| Welcome to Imythess, the border between dreams and reality. We hope you enjoy your visit. Imythess is a creative writing board where you narrate the story of a character in the medieval land of Imythess, on the planet Chaon. Each topic is an opportunity for your character to interact with the world and its peoples by cooperatively writing pieces of a story with other members, one post at a time. We call this role-playing, because you assume the identity of your character as if it were your own. In order to play, you must register an account for each character you would like to write about, and begin their tale by filling out their basic profile information: Race (human, elf, demon, etc.), class (warrior, mage, etc.), physical appearance, and any other personal details you would like to describe. You are also encouraged to come up with some background history information for what your character's life has been like up to the point at which their story in Imythess begins. There is no approval process or application required to join, so long as you follow the rules then you are free to write whatever character details you choose. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. Create a character now! If you're already a member, you can log into your account below: |
- Pages:
- 1
- 2
| Like water into wine...; ...sort of. [o] | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Wed Mar 23, 2011 7:24 am (406 Views) | |
| Marissa Skeates | Wed Mar 23, 2011 7:24 am Post #1 |
 
|
((Please don't start a brawl just yet...I want the atmosphere to be tense for a bit. I mean, a little skirmish might be okay...but I don't want this to be a brawl until after several posts. Build up to the climax, and all that...)) The timing could not have been more perfect. Just as night had begun to settle upon the shoulders of those in the village, the tavern began to fill up completely. To be certain, there had been a number of people in there already; but now, it was almost impossible to enter or leave. Several homes had already been boarded up in the hopes of staving off the illness that seemed to be sweeping through the small village of Kellen, but to no avail. Finally, people had grown wary of the water and stopped drinking it. Yet the infection had spread so far already...nearly a score dying and at least a dozen others ill did not make for a happy little down. On the plus side, halflings seemed to have no trouble moving through the crowd as the big folk filled up on beer, ale, and mead. Marissa's ploy of a fortnight ago had worked perfectly; an elven healer had cured a few of their unexpected diseases, but now he was out hunting the source of the infection. It would be a solid week before he found the polluted well; Marissa knew this as well as she knew the hairs upon her own cute little hobbit's feets. But during that time, Marissa would be making a fortune. Well, kind of. Kellen villagers weren't exactly swimming in gold. But, they had more than enough to sate the greed of a halfling thief and fill her pockets. Already, this night had been kind to Marissa. She had plundered a good deal of gold and Grim had plundered a good deal more. The chicken had pecked around outside and driven people into the tavern, which had been profitable thus far. Now it was likely plundering some poor fool's stash of grain for the horses, or something. Maybe it had found a worm. Whatever. Grim was returning with a stalk of grapes; she let him stash himself away and munch on them as she carefully slipped a few gold coins from a small purse into her pocket. When she reached the bar for the third time, she ordered her fourth drink of the night: yet another tall pint of mead. It was slow-going, but it turned out that she was not to be well-liked this evening - at least, she would not have been had it not been for the halfling's quick feet. When told that the last of the mead had been sold to a hobbit, the man wanting some looked around for one; he saw no one and promptly grabbed the barkeep by his lapels. The barkeep stuttered an apology as the man angrily berated him. Marissa, meanwhile, was long gone and enjoying her mead. Not surprisingly, the ale was gone as well and the beer was low in stock; it would be another fortnight before any came in from the local farms, though some of them seemed to be suffering from illness as well. In short, the halfling was quickly realizing that a brawl was about to break out. In this crowd, even a simple fist fight could become very dangerous very quickly - for big folk and little folk alike. So Marissa was quickly downing her pint and slipping through the crowd toward the door. Thankfully, the owner of the tavern and inn here was able to keep people from rioting too quickly. He shouted to all that he would be returning as quickly as he could with his personal stock and asked that people remain patient a little longer. Unfortunately, what he did not know was that they had also just run out of food. The cooks in the kitchen were careful not to let that one slip. Edited by Marissa Skeates, Wed Mar 23, 2011 7:27 am.
|
 |
 
|
| Aleith Carmena | Wed Mar 23, 2011 8:11 am Post #2 |
|
His small frame was a godsend as he moved through the crowds of people that had rushed to the tavern that night. Normally, he would happily hide away in a corner no matter the amount of people, then quietly slip to his inn room, or a nearby alley and rest for the night. But it seemed that tonight, quietly was not an option and the bar room as far too full to remain hidden in a corner. A frown crossed the pale boy's face. He pushed through the crowd, trying to rasp apologies as he bumped into others even if he didn't cause it, a frown crossing his face as inevitable curses or put downs were uttered at his expense. His inability to even utter an apology bored into the scholar's mind. The crowd would be an extremely unpleasant part of his night. As he moved into the tavern he felt a weight of tension press in on him, the consensus of the room being anger and disappointment. From what he could gather of the gossip, the tavern was running low on supplies and the people were none too happy about it. Probably extremely bad considering the sickness he had heard was spreading over the town. Another knock hitting the young scholar where it hurt, knowing he couldn't do a thing to help those people except maybe hold their hands and sing them a relaxing song. But still, he pressed on with his might and moved towards the bar, almost being slammed into it as he reached the surface and felt the wave of being slam into him. The smell of alcohol and ancrid sweat was starting to assault him now, his height having sacrificed his dignity through a gauntlet of body odour and spills of what drinks were in the crowd as he bent through the crowd. The only thing that deterred people was the snow white staff that was tied to his back, his hand keeping it close to him to keep from knocking into people. As he reached the counter, he tried to call the nearest person tending to the bar, a frown on his face as he couldn't get anyones attention. The rasp of his voice was barely audible in the tempest of people shouting and cursing at the lack of service. He had to wonder what they thought it would bring? All the screaming in the world didn't conjure alcohol from mid air, though it would be a trick he would be interested in learning, if only for knowing it. He was never a fan of alcohol, loving his sense of mind too much to even get why someone would poison that with alcohol. He understood why some people drank it, but wondered if there wasn't a healthier crutch they could lean onto. He laid his head onto his arms, lazily setting them on the counter. The light gleaming off the varnish of the counter gave a relaxing glow in his eyes, a strange contrast to the overall feeling of the bar. It was almost disturbing, the waves of people. He slowly lifted his head and clapsed his gloved hands over his ears, pushing through the people to try and find a bit of open space... anything to get him a little peace. As he reached the stars and saw the rows of people moving up it, he almost burst out in tears. He'd need to find somewhere else... |
|
|
|
| Marissa Skeates | Wed Mar 23, 2011 8:28 am Post #3 |
|
A small bit of relief came when Marissa, pockets and pouches and belly filled, tired of the noise and crowds at last. She would plunder again tomorrow night, hiding her wealth well. She thought back to the merchant she'd met on her way back into town over a week ago, a merchant who'd paid for her horses and what was left of her wine with gems. It was an odd thing to pay with gems...most paid with copper, silver, or gold coins (usually gold, but not everyone was so wealth...Marissa, for example). The stairs were even more crowded, but made easier by Marissa's small size and dexterity. Even so, though not quite as crowded, she still found many more people than she was comfortable with milling about upstairs, both in their rooms and out. The rear balconies were nearly empty, ironically. What was hilarious to the halfling thief was that people thought the mayor could do something about it. Yet, what could he do when the only healer in town (with any significant healing magic, that is) had left to discover the source of the infection instead of treating the victims of it? But at least Marissa had quite a bit more room to move around up here, even if she was still having to watch where she walked and how she moved. She fingered the pouch of gems now...mostly citrines, low-value gems that could nonetheless make up the price of a few sapphires, garnets, or jades. She had yet to use them, but rest assured, she had spent quite a bit of gold already. In fact, her free spending was part of the reason the tavern was nearly empty. Ironically, she'd made the tavern owners quite wealthy and the gold was just piling up in light of the crisis. When the crisis reached a peak - as she knew it soon would - she would make one final dive into the stores of gold that she'd build up through the inn owners and flee the village. She wasn't certain where she would go, but there had to be better places to live than this boring village. Not even outside of Cascadia a month, and already she was growing restless. She missed the action and adventure of being chased by a half-dragon, which is something that surprised her greatly. Usually, she was all for stealth and secrecy and private survival. But ever since that chase, she now slowly began to realize, she just didn't feel the same. She needed something to keep her busy. Loading up on booze and food with stolen gold would only settle her for so long... |
|
|
|
| Aleith Carmena | Wed Mar 23, 2011 8:56 am Post #4 |
|
He gritted his teeth and pushed through the crowds, more then once having to grab the rails of the stairs to ensure that he didn't get shoved down and- in all likelihood- trampled. He considered running to the nearest window, and jumping out. All he'd have to do is grasp the gem in his pocket and suck himself into the dirt. The quick escape would draw him away from the crowds and leave him to rest in an alley, or some abandoned house from the fires from the holiday seasons. In all his musings, however, he barely noticed where he was going. His gaze was often to his feet, his mind subconsciously counting the steps of his feet in intervals of small, even numbers. But, for once, his mind was wandering far beyond the recesses of reality and pushing into a pleasant daydream of a bed all his own, and a home he could relax in. Alas, his lifestyle left little time to grow a fortune to allow such niceties. In his carelessness, the young man had bumped into someone much shorter then himself, causing the scholar to almost tumble over the halfling, his tense body quickly stopping himself, but not before his staff on his back had knocked the drink from her hand, causing him to reach out his hand in a futile attempt to catch the quickly drained glass. Gravity, the harsh mistress that had stricken him with another pang of guilt to curse his night. As he looked at the halfling and the glass, then back at the halfling again, his face turned a crimson red; he couldn't believe he could be doing this so often these days... Looking at the glass, he reached into his pocket and fetched the last few coins he had, what would have bought him a rather cheap dinner and perhaps a night in a bed strapped with hay. He held his hand out, his face twisted in a curve of distraught horror. The look on his face screamed that he was sorry, and regretted knocking into her badly. He frantically patted at his pockets for anything else he could offer, at least anything that he would be willing to give. He remembered the note he had put into his journal not too long ago, drawing up the ratty old thing and holding it up to her, showing his extremely delicate hand writing spelling out clearly. 'I'm sorry.' He was suddenly distracted, however, at the golden stain on his glove that had been sprayed with the alcohol as it sprayed onto the floor, his glove reaching for the glass had thrown itself into the way. The look of apology on his face turned to one of almost complete horror. Oh, what it would take to get that out. |
|
|
|
| Marissa Skeates | Wed Mar 23, 2011 9:16 am Post #5 |
|
Marissa had already set the empty mug previously having held her own drink down somewhere. She was thirsty again not long after, but starting to get a bit sleepy as well. Still, when she saw a man holding onto his drink tightly and looking around like he was expecting someone to beat him to death over it, she couldn't help herself. She found a grin spreading across her face and then the stiletto was in her hand. It was gone practically before it could have been there, perhaps prompting anyone who had seen it to consider themselves properly drunk or just mistaken. Either way, the howl of pain as the man's knee gave out did nothing to stop the falling of his glass. A deft halfling's hand did, however, and she was quickly gone. She was giggling to herself as she slipped away - only to be practically trampled by some clumsy oaf. What was worse, her new drink was gone, the shattered glass and spilled drink creating a bit of a disturbance in the crowded hallway. Whipping about with a harsh glare and an outraged "Hey!", she slammed a fist into hard into someone's thigh. The man was apparently quite human and quite guilty, but his note only made her glare more. "Hmph!" When he tried to offer her coins, she grew even angrier. She might have been a peasant, a murderess - mass murderess, even - and a thief, but she was no beggar! The man had spilled her drink, of course, but it wasn't even hers...but that was besides the point! "I don't need your coin!" And she hit him again, in the same spot with the same fist. "Anyway, can't you talk, you over-sized excuse for a bald-footed hobbit?" |
|
|
|
| Aleith Carmena | Wed Mar 23, 2011 9:51 am Post #6 |
|
The first blow had come of a bit of a surprise to him, causing the panicking lad to curl up a bit in expectation for anything else. As his eyes trailed the second blow coming in for his thigh-or his hip now that he had slouched further- he didn't even sing, a glow of white light coming form his throat as a weak version of his shield rose in front of him, having the halfling's hand tap gently into a wall of protection. The look in his eyes showed that he felt bad, thinking the shield might have hurt her hand from the surprise of it. He seemed to have forgotten that he was even hit in the first place. At first, he looked around for anything that might help her hand, then realized that his spell had nothing to focus it... He had tested the strength of his shield at least a thousand times, and knew that meant it wasn't difficult to break at that level... a shade of red crossed his face again. He felt bad at her comment of not needing his coin, wishing he could pay back for the drink he had spilled. He fumbled with his journal, almost knocking into a passing merchant who was in the inn to relax as he wrote in the book, using his leg as a table to keep it steady. He lifted up the page, revealing the small note on the bottom of the well scribbled on page. 'I just wanted to repay the drink I had spilled.' The comment about his not talking was a bit more painful, always a staggering experience for him, having to explain that; No, he couldn't talk and, yes he could sing. It was always an odd bit of something for people to understand, especially without the back story to it. One he refused to share, even under duress and the threat of death. He'd take that secret to his grave. He had always felt it was his own fault... Regardless, he shook his head, more to draw himself back to reality. After a moment, looking at his journal, then back at the halfling, and he just sighed and shook his head to say no. He couldn't really write it out better then that. He lifted up the apology note again and sighed, looking around for a chair he could use. He seemed oblivious that his leg hurt and that was why he wanted it, or that the halfling had caused it. Regardless, even a negative conversation, he wanted something to distract him from the feel of the place. The glares and angry moods around him felt like a strangling veil of tension he hadn't felt since his time in Cascadia, his half-hazard blast of his only known spell at the time had knocked down a blacksmith's shop and collapsed it entirely. An experience he knew he couldn't live down so long as that smith had lived. He still had the dark looks tossed his way when he went to the center of Cascadia. Regardless he smiled at the woman, pulling up a chair and small side-table, setting the journal on it. At least now if she wanted a drink to refill the one he had spilled, she knew where he was. He finally found his 'corner.' |
|
|
|
| Marissa Skeates | Wed Mar 23, 2011 10:06 am Post #7 |
|
Marissa eyed the human boy warily, not really knowing what to say. She was better with a blade than she'd ever be with words, but at least she could flap her tongue well enough when wanted or needed to and she could lie with the best of them if it came to that. Finally, she shrugged, throwing off her anger in place of irritation. He was only trying to help...but then, she'd never been one to accept aid from strangers. She'd done so only once - in Cascadia - and only because she'd felt it was payment for having chased her across the city. Damned flying lizard-person-thing... "Well, I can buy my own drink. But you're forgiven, I guess..." It was the best she could do, given the circumstances and her personality. She sighed as she looked around and then blinked in surprise as the boy found a chair. How he'd managed to find that was beyond Marissa's knowing, but he'd gotten it nevertheless. It was a rickety old chair with spindly legs that had clearly seen better days; Marissa probably would have been a better fit for the chair than the human, but - like the sudden latent casting of some kind of protective spell and the two blows Marissa had rained down upon the boy's thigh - that didn't really seem to phase him. More out of sudden boredom and a desire to not try to find a bed around here tonight than anything else, Marissa decided to stick around. The boy did not seem anything like the other villagers here, so he was a point of some mild interest as Marissa pondered what to do with all her gold as supplies ran low in Kellen. So she leaned her back against a wall and eyed the boy as he sat down and wrote in his little book. After a moment or two, she finally spoke again. "So, you from around here? 'cause you don't seem like it." Then again, neither was she, so who was she to speak of such? But she wasn't her own point of interest this evening. |
|
|
|
| Aleith Carmena | Wed Mar 23, 2011 10:23 am Post #8 |
|
The question was simple enough, really. It was, however, one he had rarely heard. He worked the streets panhandling while he was in town, using his singing voice to earn enough gold coins to get a meal, some sleep, and after a while travel to the next town. He didn't enjoy working one place long, feeling like a parasite leeching hard-earned money from honest people. Although in his eyes, everyone was honest. And that was not always as true as his ideals would like to believe. Still, he shook his head. He went through the pages and wrote bluntly, 'the Mountains.' He never did like that place, the view not being nearly as spectacular as people thought if you had to see it everyday, all day, and if that view was your only company for years on end. It was the sort of thing that drove a man mad, drove him to asking needless questions to merely hear someone say something, anything. He shook his head, he needed to stop dwelling. He did it far too much for his own good. Slowly his mind went back to the current time, and instead of engaging back in his conversation his eyes drifted to his glove. His precious, white glove... the poor girl had seen better days. He drew the silky material off of his hand, twisting as much of the alcohol out of the material as he could. There was a look of sadness, as if he was seeing an old friend gravely wounded spread across a street corner. And truly in his view that was what was happening. A forlorn sigh was all that he could give to the glove, placing it in his pocket to get it off his mind. Looking at both of his hands, there was an obvious battle in his mind as he tried to comprehend the uneven look of it. After a few moments he began to grind his teeth until he simply took off the other glove, hastily shoving it into the same pocket as the other one. A stress-filled sigh was what followed now, the lad finally realizing he had company. Nodding to himself, he drew his journal back and asked the most polite thing he could considering the situation, and previous question. 'I assume from the question you are but... are you from around here.' He began to wonder if his own sarcasm was evident when he wrote, the first part of the statement making him wince slightly. He was never a fan of being sarcastic but the state of his glove had put a damper on his mood, bringing the normally cheerful lad to a brooding mourner. |
|
|
|
| Marissa Skeates | Wed Mar 23, 2011 10:33 am Post #9 |
|
Marissa snorted in derision. Her? From here? Really? Did she honestly look that downtrodden? She was no hick, no second-rate villager living in some far-off town no one had ever heard of. Honestly, until she'd left Cascadia, she'd never heard the name Kellen before. What she had heard was the name of another town - Taras - that was supposedly soon to come under heavy renovation. And then there was some place called the City of Lanterns - Balefire, or some such - where it was eternally night. And there was a place she'd heard of called the Pirate's Cove, though what a pirate or a cove was, Marissa had no clue. "Hardly. Soon as I get the gold, I'm gone from this place. Although, it has been fun while it's lasted. What about you? You look vaguely vagabondish." Back on the streets of Cascadia, there were certain questions you didn't ask. Marissa was careful to avoid these now mostly out of instinct built up by years of living amongst thieves, murderers, and homeless peasants struggling just to find a piece of moldy bread or rotten fruit to eat every day. One thing you didn't ask about was someone's past; Marissa had only asked if the boy couldn't talk and if he was from around here - and now, basically, if he was sticking around. Those were pretty basic questions in Cascadia, as they pretty much told someone whether someone else was worth the trouble of associating with or addressing them further. |
|
|
|
| Aleith Carmena | Wed Mar 23, 2011 10:45 am Post #10 |
|
He hid the annoyed look at her snort, the feeling of arrogance from the action kind of worrying the boy. He liked to believe that people like that often met some sort of ironic judgment because of their view of themselves. Though he wondered if he'd get some sort of punishment for his silly views, looking down on himself? Either way, when it happened he'd get his answer one way or another. And if the latter was ever to prove true he wouldn't have very long to be disappointed. The next question was, however, one he had not ever really heard before. He tried to keep his appearance as top notch as he could so not to let that feeling off to others. But there were people that were extremely good at reading others, he supposed. He turned his book to the back page and gritted his teeth again. Damn his studies. The entire back of the book was written in his code that he couldn't be assed to read over at the moment, turning the pages until he had found a blank page. He'd probably curse himself for being so disorderly, but for now he'd have to deal with it. 'I move from town to town a lot, I suppose. I sing a bit in towns and try to get enough to move to the next town, not wanting to overstay my welcome if I can avoid it...' He remembered a time in Balefire where he had been ran out of the town for his singing. He suspected it was because his songs had annoyed someone enough to get a riot, but looking back at the place it could just have been plain disapproval of him. The place wasn't exactly a place for the light of heart, and he was singing songs that used to be considered the type you song on the final day of the week to relax and give praise. At least most of them. He raised his brow as he finally actually examined the woman, mildly curious. He had never really met a halfling, though he had met a dwarf before... an experience he'd cherish and relish all in one rather awful package. He shivered, remembered the pain shooting through his body as he tried to detain those poor birds that were rampaging through Cascadia... and the strange actions by the dwarf. Looting and vulgarity was something he was never quite a fan of, in all honesty. He turned the journal again and began to write, twisting the book back to her. 'How about you? You don't seem the working type but you seem to be doing well.' |
|
|
|
| Marissa Skeates | Wed Mar 23, 2011 11:00 am Post #11 |
|
Marissa grinned at this. No, she wasn't the working type...not really. Not in the sense that the boy before Marissa had meant it, at any rate. Oh, sure, she worked plenty - at things like stealing and surviving. She just wasn't the type to settle her adorable little bum into a 'comfortable' life, she supposed...at least, not the 'comfortable' kind of life she'd seen around here. She was no farmer, though she didn't mind a bit of fishing every now and then and wouldn't say no to a tomato plant or three. She was no caretaker of animals, though she did know a couple little ones that seemed to like her well enough. No, her idea of a 'comfortable' life was plenty of drink, cheery music, and a contest of darts or knives (which she rarely lost at) or dice (which she also rarely lost at). She thus shook her head at his written words, her patience - or perhaps her boredom - paying off with each new answer. The kid hadn't liked her arrogance; she could see that right off. But she couldn't exactly help that. It wasn't her fault that half these people looked down on peasants and the other half were peasants. In truth, though, she saw a bit of herself in the poorer ones - and she did not like that at all. "Nah, I'm no laborer. Dice and darts are my games, and I'm good. Real good." She somehow doubted that this boy would be, what with his apparent inability to watch where he was going. Or maybe tripping over halflings was fun for him, though he seemed too pathetic for that to be true. He'd apologized to her twice and tried to buy her another drink, the fool. Oh, well. Maybe he was just too nice for his own good. Honestly, she had felt kind of bad for the boy at first; he obviously wasn't the sharpest knife around. But it seemed more and more like he was just some random boy stuck in the middle of a bad situation. He was kind of like her in that he wasn't exactly the top-notch of society, but beyond that, the similarities were nil. "What're you good at? Just writing? Seeing as you can't talk..." |
|
|
|
| Aleith Carmena | Wed Mar 23, 2011 5:53 pm Post #12 |
|
He always found the weird games people played while gambling were somewhat strange. He had never had a knack for them, beyond an extreme talent as some card games that brought out a darker side of him he'd rather not see. But, to him, it was just a thing people did for fun with spare change which he knew he never really had. But either way, he wouldn't judge the halfling for what she did to keep her pockets full. He supposed from the looks of how she was enjoying the night before he came along-drinking and carrying on from the looks of her-she was likely doing better then he was. Though, he was sure that that didn't take too much. But what else was he good at, really? He was sure there wasn't much, he often fumbled around and messed things up worse before anything got better. But there was one thing that he disciplined into himself and refused to do badly... 'Singing, and Magic.' He supposed that someone like him might be a bit disconcerting with magic, an accident could send a stray bolt of magic into something or someone if he trips, or some manner of disaster from mis-chanting a verse... But he avoided such disasters, if he could. There were a few times where his emotions god the better of him, but he would keep such things to himself. With a smile, he readjusted his chair and looked around the room they were in, seeing some of the people arguing amongst themselves. A few broken glasses were heard here and there. Apparently the townspeople still didn't realize that getting violent wouldn't change anything. All he could do was let out a long sigh. Sometimes people were really big idiots. Turning back to the halfling, he turned the journal's page and began writing again. He might as well distract himself with conversation before he would need to swan dive from the window-or something along those lines-to escape the building without a fight. 'What brought you to Kellen, then?' A simple enough question, he thought. It would hopefully keep one person from drawing themselves into a fight tonight. And if he could do that he'd feel a little less bad about it all. |
|
|
|
| Marissa Skeates | Wed Mar 23, 2011 6:05 pm Post #13 |
|
"Sing? How can you sing? You can't even talk!" That was just silly. Singing...really. If you couldn't talk, then it stood to reason that you also could not sing. It wouldn't make any sense. Anyway, you needed to be able to talk to cast, at least from what little Marissa understood about magic. Then again, that weird spell that had felt like a pillow when she'd hit him that second time...well, perhaps you didn't need to talk to cast. But singing? That was just bizarre and impossible if you couldn't talk. As the boy was looking around, though, Marissa took the opportunity to pluck a drink from someone's hand when they also weren't looking. The fool tried to start a fight over it with the guy nearest him, but that didn't go well - probably because the man was much taller and about twice as wide. The man Marissa had stolen the drink from left quickly to avoid any further confrontation. Marissa found herself smirking at the incident as she sipped...rum? She'd tasted it once before and it was foul. She quickly pushed it into the hand of someone passing by her, who looked at it curiously - and then at her, just as curiously - before shaking his head and slipping through the crowd. Fortunately, the second drink she swiped was foolishly left on the ground by someone trying to give someone else a piece of their mind. Don't try to hard. Wouldn't want to strain that feeble head of yours, she thought to herself as she happily tasted beer. The two got so into their argument that the beer was completely forgotten, and what limited supplies the tavern now had dwindled further. Then the question about Marissa came. She had expected it, but for once, she didn't have a decent story. So, she just shrugged and said something that was basically (if not wholly) the truth: "Last town didn't like me much." |
|
|
|
| Aleith Carmena | Wed Mar 23, 2011 6:44 pm Post #14 |
|
It was often inevitable when people learned he could sing, and not talk. It was the sort of paradox that made his own head hurt at times. But, there was always a way he could prove it to people. Sometimes, they figured he was lying about not being able to talk because of it, but there was no way he could really defend that beyond just saying, 'Yes, huh!' when they questioned it. But still, he nodded towards his hand and lifted it up into the middle of the table. His bare hands were cracked and scarred in a few places and he couldn't for the life of him remember how any of them happened. "Exuro perspicuus quod servo mihi..." His voice was very soft, barely audible over the sound of the bar. As each word passed his lips, white light formed in lines and wrapped around his hand. As the final part of the verse was spoken they began to move rapidly together, forming a soft white shield over the top of his hand. It glowed softly, almost like a candle lit with a white flame. It slowly died down as his attention went to the room, the people starting to move in waves, coming at one another or-he imagined at least- the bar down stairs. There was a lot of shouting, or at least more then you'd expect in a tavern at this time of night. A frown crossed his face, and slowly he slid his chair up against the wall, keeping himself as close to the nearest exit as he could. Her response to his question brought his attention back around to her, a frown showing on his face. It was very likely that something had drummed her out of the last town she was in, something she did, but he didn't want to assume that. Pulling the book over, he fumbled with finding his pencil for a moment before beginning writing again, every few words he'd slide his chair a few more scratches closer to that window... 'Artistic differences, I suppose? Find it odd an entire town would dislike you.' Which wouldn't be so odd, really. He had heard rumors of quite a few people that wouldn't be too welcomed in a town. Though that was more for fear, then anything. And the halfling didn't look like the type to spread fear, and dread. |
|
|
|
| Marissa Skeates | Wed Mar 23, 2011 6:59 pm Post #15 |
|
Marissa snorted again. Some things just weren't meant to be taken literally, but this boy was obviously a bit naive - an ironic statement coming from a halfling thief who'd never been outside Cascadia until a month ago (roughly). A lot of people in Cascadia were zombies just wandering about through their daily lives, not caring that they might actually be able to help others or scare up some excitement from time to time, and most Cascadians - like the residents of most cities - either could care less or really didn't like the peasant population. The homeless were certainly at the top of that list, especially thieves, all of whom were held in the same regard - whether they stiole money or food. For Marissa, it had mostly been the latter; oh, sure, she'd taken a few coins here and there, but mostly, she'd stolen to survive. Until a month ago, of course. "I find it odd that you can sing, but you can't talk." Touche. Indeed, magic certainly was something to be admired. It made life so much easier. But Marissa had no knowledge of or talent for it. She was just a thief and a liar...and an occasional murderess (or mass murderess, considering the present situation). She was a damn good thief and a pretty good liar, but she was still a thief and a liar. She was no wizard or sorceress. |
|
|
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
 Our users say it best: "Zetaboards is the best forum service I have ever used." |
|
| Go to Next Page | |
| « Previous Topic · The Green Gryphon · Next Topic » |
- Pages:
- 1
- 2
1:41 PM May 19
