General Chat

[Breton Thief Oriana]

"I dont have any crystals to trap a single soul...Only a mixture to keep it bound to this world, yet still mobile. People are selfish! they only want to keep thier ancestors here, for guidance and for protection; people are fools like that. I only do what they want me to, and I do not even accept payment. SOmetimes I am not even called on to do a thing, the spirit stays of its own free will. But, I am rambling. There is more to this world than meets your eyes - where do you expect the spirits of your victims go, anyway? Ive seen it, in my deepest nightmares, flowing with the black mane, as their hooves tresspass into my thoughts at the moonlit hour. The unbound spirits have been thrown into the torture of the oblivion realms, a fate I would not wish on anyone. But, mon ami, let us not speak of these chilling topics. Perhaps, instead, would you like something that I may sell to you? Belief rests with you wether I am trustworthy or not, But I am sure you know in your wisdom of all the redeemings of a single man, be them not ones who are meer mechanical gears and cogs, forming a catapault, or, perhaps, something far greater and more worthy, being not a weapon of war."

 

Shadzon drinks one of his interring vials, enjoying the bittersweet taste of the liquid. "Funny thing about these herbal elixars: they are completely unaffective to living creatures."

[Diablo-the-Hellraiser]

"Dark Elf, shut-up and drink! Your talks about spiritual meaning is anoying. This is a Tavern where we shold drink and have a good time. If you want to get spiritual go to the temple." After saying this Diablo takes a drink of hie mazte.

[Warrior-of-Shadow]

"wow I have not laid eyes on an Argonian with a stature almost close to mine. I can tell that you are skilled fighter." He ponders a question deciding if he should ask it to Has-Big-Axe. "Do you have any memory of the marshes. because I would have had you in my clan with the skills that you have." He thinks about the past battle that brought him here as a slave. " Brother try to pay no attention to what these fools have to say only trust those who respect you not those who....enslave you." He glances at the Dunmer with his abnormal glowing red eyes, making sure he got his point across to him and he finishes his meal by washing it down with mead.

[Breton Thief Oriana]

"And those who's ears are big enough they can hear you from across the room wether you talk in a whisper or not...Ive seen the marshes, they arent my favorite place...too many mosquitos, you know. Or would you? I bet you hardly feel them, the scales are a natural advantage...ah, oh well...Its funny, there are many argonians around here, and yet I dont even know quite where 'here' is. I wish someone would tell me! its getting a little fuzzy wherever I go..." with this shadzon laughs, not to be rude but because of the rum on his brain.

 

"I also dont see many argonians who drink mead. But, to each his own. You wouldnt guess it, but I actually was an abolitionist. You cannot judge a person by his race. Maybe just by his drink...Dont you agree?"

[Shadow of the Fallen]

The door opens suddenly, letting in a draft from outside. A tall man wearing a dark cloak steps inside and quickly turns to shut the door against the weather. Seeing his task done he turns back to the people in the establishment and makes a bee-line for the bar.

 

As he goes, he removes the hood of his cloak, revealing not only his dark brown mop of hair, but also his face.

 

Nothing in particular is special about his face, save for his eyes. Something about them stands out, like theres more to be told then what lies on the surface. Something beyond the hawk-like glare he uses to survey the room as he makes his way over.

 

When he arrives at the bar, he takes an empty seat on the end and signals the bartender. It's hard to tell what he's saying, but he adds something to the conversation. The bartender nods and goes to work.

 

With this, he sits alone, idle in his own thoughts. Watching him it could be noticed that he held a good deal of armaments. What exactly, one could not say.

 

The bartender returns with a clear liquid set in a tall glass. The man thanks the bartender but offers no pay. The bartender simply nods and goes back to taking the orders of the other patrons.

 

Something is odd about the man, but it refuses to reveal itself. Like the whispers of a dream on waking, its there but hard to decipher, hard to comprehend. Until it finnaly dissipates into nothingness and is forgotten in the toils of the day.

[Zaindaris]

The door to the commons opens and a robed figure strides in. He is carrying a staff that is, upon closer examination, is slightly glowing. The look on his face clearly states that he is interested in what is going on in the room.

 

He looks around the room, trying to find a place where he can set up shop and swap some stories. Finding a suitible location along the west wall, he sits down and rests his staff against the wall and slings his bag on his chair.

[Zaindaris]

Soon however, it becomes clear to Zorlen that apparently whatever that was going to be said has been said. Sighing, he takes out his spellbook and studies for a while. He has been loosing his edge in the arcane arts of destruction, having relied on his enchanted staff for too long. He soon starts to mouth the words of the particular spell he had been reading, a nasty habit of his that he is completely unconsious of, and accidently sent a fireball, thankfully one without a blast radius, flying across the room. The fireball hits the opposite wall, without hitting anyone, and then simply fizzled. Embarrased, Zorlen hastily puts away his spell book and tries to look as innocent as possible.

[Shadow of the Fallen]

After nearly being singed (sp?) by a ball of whirling fire, Thrin decided it would be best to speak with the odd new traveler. Not in a harsh manner, though he rather disliked the idea of going bald. Still, a healthy conversation would do good on his soul.

 

As he strode over to the man, he made sure his head was still on in proper order, the flames came closer then he would have otherwise allowed. He needed to be on guard more, or it could cost him his life.

 

Reaching the man, he sat down proptly, ignoring all consideration of manners until he was seated.

 

"My name is Thrin, good sir," he held out his hand in greeting, "may I ask of yours?"

 

Thrin always made a point of being a little off, a bit noticable, even if it was just out of the corner of the eye, just beyond the reach or comprehension of the beholder. Often this made him stand out on the battle feild he had learned. And rather then changing his habits, he improved on his combat ability to balance it out.

 

This wasn't combat though. This was life. And it was even more interesting, he thought, to be out of the ordinary. Not overly so, like a peacock mixed with a bunch of chickens. But more like the odd black chicken mixed in with the browns. In this way, he always left his mark on society. He liked that.

[Hogosha Ookami]

walks into the ba r and lowers his cloak, allowing his long golden hair to fall, looking at the singed wall he felt like he should keep his sword and bow within arms reach. Hogosha sits down and orders a sujima

[Breton Thief Oriana]

"Well, it does seem like the only way to judge a man, being any being, by their drink. Well, maybe we dont know what a drink means...Heh, its all relative. Those who drink Mead drink Mead, those who drink Sujamma drink Sujamma, and those who drink little glasses of colorless liquids drink...Well, I dont know exactly. Sir, what is that drink ya got there?" Shadzon managed to speak through his buzzing head.

 

"Well, excuse me for not introducing myself...Im shadzon, need something rare and I might have it for ya, for a fee. If you also need your loved ones preserved here, I can do that for free..."