Tavern Talk

I figure this post could be a place for the Halfway Inn tall tales and table banter.  Don't be afraid to drink and slur your words :D

Ya, it's for open discussion, though the intent was more for in character discussion and table banter you might find at the Halfway Inn.  Here's an example:        Balto was one of the few handful of Blackguards that actually bothered socializing with the adventurers, sell swords, and brigands that make up the clientele of the Halfway Inn.  Though most people don't know him as Balto, they know him as "The Stache."  Indeed, the very light brown tuft of hair that covered a large portion of his face was truly of unnatural size.  The ends wave up and down as he speaks, once again deflecting criticisms of King Stormscar's final law: "No Dissent".          "Look, I know the law isn't clear, and ya, depending on who you're dealing with they might get overzealous about it.  So, if you've got witnesses to what you said when you got stripped, and you really feel it was unjust, get your friend together and pool up 10 gold to get an audience with the King.  If the King feels you're right he'll strip the Blackguard then and there.  I've seen it happen."  Balto pauses to take a swig of mead, somehow without drenching his stache.          "I know most of you think that the King's laws are harsh, but amongst the Blackguard, hes actually seen as too lax.  I mean, did you know we have to let anybody in here?  As long as they aren't foaming at the mouth anybody can walk right in here.  We had some sort of Minotaur awhile back, and I'm pretty sure I saw dark elf walking by not too long ago too.  Shit, there was this one ugly busted legged Half-Orc that you could knock you over at ten paces with just the smell of him!  There should be a law against that kinda foul stank!!" (P.S. Feel free to bad mouth the Blackguard and the King, for purposes of this board, they either can't hear you, or take in good fun. Results maybe different in game)

Morg resents these comments. Morg smell like strong, sexy man. Dirt and burnt wood is best smell. :D

Morg comes walking in just he finishes speaking, dried blood staining his colorful shirt.  "I.. I thought it was gone!!"    Balto stammers out.  Then he pauses for a moment before saying  "I think Yurden just won 10 gold."

With a huff, the haggard elf tosses a small, flour-touched pouch of copper over the counter. By now the message is clear: pour a mug, drop it on the table, and don't ask too many questions. Since starting construction of her bakery, even before it's opening three days ago, Elliane has been seeing a side of Segwyr Falls' staunch protectors that she knew was there but wished would disappear once she dug her roots into it's soil. "Blackguard?" The halfling bartender's voice rings shrill in her tired ears as the elf took her drink and moves on to the nearest empty table.  "Aye, always is". She takes a habitual whiff of the brew and drains the mug before continuing her lament. "You know, for once, those bastards could live with a sliver of respect," she snaps at the space above the barren table, "what with all their... bloody..." She stammers and takes a quick look about her. With the halfling already off serving more grateful customers and not a soul interested in the broken record that is Elliane, her words trail off into a whisper below her breath. Shaking her head and muttering curses to herself, she attempts to finish the last splash of swill as gracefully as she was frustrated. This would be a long, exhausting stay.

Things were oddly quiet around the Inn when the man in the mottled and grimy brown cloak walked through the door.  Perhaps it was that the Lizardfolk had everyone on edge, or hungry masses waiting just outside the doors, or maybe it was the rain outside dampening spirits, many of which were already on the edge of breaking.  The aged man limped his way over to a table and took an empty seat with a noticeable degree of pain.  It was impossible to tell how old the man was, as his face was pockmarked with vile sores and pus and his darkened veins showed through his skin, making him appear near death.  His white hair seemed to have fallen out in tufts, leaving a mottled, and ill tended half beard behind.  A waft air smelling of rot and worse soon made its way across the table. "By all the black gods, man!!  You smell worse than lizard shit.  Go wash yourself off."  A huge grimacing man with a large brown beard spoke forcefully from across the table.  He was in splint armor, and had an insignia of a spear between a broken shield.   "Begging your pardon, but I already have, and I am sure that death alone can cleanse my flesh.  Of which, I welcome."  The old mans voice was as cracked and raspy as it was pained.  His eyes seemed to shake involuntarily. "Then have the decency to die out on the street.  Don't bring your filth in here!  Do you even have any coin!?" "No, sir.  I haven't had a copper to my name for some years now, the only thing I have left to my name is my story.  I hear food and ale are expensive these days, but I was hoping to trade my story, as sad and dark as it is, for a mug or two from a kindly patron.  Any takers?"  

Kepesk watched quietly from the bar as the old beggar came in. She found herself quiet bored since Rolf was off preparing his battle plans. As it seemed, very few here were keen to strike up a conversation with one of her kind. Kepesk figured that was to be expected, change was hard after all. Especially if that change stood just as tall and could easily rip your arm out of it's socket if you rubbed her the wrong way. She listened to the exchange between the old man and what appeared to be a mercenary. After the younger man moved off, Kepesk approached. The man's odor was strong and hit her from a distance. It was incredibly sharp, rancid like meat left rotting in the sun. But underneath that Kepesk could smell more. It was the strong sent of the earth, the musk of a once proud man, and many other scents that Kepesk could attribute to an elder. The man seemed to be asking for any interested in a tale in exchange for a drink. The very idea piqued her curiosity. Besides she didn't have much need for the gold she possessed and she found the rest of the Inn's hubbub tedious. Kepesk took a seat next to the man, setting a few gold coins before him. "If you are willing to share a story with this one," She rasped, "She is willing to listen."

The wretched man raised an eyebrow to Kapesk, before leaning forward with a pained grunt and slowly swiping up the gold. He raised one of the coins up in the air and Norelle was there with her customary swiftness to snatch it up. “Ale please. I must say, I never thought I’d be telling my tale to a scaled one, it’s a very human tragedy, so I hope you can relate.” “Well.” The man shifted in his chair, perhaps trying unsuccessfully to find comfort. “It’s funny, but my story isn’t really about me. I can only imagine where I’d be if I hadn’t met her. Probably still bouncing around the northern coast. Trying to sell my blade. Maybe washed up bloated, on those forsaken shores. I was young back then, in ratty leather armor, and I had just managed to scrape together the coin for my bow right before I met her in a little fishing village. A nowhere stop between Thaite and Brekshoal. Reyani was her name, and even with the bruises, she was a beauty. Maybe ‘in spite of those bruises’ would be a better way to put it. She had platinum blond hair, a warm smile, and soft blue eyes, but eyes that could see through you like no others. See through me, at least. I fell her in the span of a few moments, hard.” Norelle dropped off the mug of ale, and the man paused his storytelling to slowly bring the mug to his lips. “Ah. That’s the taste.” After a single swallow he put the mug down and continued. “She lived alone with her father, and I didn’t realize it then, but he was an evil man. All the terrible things I’ve seen, and yet I still think about him, and what he did to her, when I need some perspective. Not that I’ve had much perspective in a long time. He was a monster, but he was weak, cowardly monster, only able to unleash his vile nature on his daughter.” “So,” The man said as he took his second swig of the ale. “I stole her away from him, and we journeyed south, till we got to Silvercourt. I found mercenary work there, but she gradually convinced me to take up hunting instead. I struggled hunting the grounds near the city, but she found work in work in temple gardens along with a true devotion to Ard as well. She kept us fed when I struggled. All three of us, as she gave me my firstborn son, Tocarn Wakewind, my namesake.” The man took another swallow from the mug, but this time he quickly began to puke up gritty black liquid into the mug. Disgusted looks and sounds ran around the table as the man pushed the mug away from him, a frown firmly affixed. “My apologies, let me continue." He cleared his throat. "Tocarn would never see his first birthday. He was born with a birthmark on his forehead, and because of that we were visited by a group of Inquisitors. They took him away, and later, in front of hundreds of people, they tossed him on a bonfire fire to purify his soul. So the old ways are new again. There was nothing we could do. I was despondent, but Reyani, she wouldn’t let us split apart. She made me face the pain, and accept it. I couldn’t have done that without her. She was always so much stronger than I was. We left Silvercourt, and headed southwest. Eventually settling a few days outside of Verakas. A city well known pirates, but we figured we would be ok if we kept our distance.” “We had many good years there. I did a lot of hunting, and anything she touched grew. ‘A blessing from the Father of Life’’ she would so often say. Other homes sprung up around ours, some seemed to look to me as a leader, but in truth it was always her. Our daughter, Korsa, was born during these years and grew to adolescence. She was the image of her mother, and imitated her every move when she was little. All was well, until Reyani became suddenly ill. The local healer was useless so I gathered what coin we had and made the days long trek to the Temple of Ard. I personally gave the head priest there every coin I had and begged him to come back with me and heal my beautiful Reyani, whom worshiped Ard so devoutly. He gave me charm and told me to give it her. Which I did, and she died a day later with that useless piece of metal clutched to her chest in a vice grip.” The table sat in silence for a few moments. “My daughter and I were completely despondent. Her light had guided our every move. Without her we were lost. Adrift in a sea of pain and loss. So when a man larger than life in both size and presence strode by with his throng of followers, offering us freedom from suffering, you bet we followed him. We were broken and vulnerable, soft as clay, and ready to be molded. Yalgus delivered on his promise too, as we travelled with him, he took our mind away from her, away the suffering, and into new frontier, a new future, a new divinity.” “We made our way south, through the shifting spires, and into Segwyr Falls. It was forbidden, but we hid in the lower chambers of the keep, and the Nal’shurae didn’t look too hard. Segwyr was the end of our journey, here was where Nul’Rixaht would transcend the gods, and we would transcend as well. We prayed and sought Nul’Rixaht, but it there were unforeseen difficulties. After the war began, three bandits leaders, Rolf Silverspear, Garrix Stormscar, and Varkos the Executioner decided they wanted Segwyr Keep for themselves. We were not afraid of them and it was looking to be a fight, but Eyadra Ashfall soothed both sides, and convinced Yalgus that she was no enemy of Nul’Rixaht. A peace was brokered, and we abandoned the light and its many fruits.” Tocarn’s eyes lingered on the ale in front of him. “I couldn’t tell you how long we spent down there, two or three years I would guess. Eyadra proved very helpful, assisting Yalgus in the creation of the Black Pool which was shown to him in prophetic dream. The pool sustained us, and brought us closer to Nul’Rixaht, just as it brought Nul’Rixaht closer to us. It is difficult to understand, much less explain, but I’ll simply ask you to use your imagination when I tell you that my daughter delivered to me glorious news: I was to merge with the Black Pool.” “Yalgus had promised to deliver us from pain and suffering. Following him gave us purpose, he was able to keep us focused, we could feel his passion and power, and we drank it up. Once the Black Pool was complete, we were no longer just the faithful. We were fanatics. Our pain and suffering was truly gone, for the small price of souls. Which is why I surprised myself after my daughter gave me the news. I asked her if she thought there was any chance my soul might find its way to her mother when I was gone. She became enraged, screaming, punching, and kicking me until she was exhausted. What I had said was blasphemy, and she told me I was not fit to join the Black Pool. Lying bleeding on the ground, the realization of all I had done hit me like a giant’s club. I mustered what strength I had, and found a way out of the sewers. After a dip in the river, I made my way over to this fine establishment, in the ill fortuned hope that I might drown my sorrows away.” Tacarn Wakewind grimaced in pain as pushed himself to stand. “Thank you for the ale, and your ear.” He said glancing briefly over at the sides of Kapesk’s head. “But, there is nothing here for me. Keep the rest of the coin. I won’t need it.” With that, the man left the coin on the table, walked out the door, and disappeared into the throng of beggars outside.

Since it's become a joke Make Segwyr Great Again __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ “As it stands today the people of Segwyr have defeated King Stormscar, Demons, and Elves. Now, a different threat challenges our city: Nul’Rixat. Here, in Segwyr, we have seen one brutal attack after another.” Catherine cried to the gathered crowd. Catherine examined the faces of each of the onlookers she had gathered in the Halfway Inn. Most were working hard trying to make a living in this nightmare of a city. It was these faces that Catherine had studied her magic, to make a better home for these folk. “The brutal murder of our people at the hands of King Stormscar!” “The brutal murder of our people at the hands of Queen Sunscale!” “The threat of genocide from the Elves and Kylantha Songsarrow!” “We will defeat Nul’Rixat, just as we have defeated every threat we have faced in every age before. We will not defeat it with closed eyes, or silenced voices.” She continued, “Anyone who cannot name our enemy, is not fit to lead this city. Anyone who cannot condemn the hatred, oppression and violence of Nul’Rixat lacks the moral clarity to serve as our leader. The rise of Nul’Rixat is the direct result of decisions made by King Stormscar and Kylantha Songsarrow.” “It is time for a new approach. One, that with our current strategy of short-sightedness and regime changes, is a proven failure. We have created the vacuums that allow chaos to grow and thrive.” “Though I was a private citizen, whose personal opinions on such matters was not sought, I nonetheless publicly expressed my private doubts about these decisions. Weeks before the invasion of Stormscar’s castle I said, in an interview with Rolf Silverspear, to whom I offer my best wishes, that perhaps we shouldn't be doing it yet. That patience is needed.” “But it is time to put the mistakes of the past behind us, and chart a new course. To defeat Nul’Rixat, we must also speak out forcefully against a hateful ideology that provides the breeding ground for violence and terrorism to grow.” “A new immigration policy is needed as well!” “I will establish a clear principle and that we will govern all decisions pertaining to immigration: we should only admit into this city those who share our values and respect our people.” “In addition to screening out all members or sympathizers of cultist groups, we must also screen out any who have hostile attitudes towards our city or its principles – or who believe that their law should supplant Segwyr law. With a flick of her hands and a muttering of a spell, a giant flag appeared behind her. It fluttered gently in an invisible breeze. “Those who do not believe in our Constitution, or who support bigotry and hatred, will not be admitted for immigration into the city. Only those who we expect to flourish in our city – and to embrace a tolerant Segwyr society – should be issued immigration visas.” “To put these new procedures in place, we will have to temporarily suspend immigration from some of the most dangerous and volatile groups of the region that have a history of exporting terror.” “Indigents!” Catherine saw several ragged faces in the windows. An obvious hatred on their face. “The Elves that serve Elkwalker and Kylantha!” "And for those here illegally today, who are seeking legal status, they will have one route and one route only. To return home and apply for reentry like everybody else under the rules of the new legal refugee system I’ve outlined." “When those other nations send its people, they’re not sending their best. They’re not sending you. They’re not sending you. They’re sending people that have lots of problems, and they’re bringing those problems to us. They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re thiefs. And some, I assume, are good people,” she said. Catherine would make her position very clear. “It’s our right as a city to choose refugee’s we think are the likeliest to thrive and flourish and love us. Therefore, I will build a great wall along the river and the bridge to keep THEM out.” Catherine bowed and left the stage as the crowd dispersed to their own thoughts and drink. The volume beginning to come down as Catherine took a table to wait and see if anyone came up to talk to her.

Overheard during the rally: Man 1:  Hey, what's our Constitution? Man 2:  You idiot!  I know ya can't write, but at least ya can do is learn ta speak.  It means tough. Man 1:  Ya, Segwyr Tough!!! Man 3:  Hells ya!!  Segwyr Tough!!!