The Tavern

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Dragonslayer Ornstein

Captain of Lord Gwyn's Knights
Invitation Status
,
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per day
Online Availability
Late 8:30PM-either bedtime for work or till whenever
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept
Preferred Character Gender
Male
Genres
fantasy, scifi, sci fantasy, modern fantasy, Academy, medieval.
Xavier tensed suddenly, his blade still laying on his shoulders as he turned his head towards the cry of an infant, this just has not been my day he thought as he looked up. He hoped beyond hope that something kept the things from hearing the child but started looking for another way out other than the entrance back to the tavern. He sighed, it was sas soft, low sigh barely audible even in the silence after the babe's outcry. He looked back at Leecia and shook his head. Leaning his head in and whispering as quietly as he could "The people are trustworthy due to the fact they do or say anything to me they doom themselves. Even if they still wish me out or harm I am one of two warriors here who could maybe stall long enough for them to get away, depending on how many creatures are up there I should say." He moves back to a respectable distance and bows slightly to her, he then looked away and up again listening, hoping that these creatures would say something, or give a hint as to what they would do next.
 

Saint Allison

Human After All
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept
Preferred Character Gender
Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
I am open to playing a variety of genres and characters! In reality, I like everything from magenta nail polish, to M1A sniper rifles, to fluffy old cats, to Mad Max, to warm pillows. I give the characters I make a lot of attention, and I like to get lost in other worlds. As such, I have a particular fondess for Sci-Fi/Fantasy, but I am not limited to them at all.
Ulgar's blood suddenly felt thin in his veins, and his eyes lost their focus. He stumbled backwards as he stood up from his crouched position, the arrows in his quiver clacking noisily. He caught himself with a flailed arm against a tree, feeling spent and weak. As he was questioning his condition, a painful slash flew from his left ankle and one his knees buckled as he felt his muscles accordion up his calf.

Grogoth turned and saw the wounded elf sprint away from his kneeling archer and towards the tavern. He had signaled the main body that these outskirts were low-threat, and that he'd wrap up any opposition with his three man team. He had faith the elf wouldn't get far as he yelled at Ulgar to fire at her and to Urik to follow him as he advanced towards the still softly lit bar, his leather boots bound in iron leaving dark impressions in the mud.

The child's cry calmed as it heard the sweet voice of the bard Veena contrast against the military cadence outside. A woman's desperate voice behind the elf's shoulder whispered, "Emma? Did you find my Emma??"

Out of nowhere a wet -boom!- was heard, followed quickly by the intense crackling of flame against wet wood. From where he sat, Adrian would be the first one to smell the acrid smell of smoke drifting into the already stuffy air of the secret cellar.

Xavier would hear the hyperventilation of Leecia as the darkness and claustrophobia began to capture her mind.

As the group was yet to realize what had transpired above, a young man named Simon would find his shoulder pressed against something on the wall that gave way when he put weight on it. Turning to look, he saw faintly glowing, old fashioned cyan script carved into a small stone plate that to his expert's eyes, said the simple phrase: "Two Taps to Travel".
 

Saint Allison

Human After All
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept
Preferred Character Gender
Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
I am open to playing a variety of genres and characters! In reality, I like everything from magenta nail polish, to M1A sniper rifles, to fluffy old cats, to Mad Max, to warm pillows. I give the characters I make a lot of attention, and I like to get lost in other worlds. As such, I have a particular fondess for Sci-Fi/Fantasy, but I am not limited to them at all.
Nausea radiated throughout Roger's body, peeling the warmth from his skin and blossoming into a wretched choking cough that colored the grass he lay on a bright arterial red. Moving his legs produced an immediate cramp in his ribs, followed by a sickening crunch. He was a crumbling wall of wet dog. His tongue weighed a thousand pounds, and his last whine was steeped in iron.

"God knows how much I love you, my dearest Madeline"

----

Smoke snakes it way through the floorboards into the cellar, ascending into Ander's nostrils. The Kneeling Man is burning alive and not a single dirty rug or posh bottle of whiskey is going to survive the inferno. His entire life is about to be ground into a fine ash by the boot heels of his own ignominious inaction.

"Bloody feckin' hell! Get outta my way!" he practically yelps as his arms tense and flail at the bodies around him, the crowd like so much dirt on a newly planted coffin. The ink isn't going to dry on ol' Anders death certificate, no sir! He reaches the ladder they'd all descended and with a fist he punches the wooden square with all the emotion in his flaring soul.

Pain promptly reminds him willpower only gets you so far as his knuckles barely raise the boards an inch before slapping back down into the indent they've inhabited for years. Cursing in gibberish he allows some of his wild anger to leak out with the blood dripping out of his hand, and with the sliver of clarified focus that pain brings he is able to discern that -pushing- is a more appropriate method to gain his freedom.

----

Ulgar drew his bow back with the strength only the newly hopeless are capable of achieving. He knew there was no place in the Thousand for cripples. This short, dainty, red-haired piece of shit had ruined his leg. -HIS FUCKING LEG!- that'd spent so many god-awful years holding him upright in the pitch black underground waiting to be called upon. One of his molars split from the tension in his jaw, and the nocked arrow began to smolder with raw heat; hairs of deep maroon flame flickering in the wind dancing through the broad-head.

He remembered making this particular fellow. It'd taken a whole day to construct, to tweak the fletching's angles just right so the flight was true. He'd sharpened the blades to an edge he was righteously proud of.

Every single pillar and scrap of his being went into this moment. The fire's dance on the blade was now a riot, the bow's arms screaming for vengeance.

snap. went everything

----

Grogoth watched the world in slow motion from a noble stance amongst the sodden grass and thistles. The elf running towards the tavern was throwing up streaks of mud in a sprint, making comical progress with how often she was slipping.

His eyes were bare to the evening air, the moisture comforting somehow; His natural calm felt at home. It was why he'd been chosen to lead. Why the explosion that now tore the entire side of the tavern into a blazing crimson holocaust only made him turn his cheek in reverence to the heat, not submission.

----

Leecia combed through the layers of shock and fear that unfolded on top of her but she couldn't escape. She could wait, or she could fight. No, wait, she couldn't... you can't cut air with a sword, even a royal one. Her father's useless prayer strangled her stuffed rabbit Leonile as he hung from her waist. She couldn't focus. Couldn't stop thinking couldn't. Could + Not? What's the point of saying those noises, anyways?

The light, oh my god-that-I'm-not-sure-exists there is a light. This is my escape. This is my wonderful path home.

----

The explosion threw Anders against the bar, trashing his liquor collection and blinding his aging eyeballs with one fell swoop. His nostrils now filled with the peculiar odor of smoking rock and the stinging bite of alcohol.

----

Leecia was re-birthed into a world of colors any witnesses would have endlessly argued were either brown or red. She felt the pull of her leather belt against her thighs, the strands of hair folded behind her ear, and the prickling of her eyelids as airborne particles of dirt and carbon dioxide blew into them.

She gave in to wild instinct and pulled her sword from it's sheath. Slashing madly at the air she began to scream her confusion in unhindered strokes. Stumbling towards the exit she kicked at the broken bottles and crumbled rock, not noticing Anders sprawled on the floor, his body soaked in amber despair.

The colors changed as she bolted from the doorway; any witnesses would have agreed unanimously it was a delectably rare shade of grayish-green. The forest was beginning to still for the night, it's depths darkening and inhabitants quietly curling in their nests. The sky was overcast, the sun having set and it's last gift of light blooming in white through the cracks in the clouds. The cool air against her cheek contrasted so well with the heat of the Kneeling Man she swore it was a loving caress from a sentient atmosphere.

And then he appeared.

A black figure with a two-handed sword that rested with horrific confidence across his shoulder. The rise and fall of his iron breast the only indicator he was alive. She shivered now as the caressing cold slid down her throat and violated her lungs, coursing through her bloodstream and making her fingers twitch. His armor was marred with bits of lichen and drops of mist, but it's quality was never brought to a point of doubt.

She tore herself away from him for a desperate moment, trusting him to stay put, trying to grasp for anyone who could save her... help her... even simply kill her without pain to escape this fate.

She saw an archer collapsed against a tree, his skin pale as the moon and arms limp with lifelessness. She saw an elf groveling in the mud, tears of involuntary shock pasting her delicate red hair to her face.

"I'm alone."

----

Grogoth set the skull shaped visor of his captain's helmet in place; The metal sockets rung with a glossy emotion-less stare. He lifted his sword off his shoulder with one gauntlet-bound fist and lowered it to his side, his forearm bulging against the chainmail.

Even in this moment of quiet conquest, honor rolled off his posture in fumes of gold as he bowed deeply to the girl in the doorway. Nothing could stop her death. It had been decided with kindness the day she was born that this was the minute of her end. However, her choice to greet his inevitable arrival with distinction would be her legacy, even if it only lived on in the dark throne room of his mind, and the doubtful recollection of a fleeing elf.

----

Leecia wrested control of her fingertips, winding them around the hilt of her father's royal sword as she beheld the bow of a captain of the marching thousand. This is everything she had wished for when she stepped from the castle only a month ago. To meet an enemy worth fighting. But oh my... the atmosphere that caressed her now with solemn cold was the truth. She was soothed by the realization that she was incapable of surmounting this frigid black mountain. She had done her very best, and she would continue until the last blow was dealt. There were no tears in her eyes, the whine and crack of the fire behind her was gone from her senses.

She was at peace at last.



*****



Morning would see a girl buried in a mound besides a solider, their necks both broken and bodies unmarred by blood. Their resting place behind an inn charred to its bones, all its ruined potential and lost history blackened to smoldering soot.​
 
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CynderTheDragoness

Shadow, Fear, Wind, and Poison
Invitation Status
,
Posting Speed
Multiple posts per day
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept
Preferred Character Gender
Female, Primarily Prefer Female
Genres
I can play most genres, but fantasy, magic and animals are my best.
Bloddy dagger in hand, Rowen made her way to the tavern though thickening mud. The ground beneath her feet was slick and the Elf woman lost her balance on a few occasions. An explosion knocked her back onto the ground, threatening to re-open the wound she had so hastily closed. The tavern had been blasted open. It now burned in the crackling flames. Terrified screams could be heard from somewhere within. A few people ran from the inferno. One of whom was the Princess who had proposed the forming of a company.
 

Saint Allison

Human After All
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per week
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept
Preferred Character Gender
Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
I am open to playing a variety of genres and characters! In reality, I like everything from magenta nail polish, to M1A sniper rifles, to fluffy old cats, to Mad Max, to warm pillows. I give the characters I make a lot of attention, and I like to get lost in other worlds. As such, I have a particular fondess for Sci-Fi/Fantasy, but I am not limited to them at all.
Simon rapped a shaky knuckle on the carved stone, and with a crash, a section of the wall fell away, golden light offering a hand to the desperate souls in the cellar. It pulled them down a tunnel lit by lanterns that were coated in dust, and held in place by a skeleton of rafters sanded to a fine, yet similarly dirty, finish. The air consisted of a metallic-scented breeze, its temperature oddly cold, generously consumed by the raging flames above.

This exit was the only option.

The band of refugees coursed onwards through the winding passage, eager to find what would appear at the end.
What they found would not disappoint, but would not excite. A single, locked door, with a frame made of the same polished wood as the support beams. It's mechanism appearing normal enough, yet without any peephole or crack to peer through.
 
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