The Green Dragon Tavern

Situated beside a well traveled road, The Green Dragon receives many, many customers, most with a unique tale or two to tell. As one enters the old tavern, the aromatic smell of oak drifts towards the nose, begging one to sit down and enjoy a pint.

The men were gambling and drinking in one corner. The gentle elves of the woods were gathered by a roaring fireplace, singing great sagas of the Golden Age. The rowdy dwarfs were mostly crowded around the bar, having a great drinking contest. All were in a festive mood, with all worries behind them. In the very center of it all, atop a oaken table, danced two hobbits (Sorry, Tolkien). Curious creatures, they were, not half a man high, but could eat more than two. They danced, and drank, and sang a merry song of... well...drinking

Oh you can search far and wide
You can drink the whole town dry
But you'll never find a beer so brown
As the one we drink in our home town
You can drink your fancy ales, you can drink them by the flagon
But the only brew for the brave and true comes from the Green Dragon

Behind the bartender, an exceptionally pretty woman, was a sign that read:

Quote:

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Drinks

Horsetail Cider
Price: 265 gold

Blackguard Brandy
Price: 280 gold

Gutrot Lager
Price: 300 gold

Zelmags Power Ale
Price: 285 gold

Buckenbroth Mead
Price: 310 gold

Giantblood Beer
Price: 295 gold

Moonwater
Price: 275 gold

Hoedown Schnapps
Price: 280 gold

Blight Watchmans Keeper
Price: 265 gold

Primal Mojo Fizz
Price: 270 gold

Planeswalkers Port
Price: 305 gold

Premium Drinks

Dragonsbreath
Price: 465 gold

Pixie Juice
Price: 445 gold

Royal Reserve
Price: 430 gold

Stoutheart Brew
Price: 485 gold

Kleptoloclese Ouzo
Price: 465 gold

Ajendra Estate Wine
Price: 450 gold

Warning: The Green Dragon will not sell alcohol to minors. This means:

Humans: 21 years or older
Elves/Dark Elves: 2500 years or older
Dwarfs: Length of beard must be at least 10 inches
Hobbits: 30 years or older
Gnomes: Must possess red pointed cap
Avian: Must have a wingspan of at least 10 feet

All races/genders/classes are welcome.

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water please!!!

The bartender rushes to get a glass of water. "Hello, miss. This water is fresh from the elven springs! Very refreshing! Would you like anything else? some food, maybe? We have the best steaks around. Would you like some? Or perhaps some ale?"

a slight but tall avian female sits down next to the group of dwarves.
"some pixie juice please!" and throws 500 gold pieces on the bar.

Wearing a very plain, non-descriptive black cap, a very small being glides into the tavern. The figure looks around to find a table in the back corner, away from prying eyes. As this shortish creature makes its way to the back, a gentle cross breeze from the back kitchen, blows at the cape, hinting at the feminine curves that lay just underneath. She quickens her step, hoping not to draw to much attention to herself... waiting to see if her assignment will walk in this evening.

A cloaked figure emerged through the door,
The edges tattered and his hood lay low,
His eyes glared as if calling for war,
His steps silent like a snake in a meadow.

A gust blows like a fast sailing galleon,
For a brief moment his arm shows,
Fully armored, his gauntlet, his talon,
Shined silver, yet black as shadows.

He trots quickly towards the bartender,
The dwarfs stayed silent, holding their breaths,
He inhales, many expected thunder,
Then he casually said....One Dragonsbreath

At the stroke of ten a tall, broad shouldered being walked into the tavern causing all to turn with tension on their faces. Perhaps it was the shadowed hood over his... its face, or the creak of worn leather and chain mail. Or perhaps it was the smell of blood. The figure stopped before the bar. A steel, spiked gauntlet cracked the oak surface with a hammer like blow as a voice issued form the hood. A voice like rusty nails being pulled form a coffin lid.

"Gutrot ... barkeep."

Turning the figure regarded the rest of the tavern.

"And death to any who would disturb me."

From under the hood, two challenging eyes regard the company. They were as black and cold as nail heads.

Hello

Connor stood next to the new comer at the bar.

"Ignore the one in the hood," said the Marksmen hooking his chin towards the threatening figure in the hood. "His breath is worse than his bite."

Taking his own offer mug of ale the hooded figure move to drink, then stopped. Lowering his flaggon he once more regarded the patrons of the bar. Long he held them in his icy stared. Then, something moved under his cloak and droped to the floor with a cold, heavy weight that knocks mugs from tables and cutlery to the floor. Stooping over the broad shouldered being pick up a wicked looking mace, one who's spiked mass was covered with matted clumps of hair, dried blood and skull fragments.

"I spit upon this kingdom, and all who defend it."

All sound in the tavern suddenly died as the hooded figure stood and pointeed his mace in a sweeping motion.

"Your lives will only be spared it you tell me where I may find the one called... Nash."

I have the last post in all the sub-forums right now except announcements and U-blog because everything's been dead in there for a while and I might get in trouble for posting in there!

oh, and I'll take a blackguard brandy!

Bartender can I have a pint of Heineken?

yaaar, im a pirate. When i died i was only 17 but i would like some grog.. I have been alive since the days of boats many ages ago

a young man enters the tavern, having travelled from Western Australia, he is tall and lean, with bright orange hair and blue eyes, his skin is freckled where it has seen the Australian Sun in his two and a half decades of life, he wears dark pants and a green cloak and a grey backpack is upon his shoulders.

eyeing those is inside i walk across the room and sit beside the elves, listening to the tuneful tales of times past

Me look for strong drink! Me hope strong drink here. *Orc sit at bar, look at marksman* "Me know you?"

watching and listening to ME ORC makes superalitive and insightful conversation with Marksmen as i sit by the fire

Slaps everybody in the room across the face to get a reaction

Quote:

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Originally Posted by ME ORC

Me look for strong drink! Me hope strong drink here. *Orc sit at bar, look at marksman* "Me know you?"

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Roflmao

'Fraid I don't know you. Pretty sure I'd remember that smell."

A quiet humming sound slowly arose from one of the taverns corners, and along with it flickering lights in all sorts of colours started to dance across the wall. The source of the light was nowhere to be seen but as the humming increased in power, the seemingly random spread of lights slowly focused to one single spot, not bigger than a melon. Then with a loud "CRACK", the lights suddenly became a hole in the wall from which a slender humanoid being, carrying a leather pouch twice his own size and more, came flying at a great speed to abruptly crash into the tavern bar and hit the floor. Hastily, and a bit wobbly, the being got up on his feet to swirl around and look for anything that might follow him through the hole in the wall.

After standing ready for action the winged little creature then relaxed some and smiled as the only thing that was coming through his rapidly shrinking magic portal were muffled shouts, suggesting him to shove all kinds of sharp things up "...where the sun don't shine!", and "...where the wind doesn't blow!", and so on until the portal finally closed with a quiet "plop".

"Stupid Elves", the Faery chuckled to himself with a high-pitched voice. "Good at magic, but they have never really understood the value of protecting their border from good quality thieving!"

Cheerfully whistling on a tune that moved between notes too high for most creatures to perceive, the Faery known as Gredifael now turned his attention to his fresh loot. He felt no remorse whatsoever for relieving his distant cousins from the heap of runes, as they always carried so much more than they actually needed anyway. He considered his profession a sort of cross-kingdom aid. Forced upon the aid-giver, of course, but morally defendable.

With greedy fingers Gredifael started to fiddle with knots big as his own head, as he suddenly realized the good in scouting his new surroundings. The loot could wait for a little while longer. He eyed his slightly roughed wings while muttering about sharp things his pursuers had not thought about, and where he indeed would put them the next time it was time for a visit.

After making sure a new flight wouldn't drop him on his head again, the Faery then carefully hovered higher to peek over the edge of the tavern bar. It was full of all kinds of creatures. Quickly he pulled his head down below the edge again.

"Looks like a filled tavern", he thought to himself, "nothing unusual for this time at night, but why is it this quite? Something's not right here."

After stashing the runes under a loose plank he found behind the bar, Gredifael inspected the tavern room and its guests more closely. Avians, Dwarves, Elves, Halflings, Humans, Orcs (even an Undead were standing at the bar!); all of the most common races of Utopia were represented, with himself included. All as different from each other as cats and dogs, but all had they one thing in common. They stood motionless.

"Well isn't this eerie?", Gredifael said out loud, mostly to hear something else than the pressing complete silence. As curiosity managed to win over fear he then cautiously flew around the room to eye the statue-like (yet breathing) guests more closely.

He poked the nose of one freckled, tall Human; he tugged on the beard of a dwarf-woman that was dressed like a bar-owner; he pulled a feather from an Avian, who had froze in the middle of a clunk of pixie juice; he flew dangerously near the open jaws of an Orc that looked like he was just about to scream something to his neighbour (yep, definitely breathing, and in serious need of a toothbrush). And the room was as still as when he first had got there.

Although thieving always had been his life, as a creature of Fae, Gredifael was no stranger to magic. This was no doubt the doings of a very powerful sorcerer. But Gredifael wasn't in one of Utopias many kingdoms now he knew. Although never sure on the exact location a portal would take him to, he was skilled enough to determine which island he wanted to go to. And this was neutral grounds. Sure, utopians often fought, often died, in taverns like this, but who would benefit from putting a group this random outside of time? The evildoer must have been someone from outside. As an even smaller Faery, Gredifael had often heard tales of strange realms in other universes like Azeroth, or Sanctuary. Heavy populated, colourful and flashy but without essence; without that unpolished rawness that always had defined Utopia. Could this black magic stem from one of them?

"Whoever, whatever and why ever this is, it must be undone", the Faery thought to himself. The leather bag was soon before him again and while sticking in his head to pull out some of its contents he tried to come up with a fitting spell.

"they'restillbreathingsotheycan'tgetanimated...reflectit?notoolate...wellthissureashellisnoparadises omaybe...". He continued to mumble before sticking his head out again.

Finally he had made his choice. He gathered the right amount of runes and begun casting, and the spell... fizzled. The sound of a small explosion echoed through the tavern, loudly enough to drown the sudden squeak that pushed itself over the stunned Faery's lips.

"Oberon's hoof up your hairy, swollen...", Gredifael muttered as he tried to spit out ash from his mouth, while checking if any part of his face were missing. This is why he had chosen a rogues way of life.

A couple of tries later Gredifael was top to toe covered in soot he no longer bothered to try and wipe off. He looked at what had once been a great heap of runes, calculated the poor remains and sighed.

"Well, there's enough left for one more try. One more shot. You can do this, you half-witted fae. Ok, here goes nothing."

He gather the runes and begin casting, and the spell...

((Excuse my OOCness, but I wanted to compliment the post above me without actually adding anything tangible or on topic to the thread. I do feel - aside from the mild disappointment that there are not dozens of posts like the one above given the amount of time this thread has existed - like your post does not belong here. This place descended into a realm lacking in creativity and originality almost immediately after the topic was originated. I might be called elitest, but this in here could hardly be termed RP. Well done to Gredifael however...your post was a good read. :P ))

just getting meh post count up nothing to see here