The Path Laid At Your Feet

[CYMDT]

A droplet of cool rain ran over the crest of his eye and down his nose to land somewhere on his waterlogged jerkin. The young mans shoulders were set resolutely and he strode through the blue misted lanes eagerly. The road to Tarthyn had become overcast and drizzly by early morning this day, and Kern had set out on the road wet, but undaunted. Mud clung to his boots eagerly and his clothes were saturated almost as much as his long hazel hair. With a nonchalant pass of the hand, he removed his tip-of-the-nose length hair from his eyes and strained through the fog to see rooftops coming into view over the nearest hill.

The trees gradually parted way and passed into farmland, which in turn gave way to the gated walls of Tarthyn. Two genuinely miserable looking royal guards, dressed in the purple, red, and white of Lustynian family colors barred Kerns entrance to the city with their halberds. They eyed him warily as he was ill-dressed for the current weather conditions. After demanding his business in the city they allowed him entrance, the day was too forlorn to bother with mundane passport checks and other immigration formalities. His business this day happened to concern a friend of Kerns, whom he was following north from the empire of Chelk. So far the trail had led him through three kingdoms and several interesting events. Wiping the rain from his eyes once more, the travel worn foreigner glanced over his shoulder to watch as a large, lean dog caked in mud narrowly avoided getting caught between the two massive wooden gates leaning into the city. Kern laughed at the bewildered shouts of the guards, who would have insisted he leave his companion outside had he tried to gain entrance to the city with her.

With a whine and a playful tug at Kerns hand, the slightly grey, but mostly muddy elkhound bounded down the cobbled streets of Tarthyn. Following behind, Kern wondered where he might best search for his friend. The answer flowed like wavering honey out of a roadside tavern in the form of drunken merry and ill-voiced, but well enjoyed song. The outside of the tavern was crude and aged, but lent a sense of long tradition to the aire. Stepping inside, Kern observed the tavern crawlers with a loose eye. A golden fire danced in a hearth at one end of the room. The majority of the patrons were gathered by the bar however, as most were already dry, or too drunk to notice their dampness. Not drawing attention to himself, the 5'8" wanderer made his way between scarred tables to a lazy chair by the fire. He removed his sopping outer jacket and placed it by the hearth. Checking the eyes around him, he sat and pulled at his boots until they popped off his weary feet, which he then propped up on a ledge by the flames. The heat felt far too good to his toes and he leaned back, closing his eyes.

Here sat a young man of 20 or so. His dog curled by his toes, his jacket drying by the fire, he had freed his chest of his jerkin and lounged idly, tongues of firelight eagerly reflected off the rainwater collected on his bare stomach. Those in the tavern who had observed his entrance saw an outsider. His unmentioned sword lay against the chair, not quite obviously in view, but not far either. He was lean himself and was muscled, not what one would have claimed as bound or corded, but more the physical fitness possessed of a survivor, of one who thrives on hard life and living without a plan. With his eyes closed, the radiant warmth of the fire on his skin, and the knowledge that soon a barmaid would come to him he silently debated on whether he should inquire about his friend first, or order himself a pint of ale.

*Hey all, first post and all, people are welcome of course. Especially a female or two, heh. No, the dogs just my friend, no bestiality, sorry to disappoint, ha j/k.

I was thinking fantasy roleplay with this, so join as you see fit in keeping with the theme, elves, dwarfs, ogres? have fun with it, but serious RPers only please. Hope to have a good time here, cheers!

-CYMDT

 

[Elayne]

Ailis

Ailis hurried through the grey slate streets of Tarthyn. The rain had slicked the cobbles and her slippers squished unpleasantly as she drew her russet cloak around her shoulders, the hood pulled up protectively as she hunched forward. She reached The Blazon Hart tavern, the shingle dimmed as it swayed in the rain and wind, a deer with a crown of fire.

Stepping inside, Ailis looked around. The common room was somewhat crowded, the populace of the town mostly driven indoors by the overcast skies and constant downpour. Ailis almost sighed. Crowds were good for business, but unpleasant as well.

The portly tavernkeeper shooed her towards the back room, snapping his towel sharply as he looked over the crowd with a certain nervousness. The Blazon Hart was hardly the finest tavern in town, and a certain amount of rough trade made brawling a concern. Ailis however was in no hurry, taking the time to sweep off her soaked cloak, hanging it on a peg by the fire, then reaching down to warm her hands.

Ailis sighed comfortably as the flames leapt an inch, the warmth of their wild dance radiating through her slender fingers and palms. She reached up and shook out her shock of bright hair, a shade that matched the flames in sharp crimson and burnished gold as it shone sleekly down her back. After a few minutes of warming herself by the fire, Ailis felt rejuevenated, the aftereffects of the rainy day dimming somewhat. Under the pot bellied innkeepers squinted eye, she moved to the back room.

In the privacy of the back room, Ailis pulled off her still damp dress. Her skin was lightly tanned and smooth, showing no freckles that one might associate with her red gold hair. Instead, long lines of red and gold tickled along her legs like dancing flames, tattoos so sharp they looked more like fresh paint as they swirled around her thighs and around the curve of her hips, meeting around a stylized Lustynian crest at the small of her back, then swirled up like playful fingers, along her spine and spreading across her shoulder blades.

Ailis went to a small red chest at the side of the room, the flame marks along her legs rippling as she knelt, opening it. She pulled out a soft crimson dress, pulling it over her head and letting it fall. The fabric was silk soft as sin, slashed in a low V to show the cleavage between her full breasts, backless to display the bright markings along her back. The skirt fell almost to her ankles, but was slit on both sides to the middle of her round thighs so that her legs were free. Ailis tugged off her slippers, setting them in her chest, then tossed in the damp dress she had worn on the streets. Lastly, she pulled out a small steel chain from the chest, wrapping it around her waist, cinching the dress to her, then buckling it. A small pouch hung limply from the chain at her left hip, dark black leather marked with a golden Lustyian crest.

Dressed once more, Ailis tossed out her hair and checked her appearance briefly in the mirror. She smoothed her crimson dress over her flat, well toned belly, then nodded and strolled out into the common room.

 

[poohlive]

Did you see him? If you didn't look close enough you'd miss him. Most people did, most people never bother to look down except tie their shoes. They all had their noses up in the air, trying to reach the stars, sniffing the roses rather than the shit on the ground.

No, gotta look down, little lower. Only three feet high, it's hard to see something so small. Not small exactly, just not large. There's a weird difference between large and small. A human is considered normal size, at least they think of themselves that way. Their spoons are normal size, any spoon bigger or small is a big spoon or a small spoon, respectively.

In that same tone, when they saw Milhouse, (if they ever bothered to look down) they saw nothing more than a small human. A halfling, as it were, or hobbit if you were from the southern kingdoms. He prefered neither of course, he liked being called Milhouse.

Milhouse, like most halfling's had been a cook in a former life. Most of those who had happened out of their little cozy homes and hollows had entered manling life as a cook or servant of sorts. They were amazing little things, could turn half rotten potatoes into the best stew you've ever eaten.

Of course, this particular halfling didn't look like he spent much time behind the skillet. He actually had quite an opposite look. His body, what you could see over the chainmail (which was unheard of on a halfling) was either covered with scars or covered with tattoos. If one bothered to look close enough, they would see the scars, tiny movies, pictures of impossible foes. Huge demons swirling in septagrams of power, minotaurs roaring and raging with nothing but hate and hunger in their eyes, and in each picture there was the halfing standing bravely, his axe out, taking each foe down.

If one bothered to ask the little pint sized warrior about the tattoo's, he would have a story for each one. Detailed and planned out, how he went there, the enormous odds that the halfling had to endure, taking down the beast, and finally getting a tattoo showing the very monster he defeated.

One of these days he wouldn't come back... one of these days, he imagined, in a fit of giggled laughter, a huge demon would have a tattoo of some small halfling that had come up against something a little bigger than it could handle. In truth, everything he came up with was something bigger than he could handle. He was a halfling after all. Dwarves were the fighters, strong and tough, humans had inteligence and the adaptation, many skills backing them up, and even elves were graceful and dexterous...

Halfling posessed none of those skills, so they were not warriors.

Why this particular one had decided to stray from that path and fight those he had no right fighting, and win battles he had no right winning was beyond anyone's grasp. No one could think of a valid reason, and no one really bothered asking him... because most of the time they could no see him.

They were reaching for the stars.

The halfling propped himself up on a mountain of a stool, and ordered a stiff drink from the bar.

 

[astralkiss]

Why does life deal us the hand we get?

Lady Eolande Isleen Sorcha Atyhwathair looked down at her slim hands as she tranversed the road, wondering this very thought. Silver-blond hair flowing past her waist loosely, she sighs, moving it to the side. Wandering had became her life, and only because of one choice she had made in her short (by elf standards) life. By refusing her parents' choice of suitor, they had sent her on a quest in response. To find herself, they had said, for lack of a better objective.

She sighed, looking down at her miraculously non-dingy light-blue gown. Hugging all of her slender graceful curves in the right places, it was made of a seemingly ordinary light blue satiny material. Until she moved, that was. After that, the colours changed as if the fabric were a rippling lake, from silver to blue and back again, seemingly as if by magic. The square cut neckline emphasized her long neck and slim shoulders, as well as her delicate collarbones and proportioned chest. Lithe arms coated in the lake coloured fabric crossed as she moved closer to the village.

Skin pale as moonlight, accented by slightly almond-shaped eyes a rich shade of blue, almost the same colour as her gown with the same shifting effect, survey the land as her ears search for the sounds of a bustling village nearby or a town. She sighs, as she is weary and looks for a place to rest. Pouch hidden under her clothing, she knows she can afford it.

Fiddling with her sleeve, her bow and quiver on her back clicking a bit, she bites her lip. Where is she to find herself? In this quaint little village up ahead? In the mountains? It had been a few years, and albeit that not being a very long time for an elf, she had been growing bored with the posturing of humans, treating her as either a noble or just strange, looking at her with fear in their mortal eyes, as if she was a sorceress. She understood she looked a bit different, but it was frustrating when noone could look her in the eyes. It had been that way for months.

The gentle scuffing of her slippers on a cobblestone alerted her to the entrance to the town. A gentle bark from the silver coloured hound, named ARtan, next to her showed her the location of the gates. She nodded at Artan and proceeded to the gates, the keepers letting her pass when they saw the circlet around her head, and the noble bearing with which she carried herself. Perhaps they were afraid that she would turn them into toads, she thought jubilantly, laughing in her head at the foolishness. She clicked her fingers and Artan followed.

She wandered the streets a bit more, wanting to hear the drunken revelry from an inn so she would have somewhere to rest her head for the night and a place to get a good meal. Strains of a bawdy song permeated her ears, and she never thought that she would be glad to hear that.

She found the tavern, a bit scruffy for her tastes, but nonetheless, appropriate for her needs. Huffing at the rain and the oglers by the door. The tavern in Tarthyn was alright for now, she thought, gliding to the door.

She entered, and tried to ignore all of the stares she received.

Looking like she did, most people stared. With her ethereal paleness, she appeared to be a ghost or a moon goddess.

Standing at 5'5", a small height for an elf, her slender curves visible underneath the silver-blue gown, a hint of cleavage showing underneath her silver necklace and above the neckline, she was a sight to see. A fine-boned face, with delicate features, high cheekbones, a noble nose and full lips, along with the deep pools of ice blue, scanned the room for either the innkeeper or someone she knew. The gown, circlet of silver studded with aquamarine coloured precious stones atop her hair, which was pulled back partially only to get it out of her face, the carved quiver with the coat of arms of her family, and her bow displayed her rank and wealth. Seeing neither, she sidled up to the bar, ordering her hound Arthan to lie down underneath her chair, which he complied to quickly.

"I'll have a meat pie and an ale," she ordered, the barmaid nodded and brought it quickly. Eolande ate after tipping the barmaid a copper, and scanned the room. Her eyes rested on a young man, appearing to be a bit older than her, which she appeared to be about 18 human years. His hazel eyes and brown hair was mudcaked but there was something about him. She gave him a brazen stare, waiting for a reaction from the young man. Eolande was intrigued by him.

 

[CYMDT]

Kern stirred from his position, raising a hand to wipe the grit from his eye. Some time had passed since he sat and it was now later in the evening, as such more patrons were entering the tavern. Only three caught his eye when he glanced across the room. One was only a parting glimpse of a young woman hurrying into a back room, she was ordinary, except that her hair seemed extraordinarily lustrous for a commonwoman, but he put her behind his thoughts when he saw the halfling. One of the little people was sitting high atop one of the barstools draining a mug of ale. Kern wouldn't have noticed him, the little ones being inconspicuous and all, but this one wore chain mail and Kern could see portions of tattoo's underneath the armor, yet another strange thing among halflings.

'He might want to be wary of that weight, he'll be strugglin to keep his nose above the water tonight.' Kern chuckled at the thought. At the same moment one of the keen barmaids, seeing that the figure by the fire was now stirring, came by and asked for his order. This particular barmaid had frayed blond hair and seemed disproportioned. Uninterested, Kern gave up his order watched her leave. He stood up to gather his clothes together now that they were dry, but he felt uneasy the minute he stood up, he could feel someones eyes on him. He nervously glanced about the room until his eyes locked with a young elven maids. He held her unwavering gaze for a moment before he turned and sat back down in what he had claimed as his chair. Even though his jerkin was dry now, he chose not to put it on and lounged. The barmaid returned with his bread and ale, which he paid for from a leather pouch at his waist. He caught the womans eyes prowling over his stomach and taking in his form, but he dismissed her without a thought. It wasn't that he was full of himself, but Kern knew what kind of lady complany he liked to keep and she wasn't it. But that elf by the bar stuck in his mind, he turned a sidelong glance to see where she was.

Her dress revealed her figure nicely, and she seemed quite out of place in the tavern. She was also fairly clean and dry for having just come out of the rain. He took her supple form in for a moment before noticing that the commonwoman he'd spotted earlier had re-entered the barroom. She appeared to be noble as well, and Kern started to wonder if something was going on that he didn't know about. He nudged Eury, (the dog), to keep her alert and unchecked his sword from its sheath, just in case.

A strange tattoo on the second noble-woman caught his eye, it was the Lustynian family crest, sprawling over her body and crawling over her lithe back. Kern sat back in the chair and cocked a leg casually over the arm. Rumors about the Lustynian family were wild with tales of fiendish sex drive and the powerful urges that some, but not all possessed. Of course these were rumors and Kern didn't know any Lustynians personally, so he could not ask of course.

There were now two very interesting women occupying the barroom and Kern couldn't decide which to approach. It had been awhile since he had shared the company of a lady, a month perhaps. The last time being in the pasture-hills of Trey with a very innocent, but eagerly naughty shepherd girl. Now he had two fine choices to choose from, but he decided to stay put, perhaps both would come to him, and this night, there would be no choosing at all.

 

[Elayne]

Ailis

Ailis stepped out of the back room, dressed now in her crimson silk dress, lustrous fire and gold hair spilling down her back like a sleek wave. Her eyes were amber and bright as she swept them across the patrons of the common room.

Ailis sighed softly and padded towards the bar. Her bare feet whispered on the wooden floor, smooth and graceful, rounded hips rolling beneath her skirt, the tattoos on her back curling and writhing along her spine as she moves. She leaned forward over the bar, and the tavernkeeper came closer, speaking to her in a low, gruff tone for a moment. She tilted her head, listening for a moment, then nodded sharply, straightening and smoothing her skirt.

One of the wenchs, a top heavy blonde with a slightly worn look approached her, murmuring briefly in her ear, and Ailis nodded, then watched as the barmaid flounced off to tend another table.

Ailis padded over to the table where the wanderer sat, still shirtless. The fellow's dog gave her a wary look as she drew close, brushing the tips of her fingers across the lip of the table and leaning slightly towards him, her supple back arching just enough to press her round breasts forward, the soft crimson of her dress pulling taut over her tanned skin as she murmured to him in a soft, sweet tone.

"May I join you?"

 

[astralkiss]

Eolande

Lady Eolande rose to speak with the wanderer once she saw his gaze had locked with hers. She bit her lip nervously, not really knowing how to deal with humans. Her hair shimmered like woven silver as she walked over, her gaze trained on him.

A barmaid got in her way, and she shooed her away, reassuring her that she wanted none of what she was offering. Although often elven sexual appetites ran the gamut, Eolande was sure that she did not want any of what the possibly disease-infested barmaid had to offer. Shaking her head, she attempted to get to the wanderer, her way once more impeded by yet another buxom woman. Growling lightly, her mostly calm temperament inflamed, she sidestepped around the woman, and made it to the wanderer.

Unfortunately, with the wanderer was a tawdry looking, perhaps noble woman, stood in front of him, her breasts nearly falling out of her indecently cut dress, a crimson silk to match her brazenly coloured hair. Raising an eyebrow, Eolande stepped within view.

"Excuse me, I noticed you across the room," she said in the wondrous Elven singsong tone and language, then replied in the local tongue, noted in manuscripts and sonnets throughout the centuries. She smiled at him, a radiance coming to her face. Quickly scanning the other woman, she says in a more normal tone to the both of them "Am I interrupting something? Business?" she asked, a slight arch coming to her slender eyebrow.

She stood, waiting for a reply, hands clasped in a graceful manner, a calm radiance emanating around her, no hint that she was annoyed at all. Her face bestowed a calm smile upon both of them, her blue eyes soft and unbothered.

 

[Goblynn]

Jillian

As she put the bread and ale down beside the newcomer, Jillian couldn't help but notice the poor boy's rough looking stomach. Taut and muscled to be sure, but far too lean. Not enough bulk on the poor thing, she fretted. She thought of bringing him some more of the bread and walked away in time to view a stunning elf maiden sitting up at the bar. Jillian couldn't help but stare at the lady's exotic beauty and brought her order with a friendly smile. 'Interesting night', she thought pleased. She even spied Milhouse sitting by himself nursing a drink and went to greet him.
Jillian was nearly thirty, a plain woman with frazzled gold hair that designed it's own look and bright brown eyes that were lined with "character", a polite joke between her and the regular barflies. The lines, she had told them in a laughing whisper, were actually from dealing with their drunken foolishness day in and day out for fifteen years. They always laughed with her, sweet promises of behaving before another round was ordered and all hell would break loose. She embraced it though, the people who came to her for food and drink bringing out the nurturing soul almost instantly, regardless of their story. She'd been orphaned at a young age and taken into the care of the barkeep where he trained her in the fine art of serving. She took to it easily, being an open and smart girl, always ready to hear a story or tend to the broken souls that made their way into the tavern on dark nights. This night with it's gloomy weather made for close quarters inside the relatively small building as people grumbled for a place to relax. Lifting up the bar's gate and sliding passed, she found her way over to the halfling and smiled, the lines crinkling at her eyes.
"Oi, Milly, how ya doin', gorgeous?", she asked warmly. She bent down and placed her elbows on the table, her peasant's shirt dipping low at the motion. A gold locket nestled itself in the cleavage of her ample breasts, shining dully in the flickering lighting. "Been keeping busy, have we?"

 

[poohlive]

"You have no idea," Even his voice was gravely. Light and sweet, as a halfling's, like some immortal child that had refused to grow up, but gravely all the same. It had a notion of a young kid trying to act grown up. This was no act however, this was just Milhouse.

"Come, and see," He pushed aside the chainmail down one of his arms, fresh blood coming off yet another tatto, this one of a group of goblins, 5 or 6 in all. The leader of the goblins wore a dress, bright red dress, which looked rather ridiculous on the goblin. In the caption, the halfling was swinging away however, immortally taking the cross dressing goblin down.

"His mistress was a human woman," Milhouse explained, "She had great magical powers. He thought they came from the clothes she wore, and her accessories."

He begged her look closer, the goblin also wore tiny jewelry, earrings, and a tiara on top.

"It didn't, of course, but that didn't stop him. I made short work of him... or her, whichever you look at it."

It hadn't been the most heroic of battles, or even prominent, but he had made a promise that each foe fallen on his blade gets a spot on his body. War scars, which he had a fair share, but a different kind. These tattoos showed his enemies at their highest, their peak, falling by the hands of an unlikely foe.

Very unlikely.

"Oh, dear thing," Milhouse winked, handing her a fair share of copper, "You know my usual. You take good care of me, you do. If I were but a few feet higher, I might take care of you one of these nights."

He laughed at that, winking with the unaffectual golden innocence that only the halfling race contained.

 

[Goblynn]

She sighed when she saw the blood and markings.
"Honestly, Mil, why do you go on doing this, mm? And don't you start on the flirting. You're far too handsome for this ol' broad," she laughed, winking. She turned around to fetch his cool drink. "A fine story, of course. Goblins in dresses.." she turned around, her pale face in a scrunch. "What in blazes is going on in this world? And a woman mistress!" With that, she shook her head in disgust and placed his mug in front of him.

 

[poohlive]

Milhouse beamed at her compliment, waving back his mostly shaved head, only a thin spiky length of hair remained at the top, dressed up orange. Rogueishly handsome... he didn't think so, but she was smiling, and so was he. How could that be wrong?

Honestly.

"I made a promise," He sighed, pushing down his chainmail over the fresh tattoo, "I made a promise I couldn't keep. This is..."

Milhouse looked at himself in almost a saddened way, "This is punishment. The tattoo's are reminders of my punishment. That is all. It's the way things are done back home."

Of course, it wasn't the way things are done back home. Halfling's do not have a tradition of going out against demeaning odds in order to purge some unbroken promise. Only one species had, to be honest. Dwarves.

But, why a halfling would want to imitate a dwarf... and imitate such a deadly and honorbound tradition such as that was ludicrous. Insane. Yet, here he was, here he sat, and here he drank deep from the huge mug of ale.

"I don't know. Things change. The more things change, the more they stay the same, I suppose. Something is coming though, can you feel it? Things moving, churning, even under the earth. It's scary. Just..."

He tried to find a better word, but couldn't, "Scary."

 

[Goblynn]

Jillian's features softened at the halflings weary face as he talked on. Rarely had she seen him so dispondant. She glanced at the various people milling about, their drinks taken care of by the other ale wench working the floor. She dragged a stool over and sat down, lifting her heavy skirt off the sticky wood boards below her booted feet.
"I've been hearin' rumours some. Of the things you seem to maybe be talking of, eh? But that's none of my concern, time's change whether you want it to or not. But this ol' place still remains the same, mm?" She patted his hand comfortingly. "What's this business of you keeping such a brutal promise? I don't approve." She eyed him, lips curling in a slight smile.

 

[CYMDT]

He lounged. Casually, of course, as he did all things. In fact, Kern had taken being comfortable to the next level, even in combat he was fluid and loose, his sword dancing around his body as he wove patterns in the melee. But this was not combat....at least not the same kind. A perceptive eye sized up the crimson clad noble-woman before him. Her features were remarkably well defined, pretty by all standards, and her shoulders were smooth, leading his gaze to the low cut in her dress. He took that view in for a moment before leveling back to look in her eyes, which were an exotic colour of amber. Kern liked the color amber.

Kern knew it was expected, well more likely demanded these days, for him to stand and greet her properly as a noblewoman....but that was formal. He rolled his eyes at the thought of formality. "Miss, you can sit wherever you like, but I'm only going to talk with you if you've got something I'm interested in hearing."
And thats the way Kern was, all were equal in his mind, whether they be common man or noble man. He judged all by his personal experiences interacting. He wasn't trying to be rude................well, maybe just a little. One could get such a rise out of being rude to the nobles.

He threw the sultry woman a look of challenge, daring her to be more than an empty-headed twit (He sooo hated those). He was about to say more when he heard someone speaking in Sindarian. He turned to see who it was and was somewhat surprised to see the girl from the bar. He threw a look over his shoulder to where she had been, and sure enough he had not even noticed her passage through the barroom. He scoffed at himself, it was unlike him to miss something like that. He raised an eyebrow at her comment and replied in the same tongue, "And what did you see?" he asked, checking out of the corner of his eye to see the nobles expression. Could she understand the elven language?

"Business? Ahh, I don't believe so... he said, sending the noblewoman a quizzical look, we were all just getting comfortable." Implying for both the women to take seats where they could find them. He let them both be for a moment to pull some dried meat from his pack, unwrap it and give it to Eury for her to eat. After scratching her belly for a moment, he sat back in the chair and put his feet up on the dog footstool style. She gave him a look as if to say, 'Are you kidding....you're ridiculous' and then lent all her attention to eating her meal.

 

[astralkiss]

"I suppose I meant business of a different kind," she replied smoothly in her native tongue, taking a seat next to him, clicking her tongue and her silverhound slipping over gracefully, much like herself, and sitting curled by her feet. "I saw you and I know you have many stories to tell, and you know how my people love stories. You are experienced, wanderer and you intrigue me. Eolande Isleen Sorcha Atyhwathair, of the house of Shan'aera," she said in her native tongue, and then repeated it in the local in case the woman sitting by her did not speak Sindarian.

"And this little guy is Artan," she said in the common tongue, petting the hound's head, and feeding her a last piece of her meal she had left over. Smiling, she looked into the hound's eyes and he appeared to communicate somehow with her through his eyes, which weirded quite a few people out.

"And you both are?" she asked in the common tongue, switching over out of politeness, regarding both the noble and the wanderer with a gliding glance.

 

[poohlive]

Milhouse liked the feel of her hand in his own, welcomed it gladly. It had been a long time since he'd had a welcomed touch from a friend. An unlikely smile rose to his lips.

"This was back when I was growing up. I was raised by dwarves mostly, a group in particular. They were treasure hunters, miners who searched the catacombs of their ancient homes for anything salvagable. They hired me basically to cook and clean for them as they went off."

A halfling is best in the kitchen, with a pot in each hand, cooking and frying. He had excelled at this, and even stubborn dwarves had come to enjoy their new companion.

"It was one night though, in particular. We were raided by goblins. A horde of them. I saw them, saw them coming for the camp, each dwarf asleep or drunk. I couldn't say anything, I couldn't do anything, I was so scared... it seemed like hundreds of them in the dark. Their red eyes..."

A tear slipped from his cheek. Milhouse had the vacant expression of a memory long forgotten slipping back to the surface pulling at strings of the heart at its leisure.

"I hid, and none of them saw me. In the morning, none of my friends were left alive. Just me. They hadn't found me, they probably didn't even care. What could a halfling do?"

Years later, hardened tough years had answered that question though. As an unlikely warrior stood inside the tavern. A halfling unlike any halfling the earth had ever seen. A fighter, tough and brutal, destroying evil in his wake, with prejudice and fury of a dwarf.

"From then on, I looked for fights, unfair ones. It wasn't hard at first. Simple humans, young dwarves. Then I got better, I learned skills, found new methods. I got this special armor, an old dwarf friend, and my axe..."

He showed her the axe. It was a two handed weapon, usually used by the toughest and fiercest, yet it was modified, lighter and easier to grip for a halfling. A modified weapon, that had dwarven skill poured into it too.

"I promised to take care of my friends, and I broke that. No, I have to give it back to them in some way, find my own path of redemption."

And, he had found it, someway. A way no other had ever tracked, but a way that needed to be followed nontheless.

 

[lustybard]

T'runk

Hot oil splashed from a cast-iron frying pan across the back of T'runk's hand. Where a human would have been seriously burnt, and even a dwarf would have pulled away, he simply mopped it up with a rag without noticing. His eyes were on the slit of a window that separated the kitchen from the common room of the inn, and they never moved from that view. His hands moved, to be sure, frying potatoes, baking pies, simmering venison for a stew -- but he never looked down. If he did, it would only remind him of why he was not welcome in their company.

In some ways, Tarthyn was tolerant for a human village. When Milhouse came in, only a few made 'half-pint' jokes -- though that might have had to do with his demeanor as much as their open-mindedness. And Elves visited occasionally; hell, there were several dwarves who had taken up permanent residence in the Hart, though they rarely left their rooms.

"But all of that, my lad, doesn't mean they want to know an Ogre is frying their eggs," Divad said when T'runk was hired. The fat human sat in a wooden chair leaning against a wall, his feet resting on a table, while he quizzed the monster who had brought in the poorly-scrawled Cook Wanted sign that had been nailed to the doorpost. "I'll give ya a chance, but you stay well out of sight, d'you understand?"

His hands moved automatically, chopping carrots into sweet golden coins, the knife biting deep into the board below. It had been difficult to adapt to the human tools, and he still tended to use too much force when his mind was elsewhere. But he had a gift for food, and as soon as Divad had tasted the first pie to come from the ovens, the ogre had a permanent position. So he spent every evening like this, his eyes fixed through an open frame two inches wide by eight inches long, where the rest of his world mingled freely but he was not welcomed.

Oh, the town knew there was an ogre at the tavern; he did the shopping, and foraged in the woods for nuts and herbs. But they assumed that he was kept in a back room somewhere as a last-ditch security measure, treated less kindly than a horse, or that dog that sat by the fire in his field of vision -- for wasn't that what dumb brutes were for? No one could know that he prepared human food, or brewed casks of human ale, or sometimes was pressed into service preparing human beds before a busy night. Or that, sometimes in the wee hours of the morning, he would wake with a start to find that he'd been dreaming human dreams.

And certainly, they couldn't know that he harbored longings for human women. While he scanned the room, not missing the noble woman and the elf who had moved beside the fire, and able to see from the corner of his view a few of the women who quietly sold themselves to visitors, he let his eyes rest more than one time on a very well-known face, with less lines than she thought and hair more golden than she'd admit to -- and each time, he heaved a sigh that made the dishes rattle.

 

[Goblynn]

Jillian remained a quiet listener as Milhouse wove the tale with sorrowful emotion. She watched as a single tear fell over his boyish face; a face that was scarred and hardened by his obviously difficult decisions. She wanted to comfort him as the story ached into her bleeding heart. She could feel his pain as if it was her own and she loathed the life that had been set out for him. Struggling for strength of mind, she squeezed his hand and gave it a quick kiss before turning her eyes on his.
"Are you hungry, love? I can get T'runk to fill your belly full of the warmest delights. Would that be okay?" Food for comfort and a compassionate ear did wonders, she knew. "We'll talk more, see if we can't get your spirits back to where I know they should be." She stood up with a hop, hand on his cheek affectionately. "No one's allowed to frown for long in this little haven."

 

[Elayne]

Ailis

Ailis raised a blazen eyebrow quizzically at his manners, mouth taking a slight twist as she tugged out a chair. She looked over her shoulder as the elf woman approached, amber eyes shining fiercely in the fire light as Ailis looked over the woman, then dismissed her as she took her seat.

She listened briefly to the exchange in elven, her head tilted slightly to the side, fire and gold hair spilling down her shoulder. If she understood elven, no sign of it showed across her face, but she listened to the musical language with a certain artistic admiration.

Ailis nodded serenely to the elf maid. "I am Ailis," she replied simply, offering neither family name nor title.

Then she reached across the table, towards the wanderer holding out one hand, palm up.

"Give me your hand a moment," she asked in her soft, husky voice.

 

[scorpfemale]

New character

From a dark corner, Tristessa enjoys her pint. Rolling a coin back and forth over her knuckles in anticipation of the server bringing her a hot bowl of stew, she takes in the scenes of this mud-clad group of normals. The trio at the table by the fire were of particular interest. Already the women looked ready to scrap over this new hunk of flesh. If they only knew how foolish and common they appeared, flocking to him. Granted his looks were appealing, but please, a little mystery. The art of flirting has been lost to the shameful act of posturing.

With a bit of paranoia, she lowers her hood. A silver scarf is tied behind her head, covering the entire top of it, but trailing down her back was a thick, raven braid. When working, it's best to keep the hair out of the face, lest it hamper your vision. Not to mention it's easier to grab when it's just flying around. The voice of her teacher still rolling through her mind, even after these couple of years without him. And so, most of the time even her long braid is tucked into the back of her shirt or, as the case on this chilly night, her leather cloak. It is nice to let it show every once in a while, though, to remind herself of more feminine days.

While waiting for the food and assessing this crowd is only here to seek shelter from the storm, she props her feet on the table, stretching her muscular form before any onlookers. A skin-hugging black shirt rest under a leather halter top, which to the careful eye seems more of a binding attempt at concealing ivory globes of pleasure. And yes, to bind them is the key, for running from police or trying to change appearance in a crowd is not easy if you can be known for especially large breasts. Another lesson from her teacher, which has proven invaluable over the years.

Her legs are covered in more leather, but this leather looks especially worn and agile. Her dark boots come up over her knees, which unknown to everyone here, contain a wealth of instruments, tools, weapons, and potions. If anyone ever took the time to carefully inventory Tess, they would see that she has little things hidden all over her. A belt of small potion bottles, little tin cans of who knew what, and other unknowns adorn her waist. A collector of knives, she is a master of hiding all manners of things sharp and projectile on her person. The main one for show is the holster at the small of her back, on the top of her pants, where the silver knuckle handle of her punch dagger rests. But this is more for threats and show, though she does keep it sharp and at the ready for any disturbances that might cause her green eyes to shift a bit more greyish-blue.

She spots the waitress eyeing her upper arm sheath, which holds a threatening, short, but broad knife. Even the handle, that of a dragon's head in silver, looks menacing. "That'll be all." she dismisses the server with a flip of the coin and begins to eat before, perhaps, a scuffle breaks out between these two hungry felines of the two-legged variety.

 

[lustybard]

T'runk was simply the closest human approximation to his name; it wasn't his fault that it sounded like a mundane word that already existed. Still, the ogre had to admit that it seemed to fit a little too well -- a stout, secure container that is always kept tightly closed. He knew he couldn't let his guard slip for even a moment around the other races -- only here, alone, in the comfort of a kitchen where he could easily reach out with both hands and touch opposite walls; here he could be at home. And what did he do with that? He stood, and stared, and mooned away for things he wasn't even considered able to want.

And he cooked. There was no doubt that he was meant to be a chef -- even in this crude tavern, he created delights that would have made a highborn's taste buds cheer. He could take a few eggs, some cheese, a crumbling of sausage and herbs, a handful of year-old flour -- and create works of art that hadn't even been given names yet. His omelettes crackled at the edges but were moist and fluffy inside, his beans glistened as they rolled over in their broth, his pastry was so light it seemed to lift the fork itself.

But he did all of this without looking, without noticing, his hands moving automatically with knife and skillet and spoon, knowing that the frycakes were ready to turn by the way they sizzled, knowing that the ale was ready to be tapped by the way the casks would creak in the wee hours of morning, as he cleared a space to sleep across the floor.

The door to the kitchen suddenly crashed open, and his heart jumped into his thick throat. "Sorry, didn't mean to be quite so rough with your door, T'runk," Jillian said, setting an armful of crockery beside the sink. "But my arms were full, and I'm not exactly the type to stand on ceremony." She grinned, and he felt a grin stretch across his face in return. The lamplight caught her hair perfectly in here, he thought -- the common room was far too dark to show the highlights properly. And the heat of the ovens quickly brought a glow to her skin -- a color he wished he could paint the entire room over in, so he'd never forget it. Yes, he harboured a desire for many of the women he saw from his culinary hiding place, but there was no doubt that she was something very special.

"Could you fix up something special for Mil tonight, love? He's down in the valleys, and that's for certain." He nodded, afraid to even try to speak. He grinned at her for another moment, then someone called her name and she shrugged her shoulders, disappearing through the door again.

Stupid. Like she could ever want to kiss this face, he thought miserably as he added some mushrooms to the skillet he was already preparing. They wear masks for Hallow's Eve that are more attractive.

 

[scorpfemale]

Compliments to the chef

Tess stopped the server again, this time more kindly. "This is the best stew I have tasted since that of my grandmere" the rest kind of trailed off in a dream voice "so long ago." For a moment, Tess' lost control of her memories and they came crowding in. Thankfully, the server girl kind of moved her hand from under Tess' and it brought Tess back to the present.

Removing a silver from the only visible coin pouch dangling from her belt, Tess, being greatful for the memories, as well as the culinary delight, expressed "I must give this to him personally."

The server, so young and perhaps this being her first job, looked a little uncertain in what to do. "I'll get Jill." she kind of mumbled, and was gone before Tess could disagree. So, doing the only natural thing to do, Tess followed the server right into the kitchen.

Seeing the server become confused, trying to explain to whom Tess assumed was Jill, Tess began explaining her sincere desires, and holding up the silver piece, so that all could see she simply wanted to give thanks.

 

[poohlive]

"A drink, some wonderful food, an a long ago story told once more for fresh faces. Ahh, that is indeed a good night. Thank you so much."

The bar had a decent amount of people in it now, not enough to be considered crowded, but certainly a good amount of people. He rarely noticed them, partly because they rarely noticed him and also partly because there seemed no real need. People were people, and they had little to do with him or his business.

Milhouse wiped away a forgotten tear, smiled a wandering smile and enjoyed his little seat in the adventure.

 

[Goblynn]

Jillian regarded the new patron with suspicion. Rarely did a customer need to see T'runk and when they did, they wish they never bothered. Out of a protective concern over her friend, Jillian smiled politely at the dark woman. "I'll let him know how much you enjoyed the meal." she offered, bringing her hand around the woman's back to lead her away from the kitchen. She got a feel of strong muscles under thick leather armour. Warrior from somewhere, perhaps. "He'll be pleased that you liked it, mm?"

 

[scorpfemale]

Jillian and Tess

Tess reached around to the arm of the woman, not threateningly, but to let her know this was not what she wanted. "Please" Tess whispered the word that seemed so foreign to her lips. Looking deeply into the beautiful woman's eyes, she saw kindness there, and Tess hoped she sensed her own sincerity. "In a world where no one is thanked, and I don't often find it in my heart to be appreciative anymore, on this cold, wet night, let your cook receive this gift from my own heart, my own hands, and with my own voice."

Tess just simply stopped walking, knowing the woman, though fit, could not forcibly move her on her own.

 

[CYMDT]

Kern looked from crimson to light blue, from amber eyes to deepest blue. Both the women were elegant and graceful, both with god sculpted figures, and most importantly, both vying for his attention. He heard both their introductions and pondered the implications of each. On one hand, here sat next to him not just an elf of nobility, but a High Elf royal. He had recognized the house she claimed, if it was true... For a moment he was dumbfounded, the high elf nobility did not just go frouncing around where they pleased, for starters they would never associate with lowly human commoners, and secondly....she should not be alone. Kern hadn't noticed any other elves in the tavern, and she certainly would not have human bodyguards. His keen eyes guardedly picked her apart, noting the slight travel wear of her clothes, the condition of her muscles, the few, but all telling bits of forest that had stuck to her here and there.
'A high elf noble, on the run? Striking out for her own....? Strange indeed, stranger than that cross dressing goblin I saw a few months ago down in Sircia. I'd have slain 'em myself if he wasn't so damn funny and harmless.'

He locked gazes with the young elf girl, and spoke to her in her own tongue once again, "No Eol, He chose to truncate her name as humans would, instead of using the elven variation, it wasn't disrespectful.....but he liked giving things his own personal flavor, and he had now nicknamed her, (This of course made him immensely pleased with himself) I think it is your story that I should be hearing, you have much to tell, and much that you are hiding, aren't you?" He watched her eyes, she was young....well much older than he for sure, but he had learned how to tell elder elves from younger. For one thing, the younger ones were much much less complicated, he found it took them some centuries before they were too lost in the clouds to make sense of.

And on the other hand, he had the Lustynian to think about. If the young elf was delicate, then Ailis was ravenous. He knew he could probably sit by the hearth talking for hours with Eol, but he knew that in ten minutes he could probably be slammed against a wall by Ailis and be shown some very interesting things indeed, assuming the rumors to be true. He gave the dark haired woman an inquiring look when she asked for his hand, but reached his out anyway. He was not the most daring individual alive, but the way Ailis was sitting, and her body language inclined Kern to take her hand in his, he brought it slowly to his mouth as he leaned in towards her. He placed her index finger in his mouth, slowly sliding it out and licking the tip as he pushed her hand back to where he had taken it from, leaving his hand there as she had requested.

He sat back to a neutral position between the two ladies and pushed himself into a natural sitting position. "I am Kern. I am simply a man who enjoys the road, without boundries or restrictions. And there, He nudges Eury with a foot is my trusty companion. Her name is Eury, and she eats more of my food than she does me good." He laughed and put an arm around the waist's of the goddess's on either side of him. He silently hoped he was moving fast enough for one and slow enough for the other. The rain had chilled him this night, and he knew he'd need extra body heat to warm up tonight.

OOC: An PoohLive, no worries mate, jus some friendly jokin yea? I think the character is genious.