anyone was there. "Shadow, Dear, you gave me start!"
"Sorry," the figure's voice is soft but clearly male. Wide blue eyes look up under a wrap of bandages. The fur that peak out from the cloth and covers the pointed ears is black. The whiskers surrounding the mouth look frayed and the black and grey clothing the tabaxi kid wears has clearly seen better days.

Corella looks between Thandal and the kid for a moment, her eyes clearly state worry as she looks over the bandages, before opening the cupboard door revealing the passage way beyond.
"Go on ahead sir. Thurin is waiting at reception to check in your weapons and Thom is at the bar. Lamlis should be back at his station in a few minutes and you know to check with him to make sure it's safe to leave." She clearly intends to find out what is going on with the youngling before doing anything else this evening. The passage beyond is just big enough to house a comfortable chair in the corner, and allow two men to stand abreast. A set of stairs are well illuminated by lantern light as they lead down to the basement rooms bellow. No sound can be heard, and you know it won't until you passes through the reception room. The owners are extremely careful that only the trustworthy will ever know the secret to the Ox and Lamb. Not even sound will give them away. It's doubtful even their own children know.

Applo Applo (( because you rolled that nat 20))

Sylva, you are perhaps is the first to spot the little furball as he hides behind the cloaks. He's fairly small and it is a shadowy corner which definitely helps. But it's the sort of trick that you or others you know might have tried in the past. He's not hurting anything, just seems to be watching the food. That or he's trying the same thing you are and waiting for rich clients to exit the speakeasy.

It's hard to know for certain, But you're positioned at just the right angle to continue watching him as the maid, the dwarf, and cook exit the kitchen and he sneaks into the other room. There's a moment when the dwarf, a black bearded fellow by the name of Taklinn, reaches for his cloak and you see a small bandaged wrapped hand reach out and deftly untie the coin purse from his belt. Taklinn seems not to notice. The figure in the coats then presses back against the wall and moves behind the garments before getting into the kitchen a minute or two before Corella leads her other guest in.

What you also know, is that this little guy is either extremely brave or extremely stupid. You've been in the city long enough, and made enough contacts to know that this dwarf in particular is a collector for one of the local loan sharks. He's not always the most obvious fellow but you'e been watching for his sort tonight.
 

Lazeration

Gunslinger Extraordinaire
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, One Post a Week
Writing Levels
Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Male
Favorite Genres
Sci-fi, fantasy, post-apocalypse (non-zombie), fandom (if done well) and superhero.
Genre You DON'T Like
Slice-of-life
thandal.jpg Thandal Crostwyn

Following Corella's lead, Thandal was taken through the kitchen and towards the entrance to the speakeasy. Along the way, he noticed a stout dwarf sporting a black beard making his exit: Taklinn, his name was, a thug working for the same loan shark Thandal was there to make a payment to--Thandal would have loved nothing more than to bash the dwarf's face in with the butt of his crossbow, but that would have been counter-productive for several different reasons. As they neared the secret entrance, Thandal took notice of a black-furred tabaxi prowling around about the storage area, hiding between the coats hanging upon the wall. Thandal recognized him as one of the Ox & Lamb's errand boys; a young tabaxi named Shadow in the Night, or just Shadow, as Corella called him. With a slight grunt, Thandal shifted the weight of the crossbow on his shoulder before turning away, paying the young guttersnipe hardly any concern before making his way to the door leading to the speakeasy.

Heading down the stairs to the tavern's basement, he could hear the sounds of the main floor fading away the further he descended; a precaution taken by the owners so as not to have their illicit operations found out. It disgusted Thandal to no end that Corella could put on such a grotesque matronly facade only to conduct such diabolical business under the noses of both the law and the majority of her patrons. However, he had priorities to focus on, and reporting the illicit activities transpiring in the Ox & Lamb's under dwellings to the Red Guard wouldn't free him from his responsibilities, so he simply had to deal with it. Upon arriving at the speakeasy's reception area, Thandal went through the usual circus of checking in his weapons; first, he hoisted the crossbow from his shoulder and set it down with a hefty thump before unsheathing his shortsword and laying it adjacent to the oaken mechanism, and finally unleashing the whip from his right thigh and handing it over as well. He didn't speak a word as he was shown in, wanting to drop off the coin he came to deliver and be out of this den of debauchery as soon as possible.
 
Last edited:

Sail

Weaver of Threads
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
Speed of Light, Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
Sunday; 1-6, Monday-Thursday; 3:30-8:30 , Friday;3:30-9:30; Sat 8am-9:30 pm
Writing Levels
Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Scifi, Magical
Diero paused, sucking in a small amount of air, his eyes going wide as he spotted two blue eyeballs peaking out from a red overcoat. "Simba, looks like trouble, maybe we should..." The creature plopped out of the coat, landing softly on the ground below, before bolting towards the man with the leather coat and Corella; he had picked her name up a few minutes after entering the tavern, and had made sure to remember it.

"...or not. I think this could be what we came here for, it isn't always one manages to spot one of them sneaky folk," Diero grinned, laughing at his own statement as if it were a joke, "Simba, while I draw us up a nice little illusion, why don't you go an' follow them, see where they are going?" Simba took one final bite of a stray fly wing before leaping off the table and scurrying away.

Diero fished a piece of fresh parchment from his pack-it had been a short while since he had to make a new sheet of illusions, but the old set fell into a river during a particularly close bout with the law. And then, he began to focus. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Deep breath in, deep breath out. It would seem like meditation to any others, but in the moment his second breath was released, he felt the energy of the Weave begin to buzz through his entire being. Lines exploded around him, layering each and every surface his eyes gazed upon with long strings that seemed to twist and curve into unnatural shapes and forms. He gathered the ones that had bunched up around his hand-not a natural bunching-and pulled them away from his physical hand.

His "Mage Hand" summoned, he groped around in his backpack until the lines clasped around his charcoal pencils. They soared above his head, guided by a force that very few could properly harness, and then landed on the wooden surface of the table with a satisfying "Crack!" Diero placed the Hand at the head of the paper, and began to draw. He began with the head; well cut golden curls atop a semi-tanned head, eyes that seemed to demand you paid attention. A fine suit weaved from purple threads, a pair of breeches that had been recently pressed, and a set of dress shoes that bore the marks of polishing fluid. Diero finished by signing his name by the figure-three loops with a line in the middle-before unraveling the threads that made up the Hand.

For a moment, he felt around for the tell-tale hole in the Weave that was his familiar; the moment he found it, he peaked through. His eyes became the familiar's, and his very being intertwined with his friend. He commanded Simba to follow the cat wherever he went and to report back once he(being Diero) had finished with his spell casting.

Diero pulled himself back into his body, and then returned his attention to the drawing on the table before him. Lines filled the area around the portrait-he ripped them upwards, opening up the gates in his body that held back the forces of magic- and it was as if the drawing was torn from the page, leaving behind a clean sheet of white. He layered the Weave lines on top of his own, disguising his appearance with that of the rich looking man.

The rich fellow stood up from his table, dusting off his overcoat before beginning a trek towards the location Simba had followed the tabaxi to...
 

Elle Joyner

I guess...
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day
My Usual Online Time
8:00 AM - 4:00 PM
Writing Levels
Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Probably a mix. When I GM I tend to prefer mostly aggressive, but with input from my players. I like to offer ideas and receive them. I don't like when people just take the reins and run with it though...especially in a 1x1.
Favorite Genres
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
Genre You DON'T Like
Anime. Ever. Just not my jam.

Smut. Romance as a main plot. Horror. Grimdark.
FIN

As the song concluded and Fin, with a brilliant smile and heaving chest, opened her eyes to survey the small but appreciative crowd. Tucking the fiddle and bow back onto the seat beside her own, she sank down on the table itself, green gaze drifting to the exuberant flock of children, calling for a story.

“Well, my dear hearts, gather round, then.” She cooed, with another flash of brilliance across delicate features. She waited a moment or two for them to gather, taking a drink of the cordial given to her by the staff, before leaning her elbows on her knees, chin in hand. As she began, her voice was soft, with a roiling note of building significance.

“Once, many years before you and I were born, there was a witch, a girl and a tower. The girl was beautiful... More beautiful than any in her father's land. So beautiful that she caught the attention of many a fair suitor. Including the son of a great and powerful sorceress. From far off, these suitors came to claim the girl's hand, and found not only was her beauty unsurpassed, but so too was the quality of her heart... Her kindness and goodness were unparalleled, her grace and poise without end and her voice a nightingale's song.

It was little wonder, then, that all who came with hopes of winning her hand were enamoured by her. Her father was offered gold, jewels, land… even subjects by the scores, but it was for naught. His only stipulation was that his daughter be the one to choose the man to whom her heart would be given. Fearing that he might not be chosen, the sorceress's son determined to have her and devised a plan to abduct the princess. In the process, another suitor discovered his plot and challenged the man to a duel. Despite every ill-intended effort to secure a victory, he met his demise at the hands of the suitor. The princess, in her unending gratitude, chose to marry the victor.

The sorceress, however, was unforgiving and cruel. Her wrath spilled out over the land, but nowhere greater than the kingdom itself. In the dead of night she came and stole away the princess, locking her in a tower reaching high into the heavens." Arms reaching high over her head, she emphasized the height with near childlike excitement, "And casting a spell, she removed all of the poor girl's memories. Then putting a mask on her, she waited for the girl to wake, telling her that she was a hideously deformed creature… locked away in a tower, as to gaze upon her was to invite certain death.

For years, the girl lived believing she was little more than a monster, her only companions the birds that would alight upon the sill of the tiny slit window in her bower and the witch, who would visit each day to hear the girl sing. This would prove to be the evil woman's undoing. For it was this singing that would draw to the tower the girl's champion…"
 

The Wanderer

Mysterious Stranger
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both.
Favorite Genres
Any.
Jon Jon

Jon Jon was enjoying his meal and music to the point he barely noticed the figures moving about in the shadows, and in fact he thought it was a young man and his cat. And he thought nothing of it.

The musician ceased her playing and began to tell a story to a small group of children. The scene warmed Jon Jon's heart, being reminded of the few times some of the elders in the monastery would tell a story of sorts to the young students.

But as nice as the scene was, he needed to focus. He had to figure out where to go and who to talk to. And again he hit the block that was lack of knowing what was needed to deliver the message. Maybe he'll ask one of the patrons in the bar?

Looking up, Jon Jon would examine each patron for someone who looked like they knew the answer to his conundrum.
 

Applo

Beautiful like a Forest Fire
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female

It was the slightest movement of a coat sleeve from the corner of her vision that captured Sylva’s eye; a motion so slight that other people would have questioned if had been real or their imagination. Sylva knew to trust her eyes. She hadn’t survived this long by disregarding things she had seen. Green eyes flicked from the lavishly dress soldier speaking to Corella onto the ever so slightly twitching coats and cloaks in the passageway leading to the hidden speakeasy.

To all appearances the little room appeared to be devoid of life but as the brown haired orphan watched shapes that suggested otherwise came into focus. A cloak bulging slightly where it had no reason to; the tip of a pointy ear sticking just above the rail; a dark pair of legs almost perfectly hidden in the gloom. One clue led to the next and after a few moments Sylva could see the dark furred Tabaxi as clearly as if they hadn’t been hidden at all.

The question of why a Tabaxi was hiding in a cloakroom that lead to both the kitchens and the speakeasy wasn’t one Sylva concerned herself with. She had her suspicions and they were proved right only moments later when the bandaged cat deftly relieved the dwarven debt collector of their coin purse. A smile spread across Sylva’s hair veiled face. She had competition tonight, and they had talent by the looks of it.

As the Tabaxi scurried back into the depths of the inn, Sylva went back to watching the room. The soldier had gone but that was ok. There was only one way out of the speakeasy that she knew about so they would have to reappear at some point. She could lighten their load then. At first Sylva’s gaze was drawn towards the half elf woman who had been responsible for the music. However a strangely dressed figure just beyond them stole her attention. Their eyes seemed to be lingering where Sylva herself had just been looking and they looked like they were talking to themselves, that was unless you ignored the ghostly pale spider that ran back and forth across the inns floor. Unconsciously, Sylva gently rubbed at a pocket with a thumb as she watched the strange creature scuttle of towards where she had last seen the tabaxi and an internal debate raged. One hand the kid had to learn what happened if you were seen, no one had ever helped her and it had made her a better thief. On the other hand, no one had ever helped her, and she had been chased out of her home. Comradery won out.

Rising from the table, the half-elf made a deliberately effort to appear unbalanced and unsure on her feet as she picked up her paltry possesions and staggered towards the kitchen door which she quite literally fell through. Sylva continued this shirade until she lurched into a room where she came face to face with Corella before spotting the Tabaxi lurking on a cabinet in the corner.

“Wheres su… priv- priv- privy?” Sprawling on a crate the noise of dry heaving filled the room before Sylva effortlessly dropped into the apparently nonsensical language of thieves as green eyes met the blue ones of the Tabaxi.

``You know who you just robbed? Hide what you got well. I wasn’t the only one who saw and if they find out you stole from them your rat food.``

 

Mobley Eats

Consume. Smother your doubts. Be fulfilled.
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
A bit of both, lean more towards passive.
Favorite Genres
Modern, Romance, Fantasy, Scifi, Drama, Action.
Genre You DON'T Like
Horror, Mystery (I like them, just not good at it)
Gora | Location: Ox & Lamb Inn | Interactions: Maybe Lami? Oh! Lucy for sure! Kinda yellin' at musical story lady Elle Joyner Elle Joyner

"Hey's it, Lucy!" Gora wiggled her fingers in greeting at the human woman, her smile mellowing even further with familiarity. She always liked Lucy. Real nice. Didn't ever really look at Gora weird, especially when she had chugged back one gourd too many and went beyond her limits. Haha... What were her limits again? Eh. They were pretty high. Either that or she just forgot... Yeah. Yeah. Gora definitely forgot. Chose to. Wasn't worth remembering. It'd increase over time anyway.

Oh wait. Lucy. Right.

Point was--Lucy was nice. And pretty. And was definitely the subject of a crush that had long faded ages ago. But she'd always be a friend in Gora's swimming mind. The half-orc didn't feel the slightest bit perturbed as Lucy alerted someone from the speakeasy, drawing forth the towering frame of Lamlis. Gora beamed up at her colleague. "Lamiiii~ Good's to see ya! Me cart's in the same place, yeah? Me 'n Pa brewed an extra fine load this time. One cup hads me on my ass." A harking laugh exploded from Gora's lungs, downright tickled at the memory of her falling onto her romp after inhaling a gallon of the stuff, more than ready to let the warmth in her veins lull her into a nap. But, of course, Pa had clocked her in the head and reminded her that sleep wasn't an option until she delivered... Eh, fair point. Pa made plenty of those.

"Eh..." Gora ruffled her mess of hair with a hum, one eye squinted and the other roaming the ceiling. Then, she shrugged. "Nah, you's can sign it just fine. Err... hold on." Muttering, she started ruffling through her pockets and sack in search of the papers. Nope. Not there. Or there. Not there either. Wait... Yeah, nope. She was right. Definitely not there--

Oh!

"Heh, that's right!" She jammed a hand inside the flaps of her cropped jacket and retracted the pesky documents. Well, document. Singular. And judging by its slightly crinkled state, Gora had definitely forgotten she'd put it there for a while. No matter. She had it now. She slapped it on the counter and slid it up to Lucy. "There's ya go." While waiting for that transaction to fall through, she entertained herself with the same musical lady from before, who was now spinning some sort of majestic tale.

"Ohhhh..." Entranced, Gora turned in her stool, giving Fin her full attention once more and eyes sparkling like a child at the festival. Why did the witch have to be so cruel? Were all witches like that? Meh--one couldn't soil the roots of each generation with the same hands, as they say. Who was they? No one, except for Gora. She just made that up. Ah, wait--now the princess lost her memories?? What?! The audi--! Err... avil... arrow... What Gora going on about? She was upset about something. Well, she'd rather figure out why Fin's story suddenly tapered off, especially at what the half-orc assumed to be the climax of her tale.

Obnoxiously, Gora waved her arms in an attempt to snag the little woman's attention and yelled out, "Oiiiii! What next! What next?? Who's be the champion?!"

She had to know!
 

Falcon

Adventure Finder
Original poster
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week
My Usual Online Time
I have a shifting work schedule, so My online times will be random.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Aggressive, can be passive depending on point in RP.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, scifi, futuristic modern, fantasy modern, Action/adventure, Mystery, Fan-based,
Genre You DON'T Like
MxM or FxF, Libertine, horror, High-school, slice of life
Lazeration Lazeration
The stairway is narrow but sturdy as you head down, and as you enter the small room at the base you find a counter manned by a dwarf with a fiery beard. This is Thurin. He grunts at you but when Thandal doesn't seem to want to talk doesn't say much else. The weapons are taken and set together on a shelf behind the counter, and then the door to the speakeasy is opened.

As Thandal steps through sound greets your ears. What was nonexistent at the top of the stairs, and muffled in the reception room, is now easily recognizable. Beer mugs clinking, a bit of drunken singing and general chatter, dice rattling, and a card deck being shuffled. There are a few dice and card games set up at tables to the left with professional dealers to discourage cheaters, but there are also a few games being played between friends.

In the right hand corner is the boxing ring, a square pit full of sand, currently empty. Set up against a wall where he can watch the ring sits a thin faced hafling with pale hair who seems to be going through some ledgers.

Sail Sail , Applo Applo
(Spidy adventure based on OOC rolls)
The little white spider makes it's way into the kitchen and what it thinks is stealthy across the room to the storage area where Corella was now checking on Shadow. The Spider sneaks under the door and then turns to climb up the outside edge of the door frame. Both the tabaxi and the mistress of the tavern see it. Shadow couldn't care less about a spider. He's used to them to the point of being completely uninterested. Corella, however, hates them.

She yelps and grabs for a broom trying to use the bristles to knock the spider down. However she is so started that she gets a good foot under where Simba is currently trying to climb. The familiar manages to speed climb the rest of the way and find a little crack where he can hide at the top of the door.

Sylva, you manage to make your entrance before Corella can begin to upbraid the young Tabaxi.
"The water closet is located just..." she starts to answer before being interrupted by your act. But as you began to speak in the mixed terms that make up the thieve's cant the young Tabaxi twitches an ear towards you.

"Kulo," he answers softly as if muttering to himself, which you know means "Understood" in most city dialects. But his attention stays on Corella. "It's really okay, Mama Corella. I just came to get- get some food for myself 'n the others. I think the lady's drunk though... I could... help her outside or something?"

Corella's eyes fall on you, Sylva, Trying to decide if you need help or not.Her worried glance turns to Shadow and after a moment she sighs.
"All right, miss. Young shadow is going to help you home. You see to do as he says. Shadow, when you're done with that Come back and talk to Cook. I'll see he knows to have a meal ready."

Mobley Eats Mobley Eats TheQueensGuard TheQueensGuard Elle Joyner Elle Joyner
Cook's break is just long enough for him to enjoy a well deserved mug, and watch the goings on around him.

"There you go," Lucy grins as she digs out a writing box from behind the counter and after pulling the quill out and opening the ink bottle, leans over the bar to write her name carefully in a tidy, swirly, scrawl at the bottom of the slip. You can just take that down to Mr. Edrich and he'll see you get the proper payment. And probably make the next order too the way business has be running. You going to be around long this time? There's a new...." But it's at this point that Lucy realizes that Gora's not paying her any attention, and with a smile puts the writing kit away and goes back to her work.

Off to the side the Bard has gathered every child in the place around her as well as most of the parents. Their eyes are wide as they listen to the story, and one man has even forgotten he has a spoon of stew halfway to his mouth.

The Wanderer The Wanderer
The story telling makes the perfect opportunity for you, Jon Jon to see the various patrons gathered around. The father of the halfling family seems to have a smith's smock tied around his waist still. A pair of elves in one corner seem to be merchants of some kind, and on the other side sits a human man who by the manner of his dress seems to be a cleric of some sort. With your time in the monastery you have a pretty good idea of how most clerics dress and this guy seems fairly close to the mark. A long over robe that can double as a coat in a dull grey, with a red mantle over his shoulders. Around his neck hangs what looks to be a carved stone holy symbol on a thick leather chord although the angle it too off to make out what it is. Short iron grey hair brushed back from a lined face indicates the human male's age. He seems to be reading a book as he eats his stew.

You keep looking and spot what might be a couple off duty guards, their red and white uniforms showing more than usual as some of them have removed various pieces of armor to make sitting and eating easier. They've taking up one of the little booths set against the kitchen wall and seem to be deep in quiet conversation.

You also see something flashing in the lamplighter as Fin tells her story, around her neck is an amulet barring a golden harp. You know this from a recent encounter, to be the symbol of Caleah the patron deity of music and stories. This, you remember, had been the god worshiped by the stranger who had visited your monestary.
 

Elle Joyner

I guess...
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day
My Usual Online Time
8:00 AM - 4:00 PM
Writing Levels
Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Probably a mix. When I GM I tend to prefer mostly aggressive, but with input from my players. I like to offer ideas and receive them. I don't like when people just take the reins and run with it though...especially in a 1x1.
Favorite Genres
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
Genre You DON'T Like
Anime. Ever. Just not my jam.

Smut. Romance as a main plot. Horror. Grimdark.
FIN

"Now, now…" Fin gently chided the loud woman who had joined the story circle, "Don't be hasty, dear. Can't rush a good story."

Grinning, she leaned back on her hands, studying the crowd surrounding the table, in particular, the eager expressions of the children, "I imagine you probably have the impression this champion was the suitor. I wish, for the purpose of narrative that were the case. Unfortunately, while a noble man and good, patient, he was not, and after a few short months, he returned home to his kingdom, to marry another."

Gaze drifting slightly, she shook her head, almost as though a personal sadness overtook her for a moment, "In truth, most thought the girl dead, and rightfully so, I suppose, for how long she had been gone. Her champion, as it turns out, had no idea who she even was. Her music, you see, was a thing of immense beauty, and he was a simple farmer, on his way home from trading at a distant market. That morning, and that morning only, the witch was in a particularly agreeable mood, and deigned to allow the girl to sing with the shutters open. As she sang, her voice carried out across the hills below the tower. In his humble cart, driven by a tired and very stubborn mule, this farmer heard and borne by curiosity and fascination, enamoured of her majestic aria, he turned off the path, and into the forest… towards the promise of a lady fair."

Pressing upright, Fin raised her arms overhead, briefly stretching them as high as possible, "The tower cut straight upwards like an enormous blade, and as he came upon it, the white alabaster gleamed with a green hue of the canopy surrounding it. The column stretched into the heavens, wreathed in cloud. A single window sat near the height of it, and as he walked around the exterior, no door could be found. For a moment, he thought to call out, but then it struck him as rather odd, a tower in the woods… A maiden inside, locked away with no way out. Surely such treatment was reserved for the worst kinds… and no creature with a voice so pure could be anything but good. In his mind he knew that the girl was a captive here. And in that moment… though neither brave as a knight nor wise as a wizard, he devised a plan to rescue her…"
 

Lazeration

Gunslinger Extraordinaire
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, One Post a Week
Writing Levels
Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Male
Favorite Genres
Sci-fi, fantasy, post-apocalypse (non-zombie), fandom (if done well) and superhero.
Genre You DON'T Like
Slice-of-life
thandal.jpgThandal Crostwyn

The various sensations assaulting the bounty hunter were those that he was unfortunately all-too-familiar with: the smell of age-old ale permeated the room from all the countless tankards that had been spilled over; the raucous shouts of the myriad vagabonds the Appleleafs called patrons erupting from the gambling tables--someone was indubitably being made out to be a cheat by some other sorry sod with horrid luck; several ugly faces dotted the room, either sitting down to drink and gamble or standing over the game tables cheering on their mates. Either way, it was enough to make Thandal not want to be here any longer than he had to.

Striding along the breadth of the room, he made his way to the back corner, taking note as he always did of the smatterings of blood present in the sands of the minuscule arena they had constructed, his eyes finally shifting to the figure of the halfling who operated this entire lousy gallimaufry of illicit affairs. Mr. Appleleaf was, as he was wont to do, attending to his bookkeeping, making extra certain that there wasn't a single penny--dirty or otherwise--out of place. Procuring a small sack from his belt upon approach, the bounty hunter tossed the money down on the table in front of the halfling, producing a merry jingle of clinking coin as it contacted the wooden surface.

"Is'all there," the bounty hunter said wearily, "count it up if you'd like."
 
Last edited:

Sail

Weaver of Threads
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
Speed of Light, Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
Sunday; 1-6, Monday-Thursday; 3:30-8:30 , Friday;3:30-9:30; Sat 8am-9:30 pm
Writing Levels
Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Scifi, Magical
Diero's presence sat within Simba as he listened to the conversation. Strange words were tossed out-at one point the lady had mentioned someone named "Cook". He took a deep breath with his real body, drawing his attention back to his own surroundings. As much as he would have loved to stick around and listen to the story the elvish woman was telling, there were more pertinent matters at hand.

"Remember, posh accent, posh accent, not your normal accent..." Diero thought to himself as he crossed the room to the door he saw the cat-who he now knew as Shadow- enter. He pushed the first door open, hoping his appearance would make people less likely to care about his actions. "No one back here?"

He continued forwards, rounding the turn before kneeling in front of the first door on his right; he could see the second one from his position, where he assumed the two people were conversing. He drew a long breath in, waiting to feel the small thread that connected himself and Simba-the moment he sensed it, he pulled on it. The white spider vanished, reappearing on his right shoulder, before he stood up, walked forward and pushed the second door open. Here goes nothing...

"Am I...intruding on something? Good pal o' mine said there was like a, um, 'secret room' that only rich folk could enter, and I think I qualify for that description. His name is, uh, Thurin. Good man..." Diero slouched as he spoke, prepared for the fine old lady to let him into the room so he could finish whatever task he was supposed to do.
 

Applo

Beautiful like a Forest Fire
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female

Continuing her charade of being a common drunk, Sylva let Shadow help her back to her feet; she put a little of her weight on the tabaxi to help sell the act. Before the pair could leave the room however, the door she had staggered through swung open once again. The first thing Sylva noticed about the stranger was just how fine their clothes were; it was a habit. The second thing was the pale white spider sitting on their shoulder. Was that another one? That seemed unlikely.

With Shadows apparent support, Sylva let her loll to one side in an attempt to get a better look at the newcomer. They didn’t look like the strangely dressed man she’d seen watching the cloakroom at all but there was something strange about them they didn’t seem quite right. The way they walked and the way they talked to didn't seem to fit the clothes or their story as to how they knew about the speakeasy.

“Somethings wrong.” Even in thieves cant, Sylva spoke in a deliberately slurred whisper. “Watch the white spiders.”​

 
  • Like
Reactions: Falcon