#16
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Speaking of fun, the Misty Beard is a favorite haunt to find some ready entertainment. So for a while, I just sit here in the shadows on the roof of a nearby building, watching as usual. If nothing really entertaining happens outside, then I’ll go in and join the fray… Ooh, what’s this? A couple of Dwarves and a Human, and another Tel-Quessir… I wonder if they are accustomed to the rowdy crowd that can be found at the Misty Beard. I’m sure the Dwarves and Elf won't appreciate some of the more unsavory company in there. That human seems to be of the stern type. I wonder how long it will be before a fight breaks out. Of course, there is the call of the unknown. The magic is in the air, I can feel it crackling. Something big will happen tonight I’m sure of it. Sepulther looks up and down the street, and up into the sky looking for anything out of the ordinary, perhaps a sign from the stars… Without seeing any particular sign of importance, he realizes that is once again up to him to make this ‘something’ happen. He floats (per levitation) down to the entrance of the Misty Beard waiting for the door to open at just the right time and descends gracefully into the doorway before the door can close. He glides nonchalantly through the whirling blades of the jugglers as if completely unconcerned; or perhaps oblivious to them, yet unaffected. As he floats into the bar and strides gracefully between a few tables and chairs; he ducks as a sprite/pixie nearly spills some beer in his face, watching ironically as the beer splatters into the lap of an Ogre that doesn’t even seem to notice. As he spins delicately to avoid a jostling, Sepulther notices a few of the newcomers congregating at the bar and being grievously offended by a slob of a Hobgoblin. Upon witnessing the obvious disrespect for these more honorable members of the bar, he casts a mild cantrip that would not attract too much attention to loosen a floorboard directly beneath the Hobgoblin in the hope that he’ll step just wrong, as most Hobgoblins will inevitably do. Sepulther then leans forward and tells Mu'uzrim “one glass of hot tea, something aromatic,” And begins eyeing more closely the craftsmanship of the weapons these fellows are carrying. “Something is in the air tonight, and I suspect it’s more than Hobgoblin pits. You guys have anything planned for the night? The name's Sepulther, nice to meet you this evening.” |
#17
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Bofgar removes his helmet, one that he had fashioned himself and was particularly fond of for its reinforced design and comfortable inlay's. Afterwards, the host Mu'uzrim jostles Bofgar's memory on how just much he admires the place with it's quick service and bountiful selection. He had a tough time deciphering the lizardman's thick accent, but he caught enough of the description to pique his interest. Ok then, Mu'z was it? Those picks will do right by Bofgar Golbain.
He could faintly pick up the smell of his ribs making its way in from the kitchen as a sprite whizzed by his head. This was interrupted by an altogether offending odour which at first he took to be coming from the One-eyed freak. Upon further inspection, (nearly falling off his chair to get a good look down the bar) he had found the true culprit, a globuler mess of a hobgoblin who appeared as though he had never taken a bath. "By Grumbar's beard! That one smells like a ship full of piss with a stale wind." Bofgar mumbled. |
#18
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Lucuma! When was the last time you had lucuma fruit? You where back home. Back with your people.
Serlehne smiles broadly and innocently. The kind of smile seen only on children and imps. Can fruit really make you this happy? You are weak... like a child. Sirrah, I have a particular weakness for the lucuma fruit. Bring me a large dish and a fingerbowl for my talons. The elf holds up his bony fingers to the barkeep and wiggles them as if to demonstrate how sticky they will soon be. At that moment the elf hears the unmistakable tones of goblin being spoken by a dwarf. Feeling unusually sociable and strangely mischievous the elf switches the language portion of his brain into Goblin and calls out to the dwarf: Serlehne pinches the burning skin on his arm. You base elven coxcomb! Why do you talk to people... Only you can understand yourself... Others can only hate you and poison your eyes with tears... You are a miscreation and your path is to be walked alone. Serlehne rubs his temples and squints hard in an attempt to purge his inner demons.
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Irongate Foghorn, Second son of Clan Ironforge Profile ~+~ Serlehne Grimdaar, Rejected Son of Willowthrone Profile Last edited by tealcisgod; Sep 13th, 2012 at 07:34 PM. |
#19
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Eirik tenses in anticipation, like he was about to do something drastic, but then decides against it. There was no point to doing what would possibly start a barroom fight. Muscles still tense, he gets up from his stool and moves over to the next available one; away from the offending Hobgoblin. He empties the remaining contents of his glass and then calls for a refill.
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#20
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Noticing his patrons (tipping or not) are staring to become offended by the embarrassing mass of hob the Lizardman becomes increasingly agitated. "Heuw mahnee thihmze ha'ave ve thald hue tu gha ar'rund tu ze zihdde!"How many times have we told you to go around to the side!(T) Waving off the odoriferous flesh monster in a manner so extreme, it was almost hypnotic, the Host turns back to the Crusader first, arms sweeping out wide, and offer his companion dwarf and him a mouth full of needles. "Plahezze ahzxcuze hour uhnvhortunahte hemp'loyyee, G'hurge, hee eiz ze hutmosht deeveneedeion hov zee ver'rd eHobg'ghoobleen. Hue Viene zeentelmeen nehd nhoot veur'ry ahboot hur beelz. D'dr'reenkzzz haan zee Houuzzee!" Please excuse our unfortunate employe, Grudge, he is the utmost definition of the word, HobGoblin. You gentlemen need not worry your parishes about your bills, your Drinks are on the House!(T)
At this the bartender was about to round the bar, and approach the Knight personally, Mu besets himself upon the other High Elf. "Huwate hare ze hoddz hov zeez? Ah pear ov Hee Helvez, Huan Leet ahn Huan Dahr'rk! han ah pear ov d'larvez, Zyde bhaye Zyde! Huvate ah vunder'rvull hevnehang! Zir," He indicated the newcomer "wehe viell bhe mur'r'r zeen hap'pee tu geet hue huteavr'r hue veesh!""What are the odds of this? A Pair of High Elves, One Light and one Dark, and a pair of Dwarves! Side by Side! What a wonderful evening! We will be more than happy to get you whatever you wish!"(T) Continuing his journey around the bar the long way, behind the patrons, Mu smiles broadly at the collection of elves, dwarves and knights alike. Mumbling little smalltalks to those he passes, the eloquent host betrays his manners as he roughly grabs the hob on the shoulder on his trek past the Crusader. "hay ha'av thold hue vor zee lahzte tym tu zshtop hembar'rizieng zeez hezshad'leeshment vit hur VHAT ZSHMEALLEE HAAAZZZZ!!"I have told you for the last time to stop embarrassing this establishment with your FATSMELLYASS!(T) was supposed to be whispered harshly into the puddle of lard, as the surprisingly powerful Malpar escorted it away. What ensued is Mu lost his cool about halfway thru his reprimand, and his whisper grew to a raspy hissing. All those teeth right next to the foppish Hobgoblin's face was just too much for the meathead to handle, having an old grudge against the reptile,so the drunken lardo began to angrily back away from the bartender. "Git awa frum meh, Snake-Face! Why don chew jus lit me due mah jooooob!" When doing so, the undulating bucket of goblin must have found it was just plain too drunk and fat to keep upright, Quote:
The knight veritably disappeared beneath the massive pile of obesity. Last edited by Split; Sep 14th, 2012 at 12:22 PM. |
#21
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Upon seeing the result of his well placed joke, Sepulther reaches down grasping the hand of the knight (*Coughs, er Crusader *Coughs) and attempts to help him to his feet, all the while laughing at the antics of the barkeeps 'help.' "What a wonderful establishment you've got going here Mu'uzrim, I haven't had entertainment like this in years! How about we help our friend here to his feet?" *obviously talking about the knight who currently lays beneath several hundred pounds of Hobgoblin flesh.*
Last edited by Khurhowe; Sep 15th, 2012 at 03:17 AM. Reason: Splitting hairs between crusaders and knights :) |
#22
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Eirik takes a deep breath and holds it for two reasons as he is submerged under the flabby mass: One, so that he didn't breathe in the fumes that he was thinking could be lethalized, but also so he didn't suffocate. Now there was no doubt about it, Eirik was strong. However no amount of pushing enabled him to escape being pinned down. |
#23
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Just as he was trying out the Barbarian ale, the blundering hobgoblin at the other end of the bar does a spinning face plant, taking a knightly looking patron with him to the floor. Bofgar forced down the ale so that he could relieve himself with roaring laughter. Despite enjoying the spectacle, he had enough class to come to the strangers aid, and seeing that a strange looking elf had done the same but could not possibly hope to lift such a beast he took the task upon himself to STR check:
Dice Roll:
"Off you go then grudge!" |
#24
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The resounding crash of Eirik getting squeezed through the floorboards of the Inn due to the veritable mountain of yellowish flesh crashing upon him was incredible. Everything and everyone around froze, as the very thought of any single man nor priest living through such a disaster would be nothing short of a miracle.
Indeed the entirety of the barroom that night surly believed the valiant warrior of faith was lost. Even with the heroic efforts of a good-hearted dwarf brutal shoving his way into the mudslide of obesity, it was almost assured Sir Eirik would soon expire if something could not be done to move the prodigious pustilents. Later stories would be old the muffled cries of the knight faded right there in the barroom floor that night. Truth be told, (usually by Thoim, the beholder friend of Mu'uzrym,) an angry Mycodnid is nothing to muck with. Of course, as everyone knows, the giant mushroom men aren't ones to have quick reaction times, but when react they do.... one gives notice. Noone was able to hear muffled cries of any kind that night. Not from only the raucous din of the bustling inn, as it's various minstrels and performers of extreme acts of entertainment do create a cacophony of livery and distractions. Nor from the blubberous pile of squabbling Hob, from which his dejected amblings were in itself a symphony of body noises and grunts. Noone heard any signs of life from the suffocating Eirik due the growing growl that ever slowly became a resounding roar emanating from deep within the treetrunk-ish beast that is the Mycodnid. Getting up from a chair which looked much too ridiculously small for the giant mushroom man, It swept it's tendril-like claws down over the huge Hobgoblin, hoisting the behemoth up and towards the door as if the grotesque porcine was naught but a disobedient child...freeing the knight. |
#25
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Haldir looked on to the scene with mild humor. Always something going on in this place.
The Dwarf caught his eye though. Something about him seemed formidable...the type of opponent Haldir would not want to meet on a battlefield. Fortunately, the Elves and Dwarves don't war anymore. Haldir thought that was a wise choice for both races. |
#26
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As his breath is about to give out, Eirik thinks back on his life and what a sad ending this was to it. He'd lived through wars, through the betrayal of his priesthood and its near genocide only to be caught off guard by this buffoon of a hobgoblin in an establishment that he shouldn't have been staying at in the first place.
Well, at least I'll be able to join my comrades... he thinks as he exhales, only to find the sudden freedom of his orifices as the mass of flesh is lifted off of him. Oxygen has never tasted so sweet as the crusader takes in huge gulps of air to compensate for the lack thereof in the last...well what seemed like an eternity...few minutes. After regaining his breath, he sits up and looks around to see where his "captor" has gone. Seeing the Mycodnid, he slowly gets up...his muscles weak after not receiving their due oxygen. Not to mention being nearly crushed to the floor by the blubber of the hobgoblin. Eirik winces and grabs his side. "A couple broken ribs. I guess it was too good to be true to think I could not have suffered any injuries after that," he mutters to himself. Taking matters into his own hands, he mutters a few divine words and presses his palm gently against his ribs. A green glow envelops his hand and after a few moments disappears. After fixing himself he walks up to his liberator and says to him, "Thank you. If not for your aid I would have been done for." Last edited by Yves; Sep 17th, 2012 at 12:04 AM. |
#27
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The mushroom man simply grunts, whether at tossing the massive Hobgoblin out the doors of the eccentric establishment, or at the chevalier, one could only guess. The moment of disenchantment passed once this spectacle was accomplished by the otherworldly tree creature, and Mr. Malpar sinks over to the crusader in his rather oblique manner, "Phah'leeze Voh'geeve hus er're haat zee Meeztee behr'rd, ghuu'u'd Nyeete! Vlee har ve'eree zol'lee ahuut yhel'l'l' hunvor'rthunate ahc'c'ihdeente viet dah Blhaapb. Phl'eezeh lhet me kh'noo eef dere ezz ahnytieng vee chaan due vor'r hue tho mahke y'yer'r'r szzzzthay muuure cham'mfeertahblle."Please Forgive us here at the Misty Beard, good knight! We are very sorry for your unfortunate accident with 'Blobb! Please let us know if there is anything we can do to make your stay here any more comfortable, on ze house, of course!(T) At this the lizardman gives the crusader the deepest of bows, gracing his toes with the tip of his nose.
The Spriteservers have resumed their incredibly paced patrols of the barroom, and most of the other patrons have gone back to their drinks or company, strange as either may seem. The Mycodnid seems to have taken refuge behind the bar, in a storeroom away from the prying glances of the ogres and overheard shouts of challenges to contests of strength. |
#28
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As soon as Serlehne poses his question to Kildren the Elf's attention is caught by the crash and rumble of the incident involving the Hobgoblin, the Knight and the myconid.
* * * You should go and help that knight. No, he will be fine... Stay where you are. You are a coward. No, you are wise. The elf takes the opportunity to see if there is anybody worth pickpocketing within the tavern. Coward. Wise. Thief. An odd smell of oil and metal drifts toward Serlehne's nose. Snaking into his nostrils like the tendrils of a beholder. A Wu Jen. I'd give all the spiced tea in Neverwinter to get a page of his spellbook!
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Irongate Foghorn, Second son of Clan Ironforge Profile ~+~ Serlehne Grimdaar, Rejected Son of Willowthrone Profile Last edited by tealcisgod; Sep 17th, 2012 at 03:15 PM. |
#29
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Watching the scene unfold, Kildren could only laugh at the Knights misfortune, tilting his head as the Mycodnid uplifted the Hobgoblin tossing him out the door. "Well that was quite the show there, though its good to see everything is fine." He would smile slightly as he watched the Knight heal his own injuries, saving Kildren the trouble of doing it for him. Kildren would order a round of drinks for himself, the Knight, and the fellow Dwarf that tried to push the blob of a Hobgoblin off of the Knight.
Placing his eyes upon the two Elves he would give a low grunt and shrugged a bit. Kildren didn't trust Elves, though he didn't dislike them either. Quickly going back to the his ale he would go back to his thoughts, situating himself to where he could see the door. |
#30
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Bofgar's exertions on the mass of hobgoblin were immediately trumped by a Mycodnids response. Upon hearing a deep rumble from beside him he backed off his task, watching in awe as the Mycodnid picked up and tossed the grubby hob like a rag doll. "S-Such might!" Bofgar bellowed, "A round for the tree on me!" he then declared to the barkeep.
Following the commotion a fellow dwarf offered him up a round of his own. "Wouldn't miss it for the world.. Bofgar it is, and you?" Noticing his ribs were awaiting him down the bar and ripe for the picking he relocated them and his equipment with the help of a sprite to a new seat beside Kildren and his generosity. Eager to begin his meal he addressed the knight. "Out of sight out of mind aye! Shame it wasn't one of The Misty Beards lovely ladies to take a fall for you like that." He also noted the bearded elf. Strangely he smelled of the forge and of strong metal. Bofgar settled in paying for the mycodnids well deserved refreshments and laughing away the notion of the Hobgoblin returning for revenge. He had it in mind to check on Sam in a quarter, it was in his nature to worry about him too often. |
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