Silas
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Post by Silas on Jul 27, 2010 16:59:18 GMT -5
OOC: Some random thread I threw together for fun, not necessarily linked tot he new plot directly.
Outside, the summer sun set behind a wall of trees, bringing a mixture of light and shade flickering across the window of the Inn as a gust of wind passed through the leaves. Inside the shabby, dark building though, the sunset was ignored as vermin of all descriptions lounged in the dimly-lit pub on the first floor. Most came for a drink, while others participated in shady dealings. Bartering, swindling, and more infamously, the slave trade were often the topics of conversation in the back corner, farthest away from the lights overhead illuminating the giant skull of an ancient Pike, posted above the counter.
The single oaken door opened with a squeak, drawing the attention of most of the patrons, at least for a while. In the doorway strode a weasel, his brown eyes flicking back and forth at the stares of the other vermin. Each in turn looked away and went back to what they were doing, seeing that their curiosity was not welcome today. As soon as the last heads were turned away again, the weasel stepped up to the counter, the light above showing several new scratches across his face. He scowled, clearly in an ill mood.
"Bartender!" He called out, seeing that whomever worked behind the counter was either sleeping, or skipping their shift. With a huff of frustration, a dagger flew out from his paw at blinding speed to stick with a loud thunk into the door usually reserved for the owners of the establishment. As a rat hurried out from the door and saw the weasel glaring expectantly at him, he hurriedly filled up a tankard of ale and set it in front of the weasel, as well as his knife. This wasn't the first time an incident like this took place.
Sighing, the weasel took a gulp out of his drink, ignoring the pain flashing across his face as he thought about the ferret that challenged his authority, and how he made sure that the fool wouldn't do such a thing again. It was hard being on top, with everyone clawing at your heels for money or food or this and that. Of course, it had its rewards as well in the small but growing town of Darkwood. Most of the stores and inns readily offered him their goods free of charge, some even letting him in on a cut of their profits. The Pikehead was a prime example, with the ale in his paw and money in his pocket from the services on the second floor, he was in good shape.
On the inside, anyway. He thought to himself, licking at a drop of blood near his muzzle.
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Arvel Crynyd
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Post by Arvel Crynyd on Jul 27, 2010 20:42:43 GMT -5
The door opened again, not with a squeak, but with a bang. The beast that walked in was utterly unique. A long scar ran down the black fur on one side of his face. He carried quite an unusual weapon, a long pole with blades affixed to each end. Steely gray eyes surveyed the vermin in front of him. A corner of his mouth twitched. The tall and muscular wolf shouldered his way to the bar and put down a couple coins and waited for his ale. When it arrived, he drank from it sparingly, returning the stares of the creatures in the room. It wasn't often you saw a wolf, and a black one at that.
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Silas
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Post by Silas on Jul 27, 2010 21:24:00 GMT -5
The weasel raised an eyebrow at the new arrival, never fully turning to look, but observing the beast out of the corner of his eye. Taking another gulp of his ale, he huffed quietly to himself, surprsied at the wolf's appearance. He never really considered the very existence of wolves, even in the northern lands. Despite this initial surprise, he was curious as to the nature of this wolf. If he was here to cause trouble, it would be worth knowing. Leaning with his back now against the counter, the weasel scrutinized the taller beast, a paw secretly placed near another of his daggers hidden inside his vest as a cautionary measure.
"Careful with the door, unless you wanna replace the thing." He said, feeling courageous despite his disadvantage thanks to the earlier fight.
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Arvel Crynyd
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Post by Arvel Crynyd on Jul 28, 2010 6:59:11 GMT -5
The wolf turned his cold eyes on the speaker. "The door can handle itself." he said, in a voice that was almost challenging. The bigger beast pulled his long weapon off his back, leaning it on the counter within easy paw reach. One blade was sheathed, the one it rested on on the floor, while the other one was naked steel. The wolf took a long drink of his ale. "And even if it did break, what could you do about it?" he asked.
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Silas
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Post by Silas on Jul 28, 2010 14:15:47 GMT -5
With his elbow on the table, his left paw rubbed the pommel of one of his dirks under his vest as he quickly thought up a reply, again drawing the attention of the patrons, much to the discomfort of the bartender. The weasel raised an eyebrow in question at the wolf as he responded quietly, his voice bearing just a hint of menace and warning.
"What could I do? I'll make sure you replace it for our good friend Trova there." The weasel gestures back behind him to the bartender with a slight backwards tilt of his head. Normally, he would be smart enough to not pick a fight with a wolf, but circumstances dictated his response. In front of the beasts of Darkwood, he was their unspoken leader, their top weasel. Anything less than a challenge would show weakness.
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Arvel Crynyd
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Post by Arvel Crynyd on Jul 28, 2010 14:29:02 GMT -5
"You know, you vermin are all the same. Talk big and fall down hard. Do you really think you could make me do anything?" asked the ebon creature, pulling part of his cloak aside to reveal his own long knife, before not-so-subtley releasing the catch on the scabbarded end of the sword staff. The blades had crosstrees at the bases, and the tips of them were pointed, making them weapons in their own right. "Please."
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Silas
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Post by Silas on Jul 31, 2010 19:33:51 GMT -5
"Oh?" The weasel sneered at the wolf in contempt. "Sounds like you're the one doing the big talk. I only warned ye about the door." He shrugged helplessly, taking another gulp from his ale before setting it aside, his brown eyes never completely leaving the wolf, his glare of mistrust and suspicion observing his strange weapon.
Trova, the grizzled old rat behind the counter, leaned forward at the two beasts and spoke in his terrible rough accent, "I 'ope ye two feller's take yer fancy weppins outside, er ye'll break more stuff than tha' door." Glaring from the wolf to the weasel and back, he made it abundantly clear how ready he was to defend his own Inn.
The weasel sighed at this, taking his claws off of the pommel of his dirk, keeping them close. Settling into a more comfortable position with his back to the counter, he shrugged. "Relax, Trova. Even this strangebeast should know not to raise arms in the Pikehead." He flicked his brown eyes back to the wolf, as if to make sure the strangebeast had some sense about him. Belligerence alone never gets a beast far in life.
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Post by Calvin "Freckle" McMurray on Aug 5, 2010 2:00:16 GMT -5
A black rabbit entered the inn quietly and calmly, almost not even acknowledging the sound of the squeak. Without any fear or hostility, he walked straight to an open seat and sat down. He could feel eyes examining the matte black fur of his body as he asked in a low voice for a beverage. With only a movement of the rabbits eyes, he examined those around him. The bartender seemed normal enough, while the two next to him were not at good terms with one another. Typical. One guy has to always walk right in and start something. So typical of the average male these days, though the rabbit as he sipped his beverage. It wasn't one of the greatest ales he had ever had, but it was good enough to drink without any pause. A paw went to his bag and puled out a small pouch with some money inside. He took pieces out, counting the cost of his purchase, and lied them out in front of him. "This will be for this ale and the special."
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Arvel Crynyd
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Post by Arvel Crynyd on Aug 6, 2010 8:57:35 GMT -5
The wolf laughed hard. "And what's this? A bold rabbit indeed, to walk in here!" he said, raising his ale to his muzzle and taking another long drink. Setting it back down on the table, he looked appraisingly at the rabbit. He snorted, unimpressed. Turning back to his argument with the weasel, he continued. "Maybe not in here, but whenever you're ready, I'd be more than happy to step outside and show you the hard way." he said, a definite challenge in his voice." the black wolf grinned. "Just let me know when you're ready." he said, reaching back down to slip the catch back on the scabbard.
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Post by Calvin "Freckle" McMurray on Aug 6, 2010 14:04:29 GMT -5
An eye flicked up from the ale and looked at this wolf that commented on his entry. There was nothing saying he couldn't be in the establishment besides the usual customers that were there. So he cared little about this challenge to his attendance to the Inn. If he needed to defend himself, he would without hesitation. Though if they do engage in combat it might be an easy match to triumph over and take their things that they have on them.
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Silas
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Post by Silas on Aug 8, 2010 21:34:57 GMT -5
The weasel grumbled quietly at the wolf, about to inform him that he was always ready to deal out swift punishment to those who would challenge his office. Then, his brown eyes shifted to the entryway as he observed several beasts jogging up to the entrance of the Inn through the window. As the door swung open a fourth time, a group of three beasts entered into the room. The first of the three, a muscular fox, examined the faces of the patrons, most of them eyeing the broadsword strapped to his back. Behind him was a ferret, small and wiry, with no visible weapons of any sort on his person. The third, a concerned vixen with an elaborate green dress, spotted the weasel at the bar.
"There!" She pointed with a claw at the weasel, bringing the fox's attention to the counter. The fox in turn gestured for the ferret to follow as they all walked over to the weasel now quietly finishing off his ale, the scars on his face already healing over from a previous fight. The fox sighed at the weasel as he set his drink on the counter again.
"Antra, Derek, Miss Vintora." He greeted them with a confident nod, exuding a nonchalant attitude for the previous events that they had no doubt heard of. The fox, Antra, couldn't help but smirk an amused grin at this as he stepped forward to the weasel.
"Ah, the great Sergei and his victory drink." The fox noted, folding his arms across his chest. "Y'know the ol' healer says you slung some fool out for a week today." The weasel sighed at the rememberance of the ferret that he had fought earlier in the day, eyeing the vixen suspiciously. "Well that gives 'em five days to get outta my sight." He replies, shifting his gaze from the vixen to glance at the wolf, then back to Antra. "And I don't need lookin' after." He added, absent-mindedly brushing the scars on his face with a paw. "Alrighty?"
"Fine, fine." The fox shrugged. "Just heard you were hurt is all. Thought I'd bring someone along just in case." His gaze too flicked to the vixen, who was fidgeting anxiously as she observed the other patrons examining her.
((Randomness!))
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