He thinks for a minute. "Yes. Immensely complex, but predictable if you understand the rules. You don't determine how things work, nor the results, truly. You just read the patterns and possibilities."
The whole thing is very well made and fresh, but there are some strange flavors. Not unpleasant, but not expected. It's not magical, nor are they normal for these ingredients if he would know that. His senses feel... different. Like they were merely blocked instead of shut off. A boulder in the way instead of an air-tight seal of welded adamantine.
The lich laughs lightly "Interesting, here I thought it was a waste of time." he licks the pad of his thumb.
"Sometimes it is." He offers the red shot again. "But some foods can only be eaten if guided correctly. Sometimes, they must guide you as well. That is much harder. But if the diner finds it worth it, that is what matters. And as long as they are willing to eat what I prepare, I will portion out as much as they desire."
"A man of the people then?" he laughs bitterly at the thought "What if they take too much until your bones are what they desire?" he takes it and knocks it back.
"I remember the reds and golds.. not of cloth or the glitter of jewelry, but of the fires that ate away at my village. It was as beautful as a painting but as fericous as a lion. I could hear the screams of friends, family, of neighbors and strangers. Thats all I remeber before getting hauled into the back of a wagon, tied down so I would stop trying to escape..
The next few years were hell.
Beatings for every little thing, I still have the scars on my back from the cat o'nine tails. The torture of being confined to a small dark room with the mice gnawing at my skin and the fleas biting into my scalp, my own thoughts keeping me company. Sooner rather than later, I was lucky enough to stop feeling any of the pain they inflicted on me. The lashing's felt like slight pressure on my destroyed skin, nothing more.
Finally, I managed to free myself.. and I beat their heads open with their own weapons. I remember that being the last time I felt any true emotion."
- An Entry from the Journal of the Archmage Ryidan.
A man sits on the roof of the tavern, his back leaning against the brick wall with his knees to his chest. He holds a journal of sorts, bound in black leather with a blue cut gem in the center, a pen is held in his left hand as he scrawls something into it.
He looks to be in his late fifties, his hair cut short but neat and silver as the moon. His skin is marred with scars from different weapons, cuts across his face and neck. Tattoos made of black ink paint his skin as well, crawling up his neck like ivy on a trellis. Freckles dot his cheeks and nose like stars dotting the sky. His silvery eyes stare down at the journal, following the lines he creates on it.
He wears an open-collared white shirt, the tattoos seem to climb down his chest, with a long black robe around his shoulders, a thick belt of black leather around his waist, and a pair of black breeches. His feet are clad in a pair of boots that rise up to his knees, laced up in the back.
He closes his journal and places it carefully into a satchel by his side, closing it and buckling it close.
A warm but oddly cold presence surrounds the entire tavern, but not extending past it. A whispering moan, one similar to a tortured soul, eminates from behind Ryidan. "I hate this job.."
"How so?" He asks, tilting his head as he barely cracks open a silvery eye.
"it requires a lot of investigation." River sits next to them (scraggly sleepy twenk), but seems to be looking for something..
"What are you looking for exactly?" he asks politely.
*I've never watched One Piece or read the manga so I don't get the analogy, but I'd gladly play with them!*
The flames of the fire in the tavern grow hotter and bigger until the top of them disappear into the chimney. Out of the fire comes a figure made of flame that slowly turns into a man.
Prewritten description cuz I'm a lazy fox: Ace is 5'11, medium build but strong with a round face that bears several freckles under his brown eyes. His hair is black, short and unruly. His necklace is made of red beads, and he wears black shorts with a belt that bears a buckle that has an A on it. Down his left arm is a tattoo that reads Asce. the S is crossed over with an x, and a tattoo covers his back, a purple skull with a white moustache. He also wears an orange cowboy hat that has two circles on the front of it, both being a face; One smiling, the other frowning
A large Drow in white, comfortable clothes and a black jacket sits before the fire in a chair that would look big for someone with less mass. He's heavily muscled, but his body fat percentage is also quite high. A bruiser's build, and judging by his numerous scars, that's likely his role in life. He has white tattoos of many arms clutching cutlery and reaching out from his shoulders in all directions.
"Hello there." He says, his voice soft, quiet, and deep. "Have you eaten yet?"
"Sometimes it is." He offers the red shot again. "But some foods can only be eaten if guided correctly. Sometimes, they must guide you as well. That is much harder. But if the diner finds it worth it, that is what matters. And as long as they are willing to eat what I prepare, I will portion out as much as they desire."
"A man of the people then?" he laughs bitterly at the thought "What if they take too much until your bones are what they desire?" he takes it and knocks it back.
It's sweet and non-alcoholic. It's like a low-carbonation tomato-flavored soda with a faint fermented taste. The blockage in his senses is released, letting him feel the breeze, see the colors, taste the metaphorical magic of the drink. His feelings are still a little bit cloudy, not clear enough to even feel the scars on his back. But the point is that they're present at all.
"Then I have to show them their foolishness. Violence is a very efficient teacher, and that efficiency is crucial sometimes." He cracks his neck, then gently takes the dishes and the oyster shell. "I've found that those who desire to harm me will not stick around once they find how little it bothers me. Even guards give up eventually."
A large Drow in white, comfortable clothes and a black jacket sits before the fire in a chair that would look big for someone with less mass. He's heavily muscled, but his body fat percentage is also quite high. A bruiser's build, and judging by his numerous scars, that's likely his role in life. He has white tattoos of many arms clutching cutlery and reaching out from his shoulders in all directions.
"Hello there." He says, his voice soft, quiet, and deep. "Have you eaten yet?"
He yawns and stretches, adjusting his hat. "Actually, no. You offerin'?"
He nods, his short hair bobbing. "Yes. I'll bring you an appetizer and an aperitif to start you off. Any food allergies?" He slowly stands from his chair and stretches
"Sometimes it is." He offers the red shot again. "But some foods can only be eaten if guided correctly. Sometimes, they must guide you as well. That is much harder. But if the diner finds it worth it, that is what matters. And as long as they are willing to eat what I prepare, I will portion out as much as they desire."
"A man of the people then?" he laughs bitterly at the thought "What if they take too much until your bones are what they desire?" he takes it and knocks it back.
It's sweet and non-alcoholic. It's like a low-carbonation tomato-flavored soda with a faint fermented taste. The blockage in his senses is released, letting him feel the breeze, see the colors, taste the metaphorical magic of the drink. His feelings are still a little bit cloudy, not clear enough to even feel the scars on his back. But the point is that they're present at all.
"Then I have to show them their foolishness. Violence is a very efficient teacher, and that efficiency is crucial sometimes." He cracks his neck, then gently takes the dishes and the oyster shell. "I've found that those who desire to harm me will not stick around once they find how little it bothers me. Even guards give up eventually."
"I can imagine." He replies and stands up. He is tall for a human, nearly 6'5. He tilts his head and watches them for a moment before fixing the front of his shirt, smoothing it out "Where do you come from?"
It's sweet and non-alcoholic. It's like a low-carbonation tomato-flavored soda with a faint fermented taste. The blockage in his senses is released, letting him feel the breeze, see the colors, taste the metaphorical magic of the drink. His feelings are still a little bit cloudy, not clear enough to even feel the scars on his back. But the point is that they're present at all.
"Then I have to show them their foolishness. Violence is a very efficient teacher, and that efficiency is crucial sometimes." He cracks his neck, then gently takes the dishes and the oyster shell. "I've found that those who desire to harm me will not stick around once they find how little it bothers me. Even guards give up eventually."
"I can imagine." He replies and stands up. He is tall for a human, nearly 6'5. He tilts his head and watches them for a moment before fixing the front of his shirt, smoothing it out "Where do you come from?"
"Mistshore, a small red light district in Waterdeep. They appreciate me there because I help out a lot." Jacob stands as well, standing at 6' 9", utterly immense for the usually short elves. He opens the door and holds it open for the lich. "I don't have much to my name, so I care for my mind and body as well as I can. Even those can be taken from me if I am not careful."
"And why would you do that? For you own sense of preservation? For your own endorphin rush?" He chuckles.
"To cleanse the world of those who don't deserve to live in it. It is my job, and my duty, as a Morgan."
"You are judge, jury, and executioner? Who deemed it your job to do so?" He asked, the corner of his lip curling upwards.
"My father. Though, he passed on the duty to me, his father to him, so on and so forth, the duty originating from several generations ago. The ritual, and the Code we live by, was made by the adoptive father of my 12-Greats Grandfather. There is a lot more to that story, though."
"Mn." He hummed and stood up, smoothing out the front of his shirt "Seems you have a lot on your hands."
It's sweet and non-alcoholic. It's like a low-carbonation tomato-flavored soda with a faint fermented taste. The blockage in his senses is released, letting him feel the breeze, see the colors, taste the metaphorical magic of the drink. His feelings are still a little bit cloudy, not clear enough to even feel the scars on his back. But the point is that they're present at all.
"Then I have to show them their foolishness. Violence is a very efficient teacher, and that efficiency is crucial sometimes." He cracks his neck, then gently takes the dishes and the oyster shell. "I've found that those who desire to harm me will not stick around once they find how little it bothers me. Even guards give up eventually."
"I can imagine." He replies and stands up. He is tall for a human, nearly 6'5. He tilts his head and watches them for a moment before fixing the front of his shirt, smoothing it out "Where do you come from?"
"Mistshore, a small red light district in Waterdeep. They appreciate me there because I help out a lot." Jacob stands as well, standing at 6' 9", utterly immense for the usually short elves. He opens the door and holds it open for the lich. "I don't have much to my name, so I care for my mind and body as well as I can. Even those can be taken from me if I am not careful."
He nods "I understand." He gently bows at the show of gentlemanly action to open the door "But Waterdeep hm? Lovely little area, though more so under the waves than on land."
I've been watching how your eyes move to the ground And I hear you change your story every time that I'm around You can tell me what you want, say what you will But I'm done with you, I'm done with what you say you think is real
He nods, his short hair bobbing. "Yes. I'll bring you an appetizer and an aperitif to start you off. Any food allergies?" He slowly stands from his chair and stretches
"None at all. Where should I sit?"
"Wherever you like. My chair is the most comfortable, but it is soft, so you may drop some food on accident." He heads for the kitchen, then comes back with a plate of chicken wings in a bright red sauce, as well as a glass of what might be a form of black beer. "These should whet your appetite."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
"A man of the people then?" he laughs bitterly at the thought "What if they take too much until your bones are what they desire?" he takes it and knocks it back.
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
"What are you looking for exactly?" he asks politely.
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
A large Drow in white, comfortable clothes and a black jacket sits before the fire in a chair that would look big for someone with less mass. He's heavily muscled, but his body fat percentage is also quite high. A bruiser's build, and judging by his numerous scars, that's likely his role in life. He has white tattoos of many arms clutching cutlery and reaching out from his shoulders in all directions.
"Hello there." He says, his voice soft, quiet, and deep. "Have you eaten yet?"
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
"Why do you seek them?" Ryidan asks, raising a brow in response.
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
It's sweet and non-alcoholic. It's like a low-carbonation tomato-flavored soda with a faint fermented taste. The blockage in his senses is released, letting him feel the breeze, see the colors, taste the metaphorical magic of the drink. His feelings are still a little bit cloudy, not clear enough to even feel the scars on his back. But the point is that they're present at all.
"Then I have to show them their foolishness. Violence is a very efficient teacher, and that efficiency is crucial sometimes." He cracks his neck, then gently takes the dishes and the oyster shell. "I've found that those who desire to harm me will not stick around once they find how little it bothers me. Even guards give up eventually."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
"And why would you do that? For you own sense of preservation? For your own endorphin rush?" He chuckles.
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
He nods, his short hair bobbing. "Yes. I'll bring you an appetizer and an aperitif to start you off. Any food allergies?" He slowly stands from his chair and stretches
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
"I can imagine." He replies and stands up. He is tall for a human, nearly 6'5. He tilts his head and watches them for a moment before fixing the front of his shirt, smoothing it out "Where do you come from?"
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
"You are judge, jury, and executioner? Who deemed it your job to do so?" He asked, the corner of his lip curling upwards.
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
"Mistshore, a small red light district in Waterdeep. They appreciate me there because I help out a lot." Jacob stands as well, standing at 6' 9", utterly immense for the usually short elves. He opens the door and holds it open for the lich. "I don't have much to my name, so I care for my mind and body as well as I can. Even those can be taken from me if I am not careful."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels
"Mn." He hummed and stood up, smoothing out the front of his shirt "Seems you have a lot on your hands."
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
He nods "I understand." He gently bows at the show of gentlemanly action to open the door "But Waterdeep hm? Lovely little area, though more so under the waves than on land."
𝔾𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕕𝕠𝕦𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤, 𝕡𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕔𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟, 𝕜𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕡 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕔𝕙
𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕'𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘
(hi wendo)
they/her Always open to chat. Just send me a PM
I've been watching how your eyes move to the ground
And I hear you change your story every time that I'm around
You can tell me what you want, say what you will
But I'm done with you, I'm done with what you say you think is real
"Wherever you like. My chair is the most comfortable, but it is soft, so you may drop some food on accident." He heads for the kitchen, then comes back with a plate of chicken wings in a bright red sauce, as well as a glass of what might be a form of black beer. "These should whet your appetite."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Awake, impure, divine
Breathgiver of the Strugels