Just Another Nostalgia Bait Tavern

Quote from Little_Red_Hunting_Hood >>

 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.”

 Baske still seems a bit wary of them, watching the jingling of their keys. "Thank you. I spent days searching for hydra blood and bottled gem dragon fire to properly craft the steel. At least now I'm certain it won't break." They take a sort of ripped up, soggy cowboy hat out of their pack with a sorrowful expression. "Unlike my other possessions. I will need a couple of days to repair this one. I am far from being a proper seamstress." Baske gently brushes off some kelp from their shin guards. "Crafting a full set of armor will take a long time and a lot of materials. I am working on stocking them up now, though."

Quote from mrphobia_ >>

 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?"

 They see a look cross the half elf’s face, as if realizing for the first time how suspicious he looks. “It’s nothing.” He says, “Just a gift from my sister. I always find myself guarding it, although I’m not sure why anyone would take it. It’s worth practically nothing.” They open their saddlebag and, keeping the fist closed until it’s fully inside the bag before letting go. “Do you have any siblings, Mx..?” As he removes his hand from the bag, the armored person notices something interesting about the glove. It has short gashes among every joint, as if cut with a sharp knife. 

Quote from 16thLevelMonk >>

 They see a look cross the half elf’s face, as if realizing for the first time how suspicious he looks. “It’s nothing.” He says, “Just a gift from my sister. I always find myself guarding it, although I’m not sure why anyone would take it. It’s worth practically nothing.” They open their saddlebag and, keeping the fist closed until it’s fully inside the bag before letting go. “Do you have any siblings, Mx..?” As he removes his hand from the bag, the armored person notices something interesting about the glove. It has short gashes among every joint, as if cut with a sharp knife. 

 "Ah. I apologize for the caution." They sigh quietly. "My name is Baske. And no, I do not have siblings that I know of. Or any family really. It's typical for our eggs to hatch on their own at different intervals, so I never learned who my family was." Baske tilts their head a bit, peering at the glove as they absently run their hand over their own. "Kill count? Or something else?"

Sy'iitai av til, sy'iitai av til, sy'iitai av til, sy'iitai av til, sy'iitai av til...
A quiet, whispering voice echoes itself through the air, the room beginning to seem almost hazy to those in it, vision beginning to blur in a drowsy daze. This state is temporary, however, as if a loud noise had suddenly snapped them out of this brief lull, though no such sound is heard. Instead, with no apparent prompting, the room comes back into focus nearly identical, besides the new figure having appeared in the doorway. They kneel over in a small glowing circle, a razor thin white line slowly fading around them. They wear an olive green cloak, stained over with cakes dirt and blood, seeming to not have been properly washed in many months. While the hood covers the figure's face as they kneel, a horn peeks out from under, refracting light to be almost glowing in appearance. The figure appears to be barefoot, a hoof being seen coming out from under the cloak, blood dripping down their leg and pooling onto the ground below, as the person seems to take a few short, shaky breaths, nearly fully falling over as the circle fades- presumably from blood loss or exhaustion. While one hand steadies them against the ground, the other clutches tightly to their chest, seeming to be holding something, a small golden string extending out of their balled fist

Quote from mrphobia_ >>

Quote from Little_Red_Hunting_Hood >>

 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.”

 Baske still seems a bit wary of them, watching the jingling of their keys. "Thank you. I spent days searching for hydra blood and bottled gem dragon fire to properly craft the steel. At least now I'm certain it won't break." They take a sort of ripped up, soggy cowboy hat out of their pack with a sorrowful expression. "Unlike my other possessions. I will need a couple of days to repair this one. I am far from being a proper seamstress." Baske gently brushes off some kelp from their shin guards. "Crafting a full set of armor will take a long time and a lot of materials. I am working on stocking them up now, though."

 They nod. “If you’re usin’ Hydra blood and dragon fire for a harpoon, what materials are you stocking up on for a whole set of armor?”  They look at the cowboy hat. “I might be able to fix that up.”

Baske notices that a few of the keys are… very oddly shaped. And some are made of wood. Two or three seem to be ivory.

Quote from mrphobia_ >>

 "Ah. I apologize for the caution." They sigh quietly. "My name is Baske. And no, I do not have siblings that I know of. Or any family really. It's typical for our eggs to hatch on their own at different intervals, so I never learned who my family was." Baske tilts their head a bit, peering at the glove as they absently run their hand over their own. "Kill count? Or something else?"

 “How’d you know?” He asks, eyes downcast. “Hunting something other than whales with that harpoon?” He goes silent for a second, grabbing the drink the bartender poured him and swirling around the ice without taking a sip, before looking back up to speak again. “You can call me Tarin if you want to.”

Quote from 50thAltOfBananer >>

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.

 The travel weary half-elf flinches back at the sound of the whistle and the dogs, thankfully catching himself on the bar to prevent himself from completely falling off his chair. His white gloved hands fidget anxiously as he examines the hounds from a distance. 

Quote from ChrisTheSoulcasterMage >>

Sy'iitai av til, sy'iitai av til, sy'iitai av til, sy'iitai av til, sy'iitai av til...
A quiet, whispering voice echoes itself through the air, the room beginning to seem almost hazy to those in it, vision beginning to blur in a drowsy daze. This state is temporary, however, as if a loud noise had suddenly snapped them out of this brief lull, though no such sound is heard. Instead, with no apparent prompting, the room comes back into focus nearly identical, besides the new figure having appeared in the doorway. They kneel over in a small glowing circle, a razor thin white line slowly fading around them. They wear an olive green cloak, stained over with cakes dirt and blood, seeming to not have been properly washed in many months. While the hood covers the figure's face as they kneel, a horn peeks out from under, refracting light to be almost glowing in appearance. The figure appears to be barefoot, a hoof being seen coming out from under the cloak, blood dripping down their leg and pooling onto the ground below, as the person seems to take a few short, shaky breaths, nearly fully falling over as the circle fades- presumably from blood loss or exhaustion. While one hand steadies them against the ground, the other clutches tightly to their chest, seeming to be holding something, a small golden string extending out of their balled fist

 Immediately, the armored individual rushes over, leaving wet footprints on the foot with quiet clanking sounds from their worn metal, kneeling down and moving to prop up the new arrival with a concerned expression. They cast prestidigitation over the cloak and the wounds before trying to check over the rest of their body for severity of wounds. They take out a med kit as well, beginning the process to bandage any open wounds they find hurriedly. "I didn't prepare any healing magic.. dammit.."

The Jerbeen watches the arrival of this new being - horn, hoof, and blood.  Once Sea Smell moved over to start wrapping wounds but mentioned no potions, Badru went into action.

Holding up a finger to emphasize 'wait a moment' to his seating neighbor, Badru began rummaging in his pack until he stopped and pulled out two small potions.  Nodding to himself, he pats his neighbor's knee softly... "I hie Badru.  Pardon as I seek to aid."   He climbs down off the bar stool and goes over to the wounded and the Sea Smell.   Tugging on Sea Smell's armour to get their attention, Badru holds out the two potions >>> potions of healing.  "These might aid in a quicker recovery," the Jerbeen squeeks up at the armoured figure.

Quote from mrphobia_ >>

Quote from ChrisTheSoulcasterMage >>

Sy'iitai av til, sy'iitai av til, sy'iitai av til, sy'iitai av til, sy'iitai av til...
A quiet, whispering voice echoes itself through the air, the room beginning to seem almost hazy to those in it, vision beginning to blur in a drowsy daze. This state is temporary, however, as if a loud noise had suddenly snapped them out of this brief lull, though no such sound is heard. Instead, with no apparent prompting, the room comes back into focus nearly identical, besides the new figure having appeared in the doorway. They kneel over in a small glowing circle, a razor thin white line slowly fading around them. They wear an olive green cloak, stained over with cakes dirt and blood, seeming to not have been properly washed in many months. While the hood covers the figure's face as they kneel, a horn peeks out from under, refracting light to be almost glowing in appearance. The figure appears to be barefoot, a hoof being seen coming out from under the cloak, blood dripping down their leg and pooling onto the ground below, as the person seems to take a few short, shaky breaths, nearly fully falling over as the circle fades- presumably from blood loss or exhaustion. While one hand steadies them against the ground, the other clutches tightly to their chest, seeming to be holding something, a small golden string extending out of their balled fist

 Immediately, the armored individual rushes over, leaving wet footprints on the foot with quiet clanking sounds from their worn metal, kneeling down and moving to prop up the new arrival with a concerned expression. They cast prestidigitation over the cloak and the wounds before trying to check over the rest of their body for severity of wounds. They take out a med kit as well, beginning the process to bandage any open wounds they find hurriedly. "I didn't prepare any healing magic.. dammit.."

 As prestidigitation cleans away the grime, the garment reveals itself to be rather worn, discolored many places and frayed at the edges. The person flinches back slightly at first, though only the smallest amount, stopping themselves from moving very much "I-..." Their wounds seem to be mostly  many shallow cuts, mostly along the arms, as if they were being used to block a short blade or set of blades, along with one larger gash on their front right side, which seems to be the main source of the dripping blood. Bruises seem to be along any part of flesh exposed. As the armored person gets closer, they see under the cloak the figure has grey eyes, and a burn scar along their right cheek "It.. Worked? Im... W-who are you?? W-why are you...?" They trail off, looking at them with a combination of confusion, worry, and curiosity 

Quote from 16thLevelMonk >>

Quote from 50thAltOfBananer >>

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.

 The travel weary half-elf flinches back at the sound of the whistle and the dogs, thankfully catching himself on the bar to prevent himself from completely falling off his chair. His white gloved hands fidget anxiously as he examines the hounds from a distance. 

 The woman sighs as she notices the half-elf staring at her dogs, wandering over to him. “Hey.” She greets. “Interesting contraptions, aren’t they? My patron made em.” Without invitation, she takes a seat next to him. “You been around here long? I’m just learning the ropes of this place.”

Beau, the human(?) with the four masks and the feather tattoos is right outside the tavern, cloud gazing. They lay down on the grass, watching the few clouds in the sky drift by. They look to their side, where they’ve put their masks for now, and picks up the beautifully painted, gray and white owl mask. They study it, but set it down again, looking at their hands. Shaking. They take a deep breath and turn back to look up at the sky.

Quote from Little_Red_Hunting_Hood >>

Beau, the human(?) with the four masks and the feather tattoos is right outside the tavern, cloud gazing. They lay down on the grass, watching the few clouds in the sky drift by. They look to their side, where they’ve put their masks for now, and picks up the beautifully painted, gray and white owl mask. They study it, but set it down again, looking at their hands. Shaking. They take a deep breath and turn back to look up at the sky.

 *You want Ilheia, Kalnor, or Risconia?*

Quote from 50thAltOfBananer >>

 The woman sighs as she notices the half-elf staring at her dogs, wandering over to him. “Hey.” She greets. “Interesting contraptions, aren’t they? My patron made em.” Without invitation, she takes a seat next to him. “You been around here long? I’m just learning the ropes of this place.”

 With effort, he manages to peel his eyes off of the robots and focus on the woman. “Patron? Got some warlock action going on? Or is this more of a ‘filling my bank account’ patron?” He puts his hands in his pockets in an effort to appear at ease, but still appears somewhat distracted. 

Quote from ChrisTheSoulcasterMage >>

Quote from Little_Red_Hunting_Hood >>

Beau, the human(?) with the four masks and the feather tattoos is right outside the tavern, cloud gazing. They lay down on the grass, watching the few clouds in the sky drift by. They look to their side, where they’ve put their masks for now, and picks up the beautifully painted, gray and white owl mask. They study it, but set it down again, looking at their hands. Shaking. They take a deep breath and turn back to look up at the sky.

 *You want Ilheia, Kalnor, or Risconia?*

 *sorry for the delay! If you’re still here, let’s do… Kalnor!*

Quote from Little_Red_Hunting_Hood >>

Quote from ChrisTheSoulcasterMage >>

Quote from Little_Red_Hunting_Hood >>

Beau, the human(?) with the four masks and the feather tattoos is right outside the tavern, cloud gazing. They lay down on the grass, watching the few clouds in the sky drift by. They look to their side, where they’ve put their masks for now, and picks up the beautifully painted, gray and white owl mask. They study it, but set it down again, looking at their hands. Shaking. They take a deep breath and turn back to look up at the sky.

 *You want Ilheia, Kalnor, or Risconia?*

 *sorry for the delay! If you’re still here, let’s do… Kalnor!*

 *Gimme like 15 mins:))*

Quote from 16thLevelMonk >>

Quote from 50thAltOfBananer >>

 The woman sighs as she notices the half-elf staring at her dogs, wandering over to him. “Hey.” She greets. “Interesting contraptions, aren’t they? My patron made em.” Without invitation, she takes a seat next to him. “You been around here long? I’m just learning the ropes of this place.”

 With effort, he manages to peel his eyes off of the robots and focus on the woman. “Patron? Got some warlock action going on? Or is this more of a ‘filling my bank account’ patron?” He puts his hands in his pockets in an effort to appear at ease, but still appears somewhat distracted. 

 "Bit of both," She says, turning away from him to order a drink. She seems to notice his discomfort, and frowns at it, but doesn't remark. "You didn't answer my question, by the way. Or... should we exchange pleasantries? What's your name?"

Quote from Little_Red_Hunting_Hood >>

Beau, the human(?) with the four masks and the feather tattoos is right outside the tavern, cloud gazing. They lay down on the grass, watching the few clouds in the sky drift by. They look to their side, where they’ve put their masks for now, and picks up the beautifully painted, gray and white owl mask. They study it, but set it down again, looking at their hands. Shaking. They take a deep breath and turn back to look up at the sky.

Walking over to them is an elven man with blonde hair and teal tips, which seems to be grown out a bit more than he's used to, his silver crescent hair clip holding it out of his face. The longsword at his side has draconic lettering, and his clothing is covered in a thin layer of flour. He sits a fair distance away, trying to give the person their space as he looks at the masks curiousl

A yell of frustration sounds from outside the tavern as a tall shadow is seen slicing their rapier down on a poor mouse. The mouse comes out completely unscathed and wanders away, and the person grunts, murmuring something, anyone watching would be too far to hear unless they're particularly close. With a sigh, they wander up to the tavern. They seem shorter than they were far away, and they have a violet cloak slung over their shoulder. Their hair is greasy and black, short and straight, and their face is covered by a very realistic wolf head mask. Two slits of red stare out from under the mask, and they enter the tavern, sitting at the bar and fishing through their pockets for any money.

Quote from ChrisTheSoulcasterMage >>

Quote from Little_Red_Hunting_Hood >>

Beau, the human(?) with the four masks and the feather tattoos is right outside the tavern, cloud gazing. They lay down on the grass, watching the few clouds in the sky drift by. They look to their side, where they’ve put their masks for now, and picks up the beautifully painted, gray and white owl mask. They study it, but set it down again, looking at their hands. Shaking. They take a deep breath and turn back to look up at the sky.

Walking over to them is an elven man with blonde hair and teal tips, which seems to be grown out a bit more than he's used to, his silver crescent hair clip holding it out of his face. The longsword at his side has draconic lettering, and his clothing is covered in a thin layer of flour. He sits a fair distance away, trying to give the person their space as he looks at the masks curiousl

 They notice Kalnor, tilting their head as they look to them. Noticing his interest in the masks, Beau carefully picks one up with two hands- the red hare mask, and holds it out to show it to them. They smile.

the Hare mask is an exaggerated, colorfully painted white mask decorated with red paint and golden accents. It seems to be carved out of a single piece of wood.