Just Another Nostalgia Bait Tavern

Quote from mrphobia_ >>

The armored individual looks upwards, resting their harpoon across their lap warily. They flip up part of their visor just enough to reveal sea-green eyes and darker toned skin, some mix between a warm umber and deep olive. “Good evening.” They respond politely, tipping their head a bit. They then sort of shift a bit in place, pulling a piece of seaweed off of their arm where it was jammed between the plates. “I feel as if I have gotten a little lost.”

 They chuckle, tilting their head curiously. “At sea? Happens.” They pause, opening their mouth and then closing it again while thinking. “Not to me. I don’t go out at sea. Er…” they get up and carefully walk a bit to the right to get a better view of them from that angle. “Oh, good evening too.” They look out the window by crouching down a lot. “Yeah. Evening.”

*spear my beloved*
A person in a forest green cloak stumbles into the tavern, hood up to partially obscure their face. As they walk farther in, onlookers can catch glimpses of a sleeveless top in scarlet red and matching pants tucked into tall black leather riding boots from under the cloak. Once they reach a seat, they reach up with one white gloved hand and take down their hood, revealing a masculine face and the slightly pointed ears of a half-elf, helix pierced several times up their length. His other hand, also gloved, stays down at his side, fist closed and with a length of cord, like the kind someone might string beads onto to make a necklace wrapped around it several times. A small line of red makeup wraps itself around his neck in a closed circle. Aside from a small saddlebag slung across his shoulder and the earrings running along each ear, the man looks unarmed, with no obvious weapons or trinkets, magical or otherwise, displayed anywhere on their body. 

Quote from Little_Red_Hunting_Hood >>

 They chuckle, tilting their head curiously. “At sea? Happens.” They pause, opening their mouth and then closing it again while thinking. “Not to me. I don’t go out at sea. Er…” they get up and carefully walk a bit to the right to get a better view of them from that angle. “Oh, good evening too.” They look out the window by crouching down a lot. “Yeah. Evening.”

 The armored cowboy sighs quietly. "No, I don't tend to get lost at sea. I mean... here. Wherever 'here' is. It is not of too much importance yet I suppose." They look up around the ceiling. "It is nice here. A bit unnerving how nice it is, honestly." Their harpoon tip taps against the ground like a nervous tick. "Hoping the food is nice. Do you have a name?"

Quote from 16thLevelMonk >>

*spear my beloved*
A person in a forest green cloak stumbles into the tavern, hood up to partially obscure their face. As they walk farther in, onlookers can catch glimpses of a sleeveless top in scarlet red and matching pants tucked into tall black leather riding boots from under the cloak. Once they reach a seat, they reach up with one white gloved hand and take down their hood, revealing a masculine face and the slightly pointed ears of a half-elf, helix pierced several times up their length. His other hand, also gloved, stays down at his side, fist closed and with a length of cord, like the kind someone might string beads onto to make a necklace wrapped around it several times. A small line of red makeup wraps itself around his neck in a closed circle. Aside from a small saddlebag slung across his shoulder and the earrings running along each ear, the man looks unarmed, with no obvious weapons or trinkets, magical or otherwise, displayed anywhere on their body. 

 The armored figure sort of flinches back as the door opens, hand on their harpoon, though they settle back down upon seeing the half elf walk through. They tilt their head in a greeting, though stare a little in a state of sort of confusion, as if trying to figure out what he is. They tap their hands on their harpoon in contemplation, focusing back on the bar. "Are you alright? You seem a bit in a hurry." 

*Would anyone be interested in a rp, or should I leave you guys be?*

Quote from mrphobia_ >>

Quote from 16thLevelMonk >>

*spear my beloved*
A person in a forest green cloak stumbles into the tavern, hood up to partially obscure their face. As they walk farther in, onlookers can catch glimpses of a sleeveless top in scarlet red and matching pants tucked into tall black leather riding boots from under the cloak. Once they reach a seat, they reach up with one white gloved hand and take down their hood, revealing a masculine face and the slightly pointed ears of a half-elf, helix pierced several times up their length. His other hand, also gloved, stays down at his side, fist closed and with a length of cord, like the kind someone might string beads onto to make a necklace wrapped around it several times. A small line of red makeup wraps itself around his neck in a closed circle. Aside from a small saddlebag slung across his shoulder and the earrings running along each ear, the man looks unarmed, with no obvious weapons or trinkets, magical or otherwise, displayed anywhere on their body. 

 The armored figure sort of flinches back as the door opens, hand on their harpoon, though they settle back down upon seeing the half elf walk through. They tilt their head in a greeting, though stare a little in a state of sort of confusion, as if trying to figure out what he is. They tap their hands on their harpoon in contemplation, focusing back on the bar. "Are you alright? You seem a bit in a hurry." 

 “I’ve been riding for quite a while. Even if you’re an experienced jockey it’ll numb your legs eventually. I’m sorry if I made you concerned, friend.” He adds that last word after a tentative pause as he angles his body towards the armored harpooner, subtly moving his closed fist behind his back to put himself between the figure and his hand. 

Quote from 50thAltOfBananer >>

*Would anyone be interested in a rp, or should I leave you guys be?*

 *this isn’t some exclusive friendgroup only tavern. We’re here to rp, we’ll interact if conditions are favorable and we want to*

Quote from mrphobia_ >>

Quote from Little_Red_Hunting_Hood >>

 They chuckle, tilting their head curiously. “At sea? Happens.” They pause, opening their mouth and then closing it again while thinking. “Not to me. I don’t go out at sea. Er…” they get up and carefully walk a bit to the right to get a better view of them from that angle. “Oh, good evening too.” They look out the window by crouching down a lot. “Yeah. Evening.”

 The armored cowboy sighs quietly. "No, I don't tend to get lost at sea. I mean... here. Wherever 'here' is. It is not of too much importance yet I suppose." They look up around the ceiling. "It is nice here. A bit unnerving how nice it is, honestly." Their harpoon tip taps against the ground like a nervous tick. "Hoping the food is nice. Do you have a name?"

 They snarl, glaring. “Who’s askin’?” They pause, not breathing as they stare at the cowboy.

they relax and smile warmly. “Just kiddin. People say I’m scary sometimes.” They hop down and land on all fours, before standing up and looking them in the eye. “I’m Beau. Did you make that harpoon?”

** The Mind **

*Question, are animals (non sentient) affected by the no violence barrier?*

Quote from 50thAltOfBananer >>

*Question, are animals (non sentient) affected by the no violence barrier?*

 *This tavern is protected by a blessing from a mysterious artifact, making any attacks within the tavern walls or against the exterior of the tavern to automatically fail. This also prevents any combat from being able to happen in the area. (The safety area has a radius of 180 ft. in any direction and is infinite vertically. Basically imagine a safety-cylinder that has an 180 foot radius.) This spell is immune to any attempts to dispel*

Quote from 16thLevelMonk >>

Quote from 50thAltOfBananer >>

*Question, are animals (non sentient) affected by the no violence barrier?*

 *This tavern is protected by a blessing from a mysterious artifact, making any attacks within the tavern walls or against the exterior of the tavern to automatically fail. This also prevents any combat from being able to happen in the area. (The safety area has a radius of 180 ft. in any direction and is infinite vertically. Basically imagine a safety-cylinder that has an 180 foot radius.) This spell is immune to any attempts to dispel*

 *This doesn’t answer my question, as the animals usually don’t fight back and there wouldn’t be any animals within the tavern walls, and the area around it only stops combat. I’m not sure if hunting counts as combat. Guess I’ll just assume yes until I get a clearer answer.*

Quote from 50thAltOfBananer >>

*Question, are animals (non sentient) affected by the no violence barrier?*

 *It’s no damage. No damage to objects, creatures, things like that. It goes by dnd definitions of objects and creatures, and an animal is a creature so any damage it would take is nullified. Objects in the tavern reform after breaking.*

The grass is crushed under the feet of two racing automatons, one made of bronze, the other of steel. The two of them are quadrupedal and two glaring lights glow from their eyes, bodies doglike. Their maker was clearly educated on canine anatomy, as every muscle and bone seems to be in the correct place, except a mess up in the anatomy on the front left leg of the steel one that has left it without its paw. The bronze one was clearly made with more care-its features sharper, and it does not lack a paw. Following them is a young woman with dark brown skin and black hair with leaves tucked inside of it. She carries a hunting rifle, and moves at a quick speed, making pace with the quick dogs. When she notices the tavern, she whistles and the dogs come to a halt, perfectly still. She slowly enters the tavern, cleaning the dust off of her armor, which is mechanical but seems to not make a sound, perfectly suited for her size.

Quote from mrphobia_ >>

Quote from 50thAltOfBananer >>

*Question, are animals (non sentient) affected by the no violence barrier?*

 *It’s no damage. No damage to objects, creatures, things like that. It goes by dnd definitions of objects and creatures, and an animal is a creature so any damage it would take is nullified. Objects in the tavern reform after breaking.*

 *Alr, sorry for being a bother.* 

Quote from 16thLevelMonk >>

 “I’ve been riding for quite a while. Even if you’re an experienced jockey it’ll numb your legs eventually. I’m sorry if I made you concerned, friend.” He adds that last word after a tentative pause as he angles his body towards the armored harpooner, subtly moving his closed fist behind his back to put himself between the figure and his hand. 

 The armored individual makes a bit of a baffled expression barely visible from under the visor after being referred to as "friend". They shake their head a bit. "No need to apologize, I just wished to ask if you were alright." They scoot away a bit as the half elf walks a bit closer, suspiciously eyeing the closed fist behind his back. "Are you carrying something?"

Quote from Little_Red_Hunting_Hood >>

 They snarl, glaring. “Who’s askin’?” They pause, not breathing as they stare at the cowboy.

they relax and smile warmly. “Just kiddin. People say I’m scary sometimes.” They hop down and land on all fours, before standing up and looking them in the eye. “I’m Beau. Did you make that harpoon?”

 They flinch back for a second, hand tightening its grip on the harpoon. "Hello Beau.. yes, I can see why people make that assumption. My name is Baske." They shift a bit in their seat, nodding. "I did make this harpoon, yes. The armor is borrowed, though. I still have to craft my own."

Quote from Kol_Drake >>

** The Mind **

A small figure swaddled in tattered, oversized travel robes steps through the tavern doors at dusk. Beneath the heavy hood, two oversized, twitching ears and a trembling, whiskered snout take in the scene. A faint, uncanny wisp of arcane shadow clings to their paws, leaving a hushed chill in the air.

If a person was not looking at the door AND focusing downward, they might think the wind had nudged the door open for a brief second.  As the heavy oak door thuds shut, a silence falls over the bustling common room. Cloaked in midnight-dark travel robes that pool softly around their paws, the Jerbeen (mousekin) stands not quite three feet tall, ears and all. The frayed hem of the hood shifts, revealing sharp, glowing purple eyes and a perpetually twitching nose that catalogues every scent — spilled ale, pipe tobacco, sweat, and seawater?

This miniscule form moves with preternatural quiet, their long, hairless tail trailing silently across the dusty floorboards. In one paw, they tightly clutch a gnarled, darkwood staff, but it is the gem seemingly embedded in his forehead that pulses with violet light and seems to drink in the room's flickering firelight.  Faint wisps of shadowy magic slither around his tiny frame, giving off an unnerving aura. Without a word, the figure glides toward the bar, seemingly floating boldly through the crowd with an imposing confidence that completely defies it's diminutive stature.

Too short to 'belly up to the bar', the figure somehow gains a bar stool and stands tall to order a half-pint of ale before turning around to take in the room.

 Sat near the bar is seemingly the source of the odd smell, a bit like fish and with the faintest hint of gunpowder-- the most concerning intermingled scent. Their steel plated armor is freshly shined on the pauldrons and outer extremities, though the attention to cleanliness seems to have skipped the sections of the armor within the grooves of the elbows, the legs, and the individual's fastened scabbard where kelp and seaweed are stuck to in loose chunks as if they had swum straight through such a kelp forest with reckless abandon. It takes them a few moments to notice the mouse but when they do, they sort of jump a bit in their seat with the timidness one might expect from a deer rather and a fully armed, fully armored knight-like person. "Hello..." They greet quietly, settling back down. "Good afternoon." 

Quote from Kol_Drake >>

** The Mind **

A small figure swaddled in tattered, oversized travel robes steps through the tavern doors at dusk. Beneath the heavy hood, two oversized, twitching ears and a trembling, whiskered snout take in the scene. A faint, uncanny wisp of arcane shadow clings to their paws, leaving a hushed chill in the air.

If a person was not looking at the door AND focusing downward, they might think the wind had nudged the door open for a brief second.  As the heavy oak door thuds shut, a silence falls over the bustling common room. Cloaked in midnight-dark travel robes that pool softly around their paws, the Jerbeen (mousekin) stands not quite three feet tall, ears and all. The frayed hem of the hood shifts, revealing sharp, glowing purple eyes and a perpetually twitching nose that catalogues every scent — spilled ale, pipe tobacco, sweat, and seawater?

This miniscule form moves with preternatural quiet, their long, hairless tail trailing silently across the dusty floorboards. In one paw, they tightly clutch a gnarled, darkwood staff, but it is the gem seemingly embedded in his forehead that pulses with violet light and seems to drink in the room's flickering firelight.  Faint wisps of shadowy magic slither around his tiny frame, giving off an unnerving aura. Without a word, the figure glides toward the bar, seemingly floating boldly through the crowd with an imposing confidence that completely defies it's diminutive stature.

Too short to 'belly up to the bar', the figure somehow gains a bar stool and stands tall to order a half-pint of ale before turning around to take in the room.

 

 The strange human(?) with the colorful masks and keys spots them almost as soon as they enter, swiveling their head. Even if the Jerbeen is unnaturally quiet, it seems they smell them. They hop down from the rafters they’re perched at and lift themselves up to sit on the bar counter next to them. They look at them silently for a few moments, with intense silver eyes flecked with a color that seems to shift from the angle you look at them from- red to orange to pink to blue. The Jerbeen likely notices that they smell strongly of Heather.

”You look nice.” They chirp, swinging their legs back and forth. “What’s the staff for?”

Quote from mrphobia_ >>

Quote from Little_Red_Hunting_Hood >>

 They snarl, glaring. “Who’s askin’?” They pause, not breathing as they stare at the cowboy.

they relax and smile warmly. “Just kiddin. People say I’m scary sometimes.” They hop down and land on all fours, before standing up and looking them in the eye. “I’m Beau. Did you make that harpoon?”

 They flinch back for a second, hand tightening its grip on the harpoon. "Hello Beau.. yes, I can see why people make that assumption. My name is Baske." They shift a bit in their seat, nodding. "I did make this harpoon, yes. The armor is borrowed, though. I still have to craft my own."

 This seems to intrigue them. “It’s real nice.” They tap their foot against the ground rhythmically. One two three… four. One two three… one-two-three… four. One two three … four. “Do ya plan on doing that anytime soon? Craftin’ your own?” They giggle. “I mean, sounds like you’re probably a long ways away from whoever you got it from.”