The port is alive with life and color, so saturated in vigor you begin to wonder if the city breathes on its own accord. Like it or not your ship has docked here, and you are in luck to be in such a magnificent place. Drink imports are the most exquisite the world has to offer. Spices are in wide variety, their names so exotic that, when pronounced correctly, are just as strange and enticing as their taste.
Maybe you walk the streets after dinner, or go out with an adventurous purpose- benevolent or malign. Whichever your reason or lack thereof, one day on a quiet side street you notice something... most curious.
Admittedly it isn't much to look at first glance, except you know for certain it was not there the day before. Or the day before that.
Light dances on the threshold at different intensities. People, perhaps things are moving around inside. If you are brave enough to approach you can even faintly hear what may be their voices.
Whenever you begin to look away from the door it starts to fade from existence. Will you decide to enter, your hand poised over the handle? This is your one chance. To walk away means to do so forever, and there your story will end. With absolute certaintly you are aware that whichever you choose there is no going back.
you turn the handle and go forward.
I’m not even sure if I’m allowed here.
From what I can remember, I didn’t annoy anyone last time.
Glad to be back regardless.
"I see," she replied when he answered her question. Medusa tilted her head slightly, trying to remember if she had heard of the place before. It very vaguely seemed familiar, but she couldn't quite place her tongue on it. "I didn't mean to offend if I have, I was just curious. I myself have come across many a cursed soul in my lifetime." She sighed quietly, producing another coin and placing it on the bar top, making her way around and trailing her long, slender fingers along the wood. Curious as to how it repaired itself.
She sensed an old magick, something she hadn't felt in a long time. It radiated into her arm, and seemingly into what little soul she had left. [i Interesting...] Medusa turned her head and gazed across the collection of bottles. Many were from different lands she had traveled before, but a couple she didn't recognize. She glanced at the bottle the Aphirian set down a few minutes before and uncorked the bottle, sniffing its contents. The scent was so powerful, even her snakes hissed.
After the shiver disappeared from her spine, she took a small shot glass a poured a small amount if the suspicious drink in it. She giggled to herself, prepared for anything. Medusa wasn't afraid of a challenge, and she hadn't died yet. She had lived well past the normal life span, and if it did kill her, it'd be a blessing.
The beast seemed to pay little heed to the woman seemingly helping herself around the tavern, like she had been there before and already knew the layout enough to navigate no questions asked. Instead he planted a glass he had wiped out with a cloth rag onto the bar top after her question, crouching low to find a certain bottle of black and silver liquid, giving it a nice firm shake thrice he uncorked the top and poured the alcohol into the glass. The familiar slightly sour, bitter scent reaching his nostrils and bringing back memories.
Taking the upper part of the glass between his claws, he slid it along the bar towards the exit of the kitchen where she would return from, his sharp senses having picked up certain ques that had him quizzical, but he had seen enough strange things in his time to really be surprised. No one who entered the Grey Stallion was ever [i normal], it was just not something it attracted. It spoke to people who were different, unique or even just lost in a world they did not belong, much like the tavern itself, it rarely belonged in one place.
Watching as the strange female finally left the kitchen, tinted with the scent of blood and long gone meat he merely barked a sharp laugh, before growling a thick chortle of sorts at her question.
"I do not blame you for such a naive question, easily mistaken." He responded, a little understanding in his rough voice, but he had clearly dealt with the question too many times to care. The half bone armour he wore clacked as he leant against the scarred wood of the bar, withdrawing a curved blade seemingly made of the same bone as his armour, he started to carve a few shapes into the surface that resembled islands. "I come from a place far away, further than many could comprehend, like a lot of us do. There we are named Aphiran of the Varcrag Badlands, a homeland of cold biting winds and hard, sharp slate crags." He explained, dragging the blade across the wood between two 'islands' he had drawn. As the tip left the dark surface, the wounds healed as though alive.
Throwing the knife across the tavern with a sharp whistling speed, he squinted as it buried itself into the wood of one of the beams, pockmarked with the same thin stab marks and accompanied by two other blades of the same style. "If you find yourself in the central foyer of the Trade Embassy, pick up some sweet honeyed meat strips. It has been quite some time since I have had those... Mira; the owner, would appreciate anything else you can scrounge up I'm sure." He added, before meandering over to his table in the corner and delicately placing the single coin he'd taken from the bar, onto one of the only piles that remained, using his claw tips to push each coin into place, creating a perfect pile. Meticulous.
She smirked beneath her hood, although it was shrouded in a dark shadow beneath it. "It is quite all right. Understandable when the world is so busy nowadays." She finished her drink and set the glass down on the table. Making a barely audible sound on the old wood. She arched her neck, and the bones in her spine made a cracking sound.
"Do you know if you have something a little stronger? Absinthe perhaps?" She lifted herself from her chair and made her way around the table. "If not, I know a place where I can acquire some." She let in a deep breath, the dust filling her nose and causing her to sneeze. Making her way to the kitchen, she sniffed once more and wrinkled her nose at the foul odor. Rotten meat. "I'll have to make my way to the market unless you enjoy eating E-Coli, not really my cup of tea, but everyone is different."
Her nose led her to the stench, and she pulled a moth eaten handkerchief from her sleeve. Searching for a bucket, she retrieved one from a corner, and started flitting around the kitchen, filling it with the rotten food. Rats came out of hiding at the disturbance, and she bent down, quickly grabbing a couple and looking around. When she was sure that noone was looking, she turned from the doorway and dropped her hood. Her hair writhed, but it wasn't hair at all. A dozen snakes writhed in anticipation, smelling a fresh meal as she raised the fighting rats to their mouths. Each one being snapped up quickly with a screech of terror. A couple of the snakes fought over the meal and she muttered, "Now, now. Play nice. There's plenty of food for you around here." To which they calmed down, and the rats were gone.
"Look now, you made a mess of yourselves," fresh blood trickled down her forehead, and she walked over to the sink. Medusa ran the water and bent her head down, splashing her face clean. The water tinged pink before it disappeared down the drain. "There we go, all clean," she patted her face dry with the sleeve of her robe and raised her hood again, the snakes uttering a hiss of discontent. "I know my dears. If these creatures beside myself were immune, I would let you have freedom, but that is my curse, remember?" The hissing quieted down, silent understanding resonating between them.
The hooded figured emerged from the kitchen with a basket in her hand. She set it down on the bar, and sat down on a stool. "When the market opens, I will pick up some food. No need to repay me either, the hospitality is enough, and I'm sure you'd like a warm meal yourself." She looked at the hulking figure and squinted in curiosity. "Might I ask, are you cursed with lycanthropy?"
Disturbed dust drifted from the rafters, aged and musty, slightly moldy worn beams of wood creaked and the tavern seemed to groan in protest from any sort of movement within it's aged walls. A few bleached white bones followed the dust down onto the floor, bouncing off of tables with the skull of a stag crashing onto the bar top, promptly shattering into pieces; completely destroying the silence of the tavern.
Claws sliced at wood and fur ruffled, as though a creature lurked high above in the shadows of the rafters, disturbed by the light and warmth of the fire radiating up into it's cold depths. In the far corner sat a scarred dark wood round table with a single chair settled comfortably where the two walls met, covered in cobwebs and a layer of dust that resembled grey snow.
It was only when the creature that lurked fell from the rafters, landing on all fours atop the table that the dust was finally thrown from it's surface, a low rumble escaping his chest as he flexed his shoulders and back, shook his mane and hopped down from the top, claws clacking against the hard wood of the floor that had not been touched in what felt like an eternity.
His milky white, dull gaze drifted around the room and fell upon the crackling fire and the cloaked figure sat in front of it, motionless. Humph. Breath drifted from the half bone mask the beast wore and he turned to check the once carefully stacked towers of coin and velvet bags untouched that covered the table, displaced when he had landed atop it. Slowly he turned his face to the bar and the glinting coin on it's surface, practically prowling between the tables and chairs until he reached the currency, stabbing a viciously sharp, black and grey claw on it's face, testing the metal, before dragging it to the edge and into his other, waiting padded palm, claws clasping around the piece; One he did not really need, but greed was a powerful thing.
Turning his body to face the still figure finally, he spoke as he focused on the coin, raising it between a foreclaw and thumb, inspecting the face with scrutiny.
"If you seek a warm meal, I am sure something edible still exists in the kitchen, despite all these years." He suggested, dropping the coin into a pouch on his belt and sliding over the bar, trailing his claws across the aged bottles with a series of tinkling clinks. "We do not get many visitors anymore, so there's very little reason to restock."
An old, cloaked entity travels down the lonely road. Citizens of the town are nestled warm in their beds, safe from the witching hour that dawned upon them. They knew better than to roam the street this late at night. Lest they come across an unsavory creature, not much unlike the cloaked figure slowly meandering it's way down the path traveled before. Many years have passed, many sights seen, and hearts broken.
Slowly, the old sign very faintly comes into view, but the windows dark. It was vastly different that she remembered, but then again, so was she. As she reached the door, her hand hesitated, just for a moment before she pushed her way in.
The scent of stale liquor filled her lungs and the taste lingered on her forked tongue. It was cold, and unkempt. Just like she had become. Remaining cloaked, she slowly made her way to the stack of logs kept by the old fireplace. Completely covered in cobwebs and dust. It irritated her sinuses and she let out a quiet sneeze, disturbing the silence.
One incantation and a couple logs later, the fire was lit. A fine glass of aged brandy was poured, and a gold piece was left on the bar. Whether it was to pay the ghost, or the bartender, it didnt pay her any mind. She paid her debts.
She still sat in a darkened corner. Never intending, or daring to take her hood off. Otherwise there'd be new decor in the room, once someone happened to come by and stumble in.
So she sat, and waited, and drank. Staring into the burning flame of the fire, seeming to fade into something statuesque. A mannequin of melancholy.
[i Dusts off some of the cobwebs forming around himself and the chair he very much enjoyed relaxing in.]
[i Looking around Lance was not sure how long he had passed out for was it an hour a week he shrugged as he flicked away the spider biting his face this place attracted all sorts so hopefully he had not just gotten injected with demonic spider poison or something strange.]
I did no such thing, if I did I refuse to acknowledge my guilt and will simply say it was someone else and you have entirely the wrong person.
(Muffled) [i GUYS IS ANYONE THERE WOLVEN LOCKED ME IN A CLOSET IN LIKE 2015 AND I CAN’T GET OUT]
I'm really bad with directions.
HEAD ES FORMATTING QUEEN / KITE
/ 1y 24d 17h 12m 22s
The settled dust hasn't turned the place completely white yet.
Do not disturb.
Holy shit, this place still exists, though no one seems to have been around for a while. Hello, everyone. I hope you are all well.
The Bloodbath has always been fair in my eyes. I've never once watched a fight or been part of a fight where the results were not satisfactory.
At the least, my answer comes from both personal experience and careful observation.
Huh. This debate lasted longer than I had intended it to.
When in our duels have I ever given you reason to believe I have not conceded fairly? I see no win or lose based on reputation, I usually do it until I feel it's necessary to lose or win, in fact I'd say I've lost more than I've won.
If my opponent lands a Hit having dealt a fierce strike to someone's chest, unless that someone is a hulking behemoth in armour or a magical wizard who can absorb strikes, that spells the end to me.
The end is not to win or lose, it's to enjoy.
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