The Dragon's Flagon - Open RP

[Hillbilly Hikari]

Mud squishes under your shoes as you walked the dark and lonely paths through what remains of a decimated forest. The thunderstorm that brewed and dumped overhead did not improve your mood as a weary traveller just trying to find some decent cover. The trees that still stood in the vasty destroyed landscape were so bear it was like standing in a field of giant sized toothpicks rather then a forest, and with no branches or very few again it did nothing to alleviate the turenchel rain that poured over head. Oddly enough, the weather wasn't this hrorible before you entered the forest...

Suddenly as if out of nowhere just as you were thinking of turning back, a large building seemingly popped out in front of you. And so quickly that you faceplanted into the large oak door causing an echoing knock as you held your throbbing nose. The old door creakd open to entice you with a scene of roaring fires, happy patrons, mugs of ale, and upstairs sleeping quarters.

Before you enter, you look up at the beautifully simple wooden sign to see where you are....

Inns are a type of Role Play where a group of characters are interracting in a specific and singular location, namely a Bar, Inn or Tavern. It is a totally "open" RP thread, no request to join is necessary and Inn threads traditionally do not require OOC threads.  

[Hillbilly Hikari]

 

[Hillbilly Hikari]

The smell of aged wood, old paint and wood polish came as perfume when Hikari opened the doors of the taveler worn, by lovingly maintained, Dragon's Flagon Inn. With all the travelers, brawls, and magical re-appearances, it was hard to keep the old place in such good shape.

It was the oldest establishment in Devil Theory for their patrons to enjoy (though some enjoyed it a bit oo much at times). There was a triangular stage set off in one corner of the main taproom. There were rooms upstairs to accommodate road weary travelers. While no one could ever get an accurate account of their number there was always one more room available if there came a being in need.

The long bar was made of dark mahogany with not one but two highly polished brass rails, the better to accommodate customers of varying stature. There were stools along the bar, tables and chairs in the center of the seating area and more secluded booths along the side and back wall. The kitchen, accessed from behind the bar, was as completely equipped as any chef could desire.

Hikari stepped behind the well stocked bar and looked it over. Everything was almost exactly where it had been the last time she'd set foot inside the Inn. Everything had been restored down to the long step running the back length of the bar so that she could adequetly tend the bar until taller relief came in the form of her co-workers.

Smiling with a contended sigh, she made a quick sweep on the inn already milling with various patrons; all of course who entered with sore noses. Ah, that particular enchantment always made her laugh. Ensuring the Anouncements Board was posted for the Class and patrons, she smiled, put on her apron and began to set the bar in order to welcome patrons and friends old and new.  

[haphazardly parked]

Emry Conte, version 1.0 !

He had wanted to stroll into the inn with his black cape flaring behind him and a cool look in his deep green eyes and his legendary Staff of Winds in his grip. Tall, slender, and dressed from bottom up in black boots that reached his knees, black breeches and a pristine white shirt that billowed in the invisible wind, he did, in fact, manage to strike quite an impressive figure. The slim, milky-white staff with a diameter equivalent to a silver penny (at the moment, at least) topped by a clear crystal only added to that aura of mysterious power that surrounded him.

... and the whole image was shattered the moment he stumbled through the door of The Dragon's Flagon, tripping over the threshold and falling flat on his face. The Staff of Winds clattered against the (thankfully!) relatively clean wooden floor, rolling away before it halted and rolled back into his grip as though an invisible hand had pushed it.

{You know,} a smug voice in the mage's mind remarked as he got to his feet and brushed off his clothing. (He did indeed use both hands to do this, and the Staff curiously stayed upright until the mage's hand wrapped around it once more). {I never thought walking through doors was really that difficult. But you humans always manage to surprise me.}

He had been standing there solemn-faced, doing his best to stare down anyone who'd so much as smirked while pretending it had never happened, but once the Staff made his snide comment, Emry Conte's face twisted into an annoyed scowl.

"Oh do shut up. It was your fault," he sniped back aloud, seeming as if he were speaking to no-one.

{Suddenly it's my fault if you cannot keep your own feet in order?} the Staff asked innocently, taken aback.

"You are so infuriating!" Emry cried in frustration.

(Perhaps the man was a touch insane.)

Or perhaps his Staff was a vindictive sentient object, for it managed to tangle itself in Conte's feet once more and trip him for a second time in as many minutes.  

[Ronyo Storm]

Rubbing his nose from the doorway Ronyo walked in looking about to see how many eyes had watched his altercation at the entrance. With a sigh he sent the idea from his mind and gave his nose a final rub followed by a heavy sniff and a twitch. After he was sure his nasal cavity was still in working condition the man proceeded further in to the tavern looking about the place.

His attire set him apart from the crowd as usual but he had learned not to care about it. His deep forest green shirt and pants gleamed as it poked out from a leather tunic and ran back into either leather gloves or boots. The tunic was formfitting and dropped low thigh guards past the waist line to the man’s knees. Running down the front of the brown tunic was a section of bonemail tapering down to his belt buckle. His shoulders, gloves, and boots also were adorned with the natural armor. His waist line was secured with a crimson sash and a brown leather belt with a few pouches on either hip. Another belt crossed from his right shoulder down to his left hip and held two scabbards that lay side-by-side on his back poking out over his right shoulder. The scabbards were full with their customary twin scimitars with their bone handles shaped like fangs. Topping off his ensemble was his flowing crimson scarf that danced playful behind him down to his knees. If his attire alone did not make him stand out his long white hair and deep emerald eyes certainly did, and his slightly pointed ears but that was for tale of its own.

With one more glance, the druid took a set near one of the windows that allowed for a glorious view of the forest and sat using the time to relax and see if anything interesting would come through that door. He also kept a sharp eye out on the other patrons to make sure the interesting one was not already here.  

[Robayn]

The slim figure at the bar turned at the sound of something clattering to the floor near his/her pristine black, knee-high leather boots (a part of any self-respecting pirate ensemble) and he/she watched the slender snow-colored staff return itself to its bearer.

From behind a fake eye-patch and beneath long, luscious dark eye lashes Bailey BootyBurner watched the skinny wizard/mage/sorcerer right himself from the floor and assault his own staff verbally.

Finely curved, un-painted lips curved up in a grin as Bailey found a nearby mug and lifted it in well-weathered, dirty finger nailed, fingerless gloved hands and downed the sweet tasting ale in one gulp. Bailey's free hand worked it's way into the front of his/her belt, sitting rather lewdly in front of the seat of his/her pants as she/he continued to watch and received a refill for his/her drink.

Sharp looking blue eyes leveled on the mage and he/she raised a sweet lilted voice that could not be discerned easily as either female or male to be heard above the ruckus which had recommenced from the entrance.

"Maybe it would be nicer to you if you had some better manners."

A rogue-like wink followed the comment and Bailey waited casually for the verbal parry to come while he/she considered the other new comer who had just entered, rubbing his nose from the enchantment on the door, and more particularly eyes his fancy looking armor.  

[haphazardly parked]

Emry wiped the scowl off his face, turning his face from the Staff in a way that clearly said I am angry and I am ignoring you. Instead, he turned to the stranger who had spoken to him.

When the pirate's words actually filtered through Emry's ears, the mage turned at him and sniffed indignantly. "I have manners," he muttered sullenly. "It's the Staff that doesn't. Always complaining and giving me crap for the tiniest things."

{You're overreacting.}

"I am not!"

{Are too.}

"No! See, now, you're always instigating a fight!"

{And you're always childish.}

"I - ugh." Emry planted the butt of the Staff firmly on the ground and left it standing there.  

[Robayn]

"So you're not rude, simply.. a whiner?"

Again Bailey winked, thoroughly entertained with this mage who was convinced his staff was capable of speaking to him, and decided to play a long.

"Y'know," Bailey began, reaching out from his/her belt and instead producing a wickedly sharp and curved blade from behind him as he/she continued, "I sometimes have the same problem with my sword. She gets so blood-thirsty you see and she doesn't have the same sorts of patience I do with land-lubbers. I'm surprised you haven't turned your staff into parchment yet.. the only reason this ol' girl is still around is because I'm not interested in parchment."

That and parchement made from steel was unheard of.  

[haphazardly parked]

{Hey! Hey get back here - leave me here, and I'll leave you stranded next time a group of circle-mages try to contain you.}

Emry did turn back, but not because of the Staff's empty threats (and they were empty, because the Staff knew if Emry was captured by the Council of Mages -- who were unhappy Emry had walked off with the Staff -- then it would be returned to some stiff, boring mage who couldn't Hear the winds properly.) He turned back because the pirate had claimed his sword was sentient too.

With one hand on the Staff, Emry called some winds that ruffled the sleeves of his shirt to protect his fingers from the edge of the blade and pressed two against the flat. Lightning sparks danced along the back of his palm, down the two fingers and into the sword, delving into the sword's magic and using his physical link to the sentience of the Staff to find the sentience in the sword.

There was no response.

The lightning coursed back to his fingers, dissipating once it reached the start-point of the back of his palm, and they sparks brought back nothing but memory of a blank void.

"You're insane," Emry told the pirate matter-of-factly, shaking his head pityingly. "Your sword does not talk to you -- I would suggest seeing a Mind-healer."  

[Robayn]

Bailey slid forward from the counter top with the slinking grace awarded only to those who are accustomed to having the vast amounts of alcohol swimming in their blood and the ability to incorporate that swagger into a half-descent, half-seductive, stroll.

Such a walk brought Bailey to the wizard, and his curious white staff, and he/she came a little closer to him than many would consider appropriate distance between two strangers.

A flutter of eyelashes and a thick purr afflicted Bailey's attitude suddenly in conjunction with the proximity and he/she grinned.

"I've been called a lot o' things, crazy bein' one o' them, though I never found any doctor that could help."

A swift movement brought one of Bailey's hand up behind Emry and he/she promptly delivered a smart pinch unto one of his delicate curved butt-cheeks.

"Though if you wanted to play doctor I'd give it another try sweet'eart."  

[haphazardly parked]

Emry jumped like a normal person being shocked by miniature lightning bolts would jump. And then he stood there, blank-faced, and blinked.

Once, twice.

Thrice for good measure, but only because he wasn't sure what was happening was actually happening.

"I..." he began.

{THAT DID NOT JUST HAPPEN,} the Staff raged. It was terribly possessive of Emry, despite the constant arguments the two were in, and the wind in the little tavern picked up with a force that was very, very unnatural indoors.

"Hey, stop it!" Emry ordered, using his scolding of the Staff as an excuse to shuffle away from the uncomfortably and unsettlingly close proximity of the (stinking) pirate. He used his own magic, channeling it through the Staff to quell the winds and by the time his clothes settled (along with everyone else's) he had completely turned sideways, facing his staff and boxing out the pirate.

Turning back to the pirate, he managed, "I- uh, sorry. Funny thing is, I'm a war mage- furthest thing from a doctor, see. But I hear there's a good one. Out the door, keep going straight until you see a flying pig, then take a left there."  

[Robayn]

"Oh that's okay," Bailey grinned, his/her attention either oblivious to the magical winds or arrogantly nonchalant towards them... or both. "If you're not a doctor I could enjoy a good fight too. You look like you've got a lot of bite in you."

Bailey didn't make up for the gap Emry had procured between the two of them, relishing in the sense of unease he/she could detect easily enough, and instead hopped up so that he/she was sitting on the table and still facing the mage.

"A war mage huh? So tell me, is the staff just for show or is it really that big of a deal?"

Bailey's eyes darted from Emry's eyes to down south and then back again just long enough, and timely enough, for Emry to get a clear understanding of what he/she was hinting at.