|
Post by El Cuervo on Nov 23, 2017 1:35:26 GMT
karin sørensen It wasn’t winter yet in that small village; the farmers were busy tending their fields and gathering the last of their harvests, woodsmen coming and going to deliver meat, wood, and other goods from the trough of nature before it was frozen over with the first frosts of winter. Its name was Brøndhalt; a village known in the area for its watermills and mines. Travelers from all over passed through at some point or another in their journeys, and the inn was always bustling.
Much as it was at any given point in the week, the tavern floor of the inn was packed with a variety of faces—locals and foreigners alike. The room smelled of mead and alcohol, alight with the sound of rambunctious banter and the trading of stories—there was the occasional threat of a bar brawl, but the innkeeper was a muscled, burly man with a spruce mustache...no one dared try anything under his sober glare.
The opening of the door by it’s newest occupant phased no one, nor was it noticed in the revelry of the workmen and travelers. The newcomer was tall, wearing a cloak with the hood pulled over her head. Her bow was across her back, wrapped in a protective covering of tanned deerskin to keep away the ill-effects of the elements—arrows with eagle feathers and broad steel tips, numbering around fifteen in total, were in the quiver next to it. She said not a word to the other patrons other than the occasional ‘pardon’ as she walked to the innkeeper.
“What can I do for ya, lassie?” the mustached man said; it was a hoarse growl, worn from years of screaming at patrons and employees alike. His eyes were grey and harsh, a scar ran down his cheek that left a bald spot in the stubbly shadow along his square jawline.
“If there is one available, I would like a room for the night,” she replied. Her voice was a contralto, low and holding the strong accent typical of mountain villages.
Those at the bar seemed to be astonished that there was a woman in their presence. One of them on her right—she couldn’t tell which one—spoke out.
“Hey, lady!” he said, clearly drunk, “I dunno if ye noticed, but the cold’s outside; take yer hood off and let’s see that face o’ yers!”
There was a round of agreement from those at the bar—those sitting at the tables didn’t seem to pay attention. An annoyed look came on the woman’s face under the hood, but she didn’t comment on it.
“Yar in luck, lass.” the innkeeper said, giving a glare to the heckler, “10 copper pieces fer the--.”
He shut up as a single silver coin was slid to him. The woman gave a silent tilt of her head in the direction of the heckler—whenever possible, she paid extra to keep the drunks from harassing her.
Taking the silver piece, the innkeeper put it in the coin purse behind the counter. “It’ll be the room immediately to the right, on top of the stairwell.”
“Thank you,” she said. With a curt nod, she backed away from the counter to walk upstairs and place her things.
“Hey, I said take off yer--” as soon as the man that had heckled her grabbed her hood, he found himself with his face against the bar counter—the woman was deceitfully strong, and the side of his head started to bleed as skin and blood vessels broke from the impact. A sharp, commanding whistle broke the revelry.
“Well, would you look at that fellas—we got ourselves one of them long-earred bitches!”
The whole bar seemed to stand still. It was only in that moment that she realized that her hood had, indeed, been pulled down. Brøndhalt was known for its rampant racism towards anything not human; elves, dwarves, and beast-kin alike were spat upon and chased out of town, with any animals or property left behind in the process stolen and pawned off for spare change—those that came back were lynched on sight.
Time seemed to stand still in that moment.
|
|
|
Post by 0 on Nov 23, 2017 2:11:25 GMT
Cyn stared through a cloud of breath as she strode down the hill and into the village, fur foot wraps softening her steps as she passed over a wooden bridge. Short ears pierced by talon-shaped earcuffs twitched at the creak of the watermill to one side of her, while lucent yellow eyes were caught by a log building with glowing windows, the structure rising up on stony foundations from the dirt road on the other side of the narrow river. She knew nothing of the town she had just entered, only that here was a place to eat and rest before she inevitably had to leave again.
Stubby fingers tugged a lavender rucksack higher as she began to shoulder the door open, the curious sound of silence meeting her ears while she stood in the tavern's doorway. The very short standing wolf wasn't much to look at, with uneven wooly muddled fur covering her cadaverous body and atrophied limbs, rotting metallic fangs set into her horrific hole for a muzzle, and a curled ratty tail complementing her disfigured ears. Her choice of attire was almost as unsavory, a collage of colors and styles that were most uncomplimentary of one another; there were bumps and bulges in different places, suggesting either items beneath her clothes or a body as disfigured as her face.
The old canine stared forward, ears up, while the inviting room before her appeared to be filled with frozen bodies. Her fur stood on end as the tension began to build, crackling in the air, many eyes turned on a woman in a cloak.
Her ripped jaws parted, a crackling growl of a voice croaking out through the hole as the question slid from between her ears and out through her mouth: "You all are alive, aye?" Then a bouncing, rattling, wheezy sort of squeak seemed to tear itself from her throat; the wolf was having herself a laugh.
|
|
|
Post by El Cuervo on Nov 23, 2017 16:49:34 GMT
karin sørensen In case it were not painfully obvious from the label of "long-earred bitch" as to why the whole inn seemed to be up in arms about this woman being in their presence, one only needed to look to the sides of her head--the pointed ears of elven-kind stuck out from her long brown hair. It was quite a predicament to be in: a room of burly, bigoted working men stood between her and the door, and she had just slammed one of their heads on the table out of reflex--such might've been tolerated from a woman of pure human descent, but it wouldn't be from someone of mixed descent...not in the slightest.
The halfblood hadn't had time to process who it was at the door, only that their voice sounded like the deathly squawk of a haggard vulture--it was their wheezing rattle of a laugh that prompted her to escape. Releasing the man she had slammed to the counter only a moment ago, she threw her hood back up almost immediately while dashing to the door; she ducked as food, tankards, and fists alike were thrown in her direction for almost the entire duration of the journey. Slurs and insults were shouted, and the atmosphere of revelry had turned into one of hostility on a dime. As she neared the door, a knife sunk itself into the door frame. She was so focused on getting outside, that she barreled into the person that had been standing there...the dog...wolf...whatever it was, she couldn't tell.
From the inn, one could hear a drunken shout of "Take the fuckin' mutt with ya!"
|
|
|
Post by 0 on Nov 23, 2017 19:44:21 GMT
Cyn's gaze trailed over the room, crossing the bar at the end where all eyes were focused on a human with long ears. A man, his face buried in the counter, slid off his stool and to the floor, trailing a scarlet splatter across the polished wood surface. Of course she couldn't smell the blood from her position, what with her nose being next to nonexistent.
Once the body hit the floor, the whole place suddenly burst back into life.
The wolf blinked, her tail curling over and a step taking her back a foot as the cloaked woman threw up her hood and dashed across the floor, shouts, slurs, and swears being tossed about the room while bottles and tankards flew through the air. A knife flew between her ears and lodged in the door frame behind her, the canine giving a latent duck.
The skinny mutt was knocked backwards into the dirt as the fleeing stranger collided with her, ears ringing and barely catching the final drunken shout. Her bulky rucksack prodded her harshly in the back while a tawny canvas pouch slid out from beneath her patchwork shawl, its strap's buckle having been wrenched loose by the collision.
"Ge'r offa me, ya pinky!" the canid chuffed, burying clawed paws and wrapped feet into the other's body in an attempt to shove her off.
|
|
|
Post by El Cuervo on Nov 23, 2017 23:23:20 GMT
karin sørensen Now, by no means was the poor sod at the bar dead; in fact, patrons sitting at the bar could hear him grumbling and groaning about the splitting headache that emanated from his temple—complaining about all the ruckus that was going on rather than the fact that a woman, of elven blood no less, had the gall to perform such an act. However, at this point in the story, the well being of the drunkard is of little importance.
The demi-elf bumbled head-on into the scrawny wolf, tripping over the beast-folk’s padded feet and sending them both tumbling down the pair of wooden steps and into the dirt path below—surely, the incident was bound to leave them both sore and ill-tempered. In an attempt to get her off from on top of her, the wolf had started to dig feet and paws alike into the demi-elf as they tried to push her away. After a momentary tussle of trying to get herself up, the elf-kin unceremoniously fell on her rump with a grumble.
Pinky? She’d been called much, much worse in the past—pinky was almost silly enough to make one giggle, if it weren’t for the already sour atmosphere the past several minutes had already produced. Thankfully, it seemed that the patrons of the inn had no immediate interest in chasing them out of town; finally given a moment to breathe, the woman finally got a look at the person she had bowled into just a moment ago.
Woefully underfed, boney and scarred from what looked like a lifetime of injuries. That was what came to mind immediately when the elf took a look at the ancient mutt. The patchwork clothing and the jewelry reminded her of the migrant sellers at bazaars—a rabble of cons, drug dealers, story tellers and honest merchants.
“Are you alright?” she found herself asking.
|
|
|
Post by 0 on Nov 24, 2017 2:08:58 GMT
(Grossly) naked fingers slapped limply against the wolf's face as the stranger struggled for purchase before finally falling backwards onto her bum. A breathy snort was released through her broken face, rolling over with a creak of bones and reaching around to drag her pouch back in close.
One ear twitched to meet a question, the wolf pushing herself up onto her knees, back to the stranger. "Ayrm foin. Northin' hurts mulch," she mumbled the last word, stretching her arms before doing so with her legs as she stood herself back up. The fact that none of her bones seemed broken was something the old beast should well have been thankful for: it wasn't uncommon for bones to go brittle at her age. Her back sure ached though, and her hips made an audible pop as she straightened her spine out a bit.
The wolf fiddled with the buckle, trying--and failing--to loop the pouch's strap back through, slowly turning herself around to cast yellow eyes back on the stranger. Despite the brief scuffle the woman looked rather well-to-do; perhaps a smudge of dirt here or there, but she did have that beautifully shaped bow wrapped in deerskin and impressive arrows in a quiver next to it, and her clothing looked positively cozy for the coming winter.
Her ears twitched again, listening to the voices weaving out through the tavern door. She supposed neither of them were going to be welcome, and for that the wolf's gaze held a snappish tone to them, a somber glare that would appear to be putting the blame on the hooded longear. Having so dumbly walked in on the scene with little words to hear, she felt that the other woman, who'd so clearly slammed some man's face into the bar, was at fault.
"Yuh gorn' smash my skull intoo dat wall?" she said with a gesture given by an ear towards the tavern's outer wall, and drool began to leak out from between her sparse lips. The wolf lifted the fringe of her shawl by the back of one wrist to wipe it off, being as it were that she lacked a decent ability to spit. Which was unfortunate, 'cause she otherwise she woulda hawked a loogie towards the stranger's feet.
|
|
|
Post by El Cuervo on Nov 24, 2017 3:02:00 GMT
karin sørensen There was a remorseful pang in the half-blood’s chest as she heard the crackling and popping of ancient joints and bones—even if nothing was broken, bowling over someone as ancient as the wolf was surely didn’t sit well with anyone decent creature’s conscience. Her amber eyes looked up under the hood to meet the now-standing mutt’s glare, before immediately dropping down towards the ground.
“No.” she replied.
The angered gaze bored a hole straight through her heart; sensitive as she was quiet, not a word more came out of her mouth before she stood up. Despite being almost twice as tall as her, the half-blood felt incredibly small in the glare the mutt directed her way.
“My anger lies with those men inside,” she added, “Not you.” It was easy to tell from her words that it was more than just anger running through her veins: shame mixed itself in as well.
Well-to-do was hardly an apt description of the huntress—in contrast with the mutt standing before her, she took care of herself and her possessions because she had nothing else.
Coming from the north side of the mountain range, cloaks such as her own were mandatory—underneath, the tunic and breeches were lighter than what she normally would have worn that side of the mountain. The bow had been in her possession for several years now—oiled regularly, and always stored in the deerskin wrap when not in use. She saved coin for arrows with steel tips because they were able to be sharpened more than iron—expensive, but she had the patience to make every shot count.
|
|
|
Post by 0 on Nov 24, 2017 18:21:28 GMT
"Hf," said the wolf, finally succeeding in hooking the strap back through the belt. She listened to the woman while she pulled it over her shoulder, releasing the tension in her gaze while tucking the pouch back in behind her shawl. In the back of her mind she wondered where she was going to find another inn in a village this small.
After brushing her shawl straight and the dust from the wrap around her legs she began to step back down the dirt path, waving a paw as she said, "Vell den fight zem for alfi care."
She paused where the path met another, resting her hand upon one of the wooden bridge's railings, the nearby water wheel burbling and creaking. "Gitch yerself pounded an' leave a poor old vulf out in th' cold. Knuck mee down agai'--ohh!" she exclaimed at once, turning a paw around where back met tail, her spine bending crooked in that moment. "My achin' bones!"
|
|
Administrator
|
Loner, Kazetatsu, Kaze
PLAYER NAME
|
|
Post by Loner。 on Nov 25, 2017 18:43:27 GMT
"we don't want a beast here even if you do represent a business proposition. Send a human. Then maybe we'll talk."
It was a lot of talk for the small man who slammed the door in the face of an individual who was mostly concealed by a heavy dark cloak. Sigh. These people were missing out on good money just because they didn't want dealings with non-human kind. It was just like.... before...
Near the coast it was understandable the population was more humanoid out there. The mountains however were not predominantly human territory. All the people here had to do was piss off the wrong dragon, or sorcerer, or beast clan, or accidentally mine into an elemental's den and they would not be laughing any longer.
They'd tried his patience, but it wasn't his place to rain judgement upon them. They'd face other drawbacks for being so hostile, like this lost business proposition.
It was time to leave.
The large man turned away from the closed door and began a deliberate pace towards the outskirts of the town. He wasn't in a hurry. He carried himself in a way that showed that the could fight. The locals would hopefully think twice before trying anything.
With his head uncovered, he didn't hide that he wasn't human. Elven ears were short compared to his long nearly rabbit like ones covered with short white hairs. An uneven mane of coarse red hair framed his face, which though more human-like in its ruggedness and shape still carried to it a feral quality. The rest of him was concealed by the cloak, but occasionally his movement revealed the muted sound of heavy armor underneath.
He picked up his pace as he spotted some others on the road. They too were easily picked out as not from the town. One was too small, with a clear canine scent. The other had a different manner of holding herself than the people born here.
"You guys run into some trouble too?" He asked, knowing this was likely why they were out here instead of inside at this time.
|
|
|
Post by El Cuervo on Nov 29, 2017 20:35:00 GMT
karin sørensen The halfblood watched as the wolf went through her act—a dramatic twist of the hips, an exclamation of faux pain...it looked like something a grandmother might’ve done to make a point about being fragile. She huffed irately at the suggestion: go back and fight them? Ridiculous.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t another inn that was within easy access of the village...even if there was one, it wouldn’t do either of them much good. Across the bridge were large plots of farmland: used to grow wheat, barely, and other grains no doubt—an area the woman had no interest in traveling through. She was about to turn and leave for the other direction—the woods seemed comforting in comparison to the village—but another voice caught her attention.
‘You guys run into trouble, too?’
The figure standing in front of her was, at most, a full head taller than her. He had large, white furred ears and a choppy red mane that gave the image of a savage. The clink of the armor plate under his cloak was apparent, while said cloak sat on wide shoulders. A strange one, indeed, but his stature alone would have been enough to make even the boldest of working man think twice about trying anything.
“It was nothing,” she said, “Just drunks.”
|
|
|
Post by 0 on Nov 29, 2017 21:02:45 GMT
The wolf lifted her head at the approach of another, squinting and wiping spittle from her sparse whiskers as he approached. Another man in a dark cloak, broad-shouldered and high; very tall ears covered in a downy fluff and a wild red hairdo. Her ripped ears picked out the sound of armor beneath his drapery.
"Ja, bar fight," she added after the one had replied to the other. She leaned over the bridge's post, folding her arms while thumbing in the woman's direction. "Und a bloody head unt a shattered spine." Even as she pointed at herself with that late statement, the canine made no further indication of her pain.
Her ratty tail curled and twitched in a casual wave as she offered up a crooked grin. "Yew kill sumvwyon too?"
|
|
Administrator
|
Loner, Kazetatsu, Kaze
PLAYER NAME
|
|
Post by Loner。 on Dec 3, 2017 20:47:05 GMT
A bar fight they said? Based on the tone of the words shadow suspected that they were downplaying the matter. A slight shift in the man's long ears showed he was attuned to such possibility.
At least it was over now all that remained was the fallout. Based on the sounds about, things did not seem to rowdy now.
The wolf's latter comment was the one Shadow focused on. "fortunately I did not have to take such measures." The humanoid dragon admitted calmly. Sure he had been tempted to violence, but that would have caused problems. With the way word could travel, it would have made his mission to this part of Eokia more difficult.
"The bigger question, is what are you gong to do now?" It was growing late after all. Shadow glanced from one to the other. No doubt both could take care of themselves. Still, Shadow was quite aware that the local stigma limited some of the options in the area. "you seemed to be hurting." He nodded to the wolf, noting another of the observations he had picked up from a distance. "hopefully you don't have to stay on your paws too long."
|
|
|
Post by El Cuervo on Dec 7, 2017 4:54:02 GMT
karin sørensen Was there more to the story? Not really--drunk pulled her hood down, she slammed his face onto the bar, and the whole inn burst out into a chorus of racial slurs and a spectacle of flying food, boots and the occasional knife. While it appeared to have calmed down a bit inside the building, she doubted it was a good idea to linger for much longer.
With a sigh, the huntress answered, "Stay the night in the woods. At least there I can have a meal and sleep in peace..."
There wasn't another inn except in the next town, about a good ten miles south from Brøndhalt. Making the trek at that hour would have meant traveling overnight through open fields and farmland roads in the last half of it--understandably, it wasn't her cup of tea.
|
|
|
Post by 0 on Dec 7, 2017 5:03:50 GMT
The wolf cast the evil eye towards the maned human when he mentioned that she seemed to be hurting. HARUMPH! Keeping one paw on the bridge's post, she straightened her spine with yet more audible cracks and pops, poking out her ragged lower lip as she stated, "Vulf is in perfect health." No need for a stranger to think her ill...well, except for the woman--everything was her fault right now, and she should be feeling very guilty about it all.
Then her head swung around towards the lady, who mentioned staying the night in the woods. "Good!" the old wilder huffed, jabbing a finger at the air towards the woman. Then she continued, seeming to take the mention as a suggestion--no, an OFFER, towards the two of them. "Ju vill vild fire to warm my old bvones and clear da head ov zis mistaken sjhentleman hjere."
|
|
Administrator
|
Loner, Kazetatsu, Kaze
PLAYER NAME
|
|
Post by Loner。 on Dec 7, 2017 5:26:13 GMT
"As I'll also have to." The humanoid dragon noted, showing little affect regarding the observation. He wasn't worried about needing to camp out. He was more concerned about the young lady and the old wolf. Would they want help? It didn't exactly seem like it. "I'm certain that the two of you can take care of yourselves." Which was true, even though he didn't like the idea of a lady and an elder roughing it so close to this shady town.
|
|