Tavern Tales
A Beginning

A pale gold light on a warm, misty night. The sound of mugs clinking--voices laughing. The smell of hearth-baked bread, seasoned pie, underscored by the light scent of summer wine. You have arrived. Welcome to The Tavern.

In one corner sits a man with wild, red hair--a travel-stained, green cloak upon his back. In one mailed fist, he grips a mug of the Tavern's finest ale. Glancing about the common room, your eyes seem to linger upon two other patrons. A man, dressed in flowing robes, with fiery eyes, a quirky smile and a slightly... singed.. beard. In the corner, a young woman, dressed in the uniform of the City Watch sits muttering and frowning into her wine. Let the show begin....

Gesticulating wildly, the robed man waggles his fingers at a candle on his table, sending a flame billowing towards the ceiling. He stops and carefully assumes an innocent face as ash begins to fall from the rafters, floating on the air through out the tavern, "Whoops,", he mutters to himself "I thought I had finally gotten the hang of that."

An ash slowly drifts back down to the ground, making a sudden turn into the ale of the red-haired man. He prepares to take a sip, notices the soot in his drink, and frowns deeply.

In a deep, yet melodic, voice he intones "Cow buggerin' magyr."

A few tables over, the magely fellow turns and raises an eyebrow. He begins to stare steadily at the wanderer, who rubs the back of his head repeatedly. The mage frowns slightly, the stands and begins advancing on the rude outlander, who shrugs and goes back to pondering the ashen flakes in his beverage.

"Feel the strength of the awakened mind, heathen scum!", the wizard growls, now scant inches behind the rather broad-shouldered clansman.

Understandably perturbed, the travel-worn warrior shouts, "A'ight... wha' be wit' this bugger shoutin' in ma ear?!"

The wizard mutters an oath, waves his arms, then stretches outward and appears to double in size. He booms, "It is I! Gormann the Overwhelming!" in a commanding voice. The other man snorts, and backhands Gormann with a mail-covered fist the size of a small ham.

"Fair enoug'," chuckles the warrior, as the mage grunts, and falls backwards to stumble into Gabriel the Smith, "I be Aidan MacBlannaugh, an' ye kin bugger off an' leave me ta ma drinkin'."

Realizing his mug spilled while he was otherwise occupied, Aidan leaps to his feet and roars, "Fornicatin' wizzer! 'e made me spill ma drink!"

He begins looking wildly around for something, as you see the barkeep hurry into the back with a large bundle. He lumbers towards the still prostrate Gormann, while the lady Guard sits intently in the corner, her mug cradled in one gloved hand, and the other on the pommel of her warhammer. The slightly dazed sorcerer reaches for a candlestick, chanting softly, while Aidan prods at him with a foot booted in daemon-hide.

"Y'owe me a drink!", rumbles the clansman, as Gormann transforms the candlestick into a stout oaken staff.

"Aye," the mage replies, using the staff to lever himself off the floor, "and you owe me a tale! Ye canna be thirsty if ye've nae been speakin'", mimicking the outlander's accent.

Across the room, the female guard shakes her head and mutters something quietly, her words lost in the din, except for the phrase, "Can't take him anywhere."


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