You may begin to RP if ya want. :)
Vigilance shuddered, as if hundreds of voices screamed out at once and were silenced. Probably the awful ale.
This tavern was getting to him. Still, the spooky ghost sounds from the attic were a nice touch. Magic mouth maybe? Could be a true haunting. Those things happened in Ustalav. Still, most likely a trick for atmosphere.
He was good at lying. Even to himself.
As overcast as the day is, the sudden chill the flows through the door as it opens seems out of place. Those near the door feel gooseflesh rise along their skin as the air chills, faint mist coming from the mouths of those nearest as the small crowd parts without truly realizing why.
A deligate, wraithlike figure seems to glide forward, a filmy cloak moving without breeze, almost as if underwater as it wraps around her form.
Alongside her, almost unnoticeable, the dust on the ground is disturbed as if by another pair of feet to her left and a little behind her.
As she lifts her head allowing a glimpse under her hood, grey eyes of an almost crystalline clarity gaze out of a face at once both youthful and ageless, filled with awareness far beyond imagination.
Those eyes pass over the assembled group patrons seeming to stop on nothing, nodding to something unseen.
Flowing across the room to the bar she sits, eerie sounds echoing around her.
”A glass of wine please”
As the first shadows of night start encroaching the eerie tavern Lauran makes her way to its sorroundings: she circles the perimeter of the structure three times making certain no bolt holes or other "unusual" means of entrance are present. When satisfied she enters the establishment and she takes a place at the bar.
Let's see if this place really is haunted as the townsfolk claim...
She smiles at the bartender, although her smile never touches her eyes:"A chilly evening for travel. I'll have something to warm my bones, spiced wine, maybe?"
As she orders the inquisitrix checks the rest of the room without atracting undue attention. Then, when the bartender returns with her order she asks innocently:"This seems to be a really old tavern. I wonder which kind of stories it could tell if it were able to talk... Any famous tales you know about it, my friend? Seems like the right night for a ghost story..."
Dr. Garriton Alderly entered the dimly lit tavern, shrugging off his worn but well-kept traveling cloak. Even though the establishment seemed to have a fire going, it's flames didn't seem to stave off the outside chill as well as would be expected. Still, the smells of hot food mixed with stale beer and sweaty travelers promised at least a minor, if mildly unpleasant, respite from what seemed to be an approaching rainstorm outside.
Alderly proceeded to a table near the back, sitting alone as was his preference. His dark eyes took in everything and everyone, lingering perhaps a little longer on the woman sitting by the bar. She looks quite familiar; do I know her? I feel as though her and I have had dealings before, and our business remained unfinished ... or maybe not. This land can do strange things to a person's memory.
He began looking around for someone to take his order, a server, or barring that, he'll simply bark to the barkeep. "Whiskey, and a glass. Something to take away the smell. I'll also have some of whatever you've got cooking back there."
A slight female figure; very short for a human, elf or orc; but too tall & slender for any of the shorter races. It's possible, even likely, that she simply hasn't reached her full height yet as the bloom of youth is still quite apparent in her features. Nevertheless, she holds herself with the poise of one trained to the arms & armor she bears, even if the sword strapped to her back is nearly as long as she is tall. Her eyes light up at the sights & smells of raucous companionship & those of you who pay attention to such things notice they don't quite match, the one being noticeably lighter in hue than the others.
"An ale please, an' a trencher of whatever smells so mouthwatering." She calls out, her lips unconsciously curling into a smile.
Heavy rain starts pounding the rooftop mere moments before his entry, the door opens to claps of thunder powerful enough to rattle plates and glasses.
Opening the door is an average man, hood pulled tight in a feeble attempt to stay dry. Drenched from head to toe he drips for a moment as he removes his cloak and hangs it to dry. He then set his pack to the floor.
With his cloak gone it reveals a thin figure with red hair, chain shirt covering his torso and a rapier and hammer fasten to his belt.
Just my luck! Not even five strides to go!
Peers around the room as he wipes water from his face, noticing the multitude of ladies in attendance.
Well, at least the company is fair this night!
Heads to bartender, Something warm and filling, please, and a cup for the chill in air.
Turns to room, looking for company, but not willing to barge in.
I'm sure most in here are accustomed to more handsome lads than me!
The bartender feels a strange sense of deja vu as he looks at the people surrounding him. He nods to everyone and begins mixing their drinks, one at a time. as he does, he begins to talk.
"Aye miss, there are many a story about this inn. It is almost 300 years old, of course its got some interesting tales. Lets start with, say, the first owner of this very inn. He was a fright to look at, and many people laughed at him for his hideous appearance. He, one day, got sick of all the laughing and began to slaughter travelers in their beds at night, taking them to the cellar to be buried."
He turns around with a bottle of whiskey and a glass, a nice glass of spiced wine, a glass of the finest red wine he had to offer, and a warm cup of rum.
"He got away with it too, for 15 years. People who come into inns often are travelers who aren't familiar to the faces around its city." He smiles a wicked grin. "Your soups will be out soon."
A little after you all get settled, a small girl, slightly eerie to look at, comes out with a tray of hot stew. Her face looks sullen and her eyes are dark, her hair looks wet, but you cant tell by what. She almost floats across the floor, but you can explain that by how long her dress is. To each person she comes to she whispers: "Here's your soup... Careful..." She seemingly floats back to the back... Wait, did she even open that door?!
Vigilance's gaze searches around the crowded bar room. Looks like it's beginning to bustle. I wonder what the perfect population is for civility before a chosen culture becomes chaotic... overpopulated. Really must stop drinking. Become sentimental while drinking. Start thinking about statistics. Changing the world.
As the lanky man stands from his table, his knee length, navy-blue pea coat falls away revealing the hardened leather armor underneath. His wide-brimmed hat slips back slightly revealing a shortened, twisted horn the color of ripe peaches hiding in close-cropped black hair.
Noticing his hat is askew, the man lifts his walking cane up and tips the hat back into place. Really must buy better hat. Barely fits. Private investigation business is sound job for moral well-being, but does not pay for fine attire. Hope no one noticed the horn. My kind most likely not welcome in superstitious areas, especially Ustalav.
Vigilance approaches the bar once more, setting his flagon of ale down, almost entirely untouched.
"Well done. Now, less dirt in the next cup. Done with this one."
Something to be said about sentimentality. Very short something. But, something.
"You also have a tendency to think out loud." The petite young woman whispers across to him, her brows arched in amused bemusement.
At the serving girl's arrival & caution, she looks up. "Thank you! Don't let him keep you up too late!"
How odd... Her eyes narrow as she observes the girl's peregrinations, the soup almost forgotten, but not before a spoonful touches her lips.
The bartender looks at the strange man. He goes to get another glass, pours some liquid into it, and plops into the glass a straw. "To help you out, sir." He smiles.
"How long has your daughter been helping in the Inn?" The young woman queries of the bartender before he leaves once more.
Falkner looks at a letter that he received some time ago and matches the name of the lodge in the letter to the one that is before him. A gust of wind catches the door as he opens it causing it to slam against the wall. Embarrassed he waves an apology to the guests before approaching the bar a few feet away from the other patrons.
He stairs at the stunned bartender for a moment before he realizes he isn't the most handsome in the room. He quivers at the memories of being maimed and mutilated by hobgoblins in his youth. The scaring on his face and mutilated ears always give strangers a morbid first impression of the half-elf. Most would probably think his jerks are just shivers due to his lack of winter clothing opting to only wear a light cloak with a pair of heavy pants and well worn boots. He drops a large pack of gear to the floor beside him spreading snow all over.
Sir, how much are rooms?
Gratefully takes the rum and then the soup. Eyes the strange child carefully, but nodes in thanks when served.
Listens quietly as the attractive child?...women? questions the bartender. Also watches the man talking to himself carefully, mental patients being some what common at home, he watches silently to see if he is a little insane or just off.
Tips cup and smiles at any that meet his gaze.
edit:wrong alias used! whoops!!
Vigilance eyes the straw warily before taking a slow sip of the ale through it. "Thank you. Not dignified, but clean. Safe."
Turning to the armored woman next to him, Vigilance looks at her, his straw still firmly planted in his lips creating a ridiculous contrast to the serious glint of his cat-like green eyes.
"As for thinking out loud. Habit. Try to break it, but life gets in the way. More important things to do. Sad, serious things. Sometimes even soup things."
The tiefling's gaze follows the small girl as she leaves before turning back to the new target, the bowl of soup. Did not order soup. Still got some.Soup must be safe. Soup usually safe.
Jethnash walks into the tavern covered in rain, mud, and other debris of the road. Before even looking at the rest of the room he whispers a few words, and his cloak is suddenly clean again.
He walks up to the bar, and sits in a chair off to the side of the other bar patrons.
Pulling off his cloak he reveals a face that is paler than that of a corpse. The only color to his face is a small undertone of blue as he glances at the bartender, and waves him over.
"I require some of your worst ale please."
Jethnash simply sits there, and glances at the other patrons as he waits for his ale to arrive.
Gazing out through the large set of paneled windows that allow light to pierce into the grandeur living room Charles often spends reading books within, the Lord stares out at everything below.
The bleak, chilling darkness that surrounds his building and town is one such darkness that he has grown accustomed to, and sipping his crimson red wine, he watches as those he lives above go about their usual lives below, beneath the night filled sky.
It appears the Tavern is busy as usual.
Knocking back the remainder of his wine, he thinks to himself once more.
The stories that come from within that Tavern are far less bothersome than the creatures I have encountered.
Turning around slowly, Charles makes his way towards his high seated, crimson leather chair, as he picks up a book in passing.
Seating himself in front of the fireplace, the man crosses his legs and continues to read from where he last left off.
Tales of Horror and Atrocity: The chilling tales of those that survived he reads to himself.
Most of this content is heavily exagerrated, but a handful of stories are eeriely accurate. Perhaps there is some truth to this book after all.
Suddenly, thunder can be heard from above the Castle, as forked lightning and rain begins to fall, heavily disturbing the residents below.
The door of the inn opens slowly with a creek. A gust of wind blows in and a few drops of rain spatter onto the wooden floor as dark slender figure steps into the shank room.
The stranger takes of his hat, revealing long black hair as well as the fine facial features and pointed ears of an Elf. He remains standing with the door open and studies the colorful hodgepodge of characters visiting the tavern. Clearly many of these people are not from here but also plan to attend the ceremony.
The Elf slowly approaches the bar his shoes clacking slightly with every step. He stands at the bar and eyes the barkeep with dark orbs as the barkeep finally turns his attention to him. The Elf adresses him.
Good evening fine sir. The soup looks rather delicate I would care for a serving.
Then the man looks up to study the selection of drink. Before going on:
And a glass of red wine. You wouldn't by any chance have a room for the night?
Falkner turns to the two newest patrons. "Hey, you both need to wait utnil I get one."
The Elf looks up at the man adressing him and shoots him a disrespectful stare but then speaks again his voice meleodic but his speech quick and well pronounced.
Anything else would be rather inappropriate don't you think?
Falkner shifts so he has a better view of Zadrol and gives a calm reply. Just as long as we are understood. I don't need you thinking you have precedence just because i'm a half blood.
Jethnash chuckles.
"He'll get to you when he has the time just as he'll get to everybody."
The barkeep looks over at the little lady. "Oh, that's not my daughter missus. And the rooms are all free literally and figuratively. If you can make it one night in there, THEN you can pay me. Tips are appreciated though!" He mixes up his best worst ale and hands it to the requesting man, then gives the elf and the half-blood elf warning stares. "The spirits in this house do not like feuds. Hold your tongue. The Phantom of the Tavern is here, inside your minds." He makes up a glass of red wine for the elf, raising his eyebrow.
The young maiden comes back around, giving soup to those who request it. She seems to be dripping some kind of liquid that never hits the ground. To everyone she whispers: "Here's your soup... Careful... He is here..."
Heh. Now this might get interesting. Maybe a fight? Or at least an argument?
Alderly knocked back a glass of the whiskey and grimaced ever so slightly at the relatively cheap quality. Still, it would do well for warming him on this night, as might the soup. He took several spoonfuls and downed them nearly as quickly as the whiskey, not really tasting it until the third or forth spoonful. Not bad. Had better, but lots worse too. After that, he stops and pours another glass of the booze, this time sipping, rather than gulping.
As he ate and drank, Alderly continued to watch the patrons. The man with the straw in his drink was particularly interesting. An obvious fied-blood, who just as obviously doesn't want people to know that. Yet his mannerisms are odd enough that people are going to look at him. I wonder if he realizes the contradiction.
Alderly's gaze was also drawn to the man with very pale skin, and he observed him for a time as well. Now that's unusual. Looks human, except for the fact he has the skin tone of a morlock. And he ordered bad ale, on purpose. Either he's poor, or he's deliberately trying to punish himself. Some past transgression, perhaps?
Falkner nods at the barkeep then turns to Jethnash "Like I said pale skin, precedance. Now if you and you" he nods to Zadrol, "Wll be so nice to excuse me i'm going to get first pick on a room ." He throws a gold piece on the table for the barkeep.
Falkner pulls out what can only be identified as wood from a pocket and begins to chew on it before packing off to the rooms.
|
Once again the door opens and a tall, cloaked figure enters the tavern.
"Gods cursed stinking rain!" the pallid, scarred elf exclaims as he removes his cloak and hangs it on a peg near the door. He deftly plucks a knife from one of the two bandoliers crossing his chest over the dark brown studded leather he wears and uses it to scrape the mud from his boots, flicking the mud out the still open door.
After finishing, he closes the door and speaks again, "To the Nine Hells with this muck." The elf then turns to the bartender and says, "Barkeep! Wine, mulled and still hot." He settles himself into a chair at an empty table near the bar and removes his gloves and begins to trim his fingernails with one of the knives from his bandoliers.
Zadrol was about to reply the Half-Bred. But then the man decided to be off. It was not a problem for Zadrol. He didn't mind half Elves in fact the crossing of races was very interesting from an academic perspective, as was the soup and the girl. As she sets the soup before him Zadrol raises an eyebrow than manages a smile at the youg girl.
And whom might he be?
The the rumors are true then, this place must be truly haunted. Sounds rather interesting. Shame the professor isn't here, he would've loved this.
Eyes the two men and their conflict, hand slipping to his sword by habit. but removes it when the barkeep reprimands the two.
Watches the reactions of the others as well.
Taking his soup and cup, Angus moves close to the fire to dry off some more.
Yum, this soup is excellent. Is that garlic and onion?
Noting the possible beginnings of an argument, the young ?mercenary? sets her spoon down & scoots her seat back just enough to give her clearance if necessary, inadvertently revealing fingernails more like talons than simple nails as they dug furrows into the table's surface.
"Really?" She replies at the barkeep's correction. As the young serving girl brings more food for the newcomers, the young woman attempts to catch her attention, making note of her cautionary comment as she does so. "Who is here, if I might ask?" Before the girl can answer either her query or that of the academic-looking Elf, the young woman replies to the rough looking & talking Elf. "It's certainly filling, but not as good as it smells I'm afraid."
Glaring at the warrior as he leaves Jethnash takes his ale and quickly downs it. As the little girl brings soup around, and talks about some 'person' Jethnash takes interest.
"He's here? Would he mind telling his tale so I could write it down in a song? It sounds interesting enough to want to remember."
I wonder if ghosts are the missing ingredient to my work? Well it matters not I will find out soon enough.
Jethnash slowly eats the soup as he ponders the question of his research, and work.
Zadrol looks up to the fellow Elf then replies.
It smells quite inviting. However sadly I have not had the opportunity to taste it just yet.
With that he takes his spoon and sips at the soop. After a few moments of silence and a sip of wine he looks at the fellow Elf then atz the barkeep shooting him a grim glance.
Quite nice actually... I taste pepper, a pinch of is it... cinamon, and something else but I can't put my finger on it quite yet... might that be pig's blood?
The Elf inquires of their host.
The girl doesn't ever answer any of your questions and, once done with her rounds, makes a wailing sound and runs out of the room.
"Oh dont mind her. She is a little nuts. But, we're all a little mad here..." He prepares the warm wine for the other elf. "Its me own secret recipe. Cant be tellin' you! Ill lose business!"
Hearing the lass warn about "him", Angus moves closer to the elf and the tiny women to hear more of "him".
Pardon my intrusion, but I could hear more of this Phantom if you could, please? My name is Angus. What is yours bringer of yummy soup?
Looking at Ysmerelda as the child run off, I'm not that scary, am I?
Jethnash winces as the small girl wails, and runs away, but he makes no move to stop her.
"Crazy, yes, I can see that."
Rhia looks at the little girl with an intense gaze before smiling slightly. When the girl moves past her she seems for a moment to be more....real, becoming more sharply defined before moving on.
A barstool slides into place behind her as she sits without ever looking back to confirm it was there, the wine glass moving to her hand on it's own as she takes a sip then places the glass back on the table, careful not to release the glass.
"You don't seem scary at all, at least to me." Fester says with a wry laugh, and then continues, "I don't really know what passes for scary among humans though."
I didn't think so, to some you would look quite intimidating I can assure you.
Hastily adds Not trying to poke at you my friend! Just getting out the rain tonight on my way to a funeral.
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A young human come rushing into the inn. "What a lovely night we have" She says with a smile.
Quickly looking around and noting all of the people."Excluse me sir? Do you still have a room available. Its been a long walk and I would love to find a comfortable place to sleep, oh and some mulled wine would be lovely"
Zelda begins to look around as she waits for her wine. "You have such an interesting inn. It must have a facinating past. Can you tell me about it?"
Notes the tone used.
This could be going better...Oh well, if he's trouble better me than someone else. Might as well light it up, maybe some benedictions from The Drunkard will help.
Well then friend Fester, let us make an offering to my favorite god! A round for the house in Cayden Caileans honor!
Sets coins on bar top for a tips.
AH! So there might actually be some truth behind all these voices! A great deal of bloodshed and unavenged wrongs are typical symptoms leading to a possible case of haunting. Let's dig more...
Lauran feigns shock at the bartender's words:"How scary! But he got caught in the end... right?" Lauran winks at the man, feeling a bit puzzled by his costant jokes about ghosts and the like.
There's no way he would speak of such things so openly... right?
Jethnash glances at the new arrival and answers a few questions about the inn.
"Well considering the way the bartender has been acting I'm sure that this inn is run by ghosts. You'll be served your soup by a little girl who most likely died in some horrible fashion involving water, and our barkeep is most likely the spirit of the homicidal maniac who ran this bar when it first opened, but that's just a guess. Of course it could just be a hyped up gimmick to make you afraid, but it couldn't be that. Could it?"
Jethnash grins at the end of this tale winking at the bartender.
Creepy...
Your welcome, Fester!
Well, better than a blade in the gut, I guess.
Something for you, mister?