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More the merrier, Finn. We'd gladly welcome even the experience-challenged into our decrepit fold.
And hey, grab some guild perks and a couple of our lowbies and you might find the levelling process more tolerable.
*wanders up to the thread title, tilts his head to the side, and stares at it*
*mumbles about grammar and blood elves*
*pulls a piece of charcoal out of a bag, crosses out Are, and writes Is above it*
*puts the charcoal away*
*wanders off, staring at the new charcoal stains on his hands*
(also, if not clear, *bump*)
Edited by Holdfast on 9/20/2012 1:35 PM PDT
Looking to his cat, Tyrexus smiles. "Isn't it wonderful of them? What splendid new friends we've found, Gentyler. It was extremely generous of Raptorious to take time out of his day and give us that case of wine. Purely out of the goodness of his heart." Finishes off his twelth glass of the day. "However," waves his hand in front of his face and sees wonderful trails, "it must be for more potent than I am used to. I'm also very hungry for pickles and mustard for some strange reason." Shrugging his shoulders he trundles off to the kitchen.
If you are feeling any adverse side-effects from exposure to this thread, that's normal. It should all clear up in a week or so. Though, if it doesn't, you should probably come see us, because in all likelyhood, you're about to spontaneously combust.
Candlelight flickers in an enshrouded room, alighting dimly a hood-covered face and a crimson curtain befitting the superfluous elegance typical of the Sin'dorei. All but porcelain lips exposed, they curl into a sinister grin as a slight crystalline shatter is heard.
"Oh Tyrexus, my friend...how do you feel about delving into that collection of delicate, stunning orbs and sharing one or two with me? I am simply -dying- to see what potency they could add to my lovely gems...."
*wanders back by the thread title, tilts his head to the side, and stares at it*
*stares at the empty bottles of wine, broken glassware, and odd colored hosiery on the ground*
*pulls a piece of charcoal out of a bag, crosses out Ams Dr, and writes Sets Ll above it*
*puts the charcoal away*
*wanders off, whistling, contemplating some nice curdled milk*
The dingy bar in Bilgewater had, as goblin venues often did, an odd assortment of creatures and misfits as its patrons. In the far corner, a substantially inebriated tauren had passed out, the stool that once attempted to support him now completely torn asunder. Next to that table sat a group of four goblins, flipping over cards and exchanging gold. An orc bartender stood behind the counter, wiping greasy tankards with an even greasier rag. He reached under his eye patch, wiped grime from his empty eye socket, wiped it on the rag, and then went back to cleaning. At the main table offset from the bar counter was an odd assortment of characters. A troll, flicking a golden coin in the air, and a Forsaken woman, looking dull and uninterested, watched on as a preening Blood Elf by the name of Telarin Goldleaf flicked his long blond hair and boasted about military accomplishments.
It was this elf that was Araneon Sunwhisper’s target.
He stood alone in the bar, the shadows and dust almost completely obscuring him. With keen eyes he watched and listened as Goldleaf gestured grandly, bragging about some battle that may or may not have happened. He was drunk, obviously so, and though his audience dwindled to two people, he didn’t notice.
“It was clear that they feared the standard bearer of the Goldleaf family,” Telarin said, his words lolling from his inebriated tongue. “They did not engage further – they knew that if they did, I would have rained such blows upon them.”
Araneon did not snicker, did not move. He watched, waited. The troll snorted, flicking the coin up further.
“You may snicker, my troll friend, but had you seen me on the battlefield, in my battle regalia, you would have fled too. I’ll buy another round, and I’ll describe its majesty to you.”
“With whose coin, I wonder?” Araneon said, finally emerging from the shadows. He was wearing armor clearly mismatched, picked up from various places. But while his armor was unassuming, his presence was undeniable. He strode forward with a deliberate purpose, his young face with purpose and without vanity.
“And you are?” Goldleaf sneered, his eyes ranging over the cobbled together armor and assuming a haughty look upon his own face.
Araneon approached the table, snatched the coin in mid-air from the troll, and then put his hand on the table. His sleeve slid up his arm, revealing a brand seared into his skin, a brand that looked like a –
“The Spider,” he breathed. “I…I thought…”
“Araneon Sunwhisper,” he corrected him. “And no, not dead.”
“I am glad to hear it,” he sputtered.
“And I am glad to hear the rest of your tale,” Araneon said. “How you were going to rain blows on your enemies. Quite like you rained blows on my finances, while I was away in Outland. I was under the presumption that you were but an accountant, but I am delighted to hear that you are a warrior, and one of prodigious skill at that!”
“I am exceedingly glad to hear that you raided my family’s fortune for you to become the great warrior that you are,” Araneon continued, not smiling in the least. “It went towards your training, I assume? And your…how did you put it…majestic regalia. And to drinks, of course!”
“Mr. Sunwhisper,” he said, trying to gain back some of his swagger. But before he continued his hand darted to the dagger at his hip. Blinding, searing light flashed and illuminated the bar. When the light faded, and the noise subsided, Goldleaf was on the ground, his body bent in several odd angles. Araneon stood over him, looking as if he hadn’t exerted any effort.
“No one takes money from me and gets away with it,” Araneon said. He lowered his sleeve, the cloth covering his spider tattoo. He reached down and swiped the coin purse. The troll looked at him, agape, while the Forsaken merely looked on with a bored expression.
“Can I take him? Reagents, you know.”
“Have it,” he said, waving his hand. Araneon proceededo the bar and set some gold pieces on the counter and looked at the bartender.
“For the mess.”
“I don’t see no mess,” the orc said. Behind them, the Forsaken woman dragged the elf’s body out of the bar. “You got a group?”
“No,” Araneon said simply.
“Have a drink, and I’ll tell you about a group of people I know. The Coterie.”
Araneon took the tankard of mead from the bartender, and took a sip, listening.
*Wanders by, avoiding bottles and spilled wine carefully, muttering about drunken partygoers*
*Pulls out his Fire Elemental totem, setting it on the ground to give the blood elves some company*
((Bump for more RP guilds!))
Edited by Thunderhowl on 9/21/2012 10:18 AM PDT
"You tell him I said no!" the elderly man raged, shaking his fist in the Knight's helm-covered face. "I won't have you damn soldiers poking about in my business!"
"Listen here, old man!" the Knight tried to counter, only to be interrupted again.
"No, you listen to ME. I don't care if the Light itself put the man in charge!"
"He isn't asking, it's an order." the Knight growled, much to the old man's amusement.
"Oh, that's rich. The man couldn't order his way out of a burlap sack. I've seen the mess he's made of the docks. I won't have him ruin mine!"
"Just read the letter." the Knight finally surrendered. "You'll see his terms are quite generous."
"I grow tired of this. Look, I'll consider what he has to say, but I doubt it'll change my mind. Now, go on. Get out of here!"
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