"You have ten days to prepare. Gather mercenaries, supplies, whatever you need. Those generators changed the course of history, and I'll be damned if I'll let history lie in the hands of those worthless stodgy codgers." He places down several more liters of water before finally tasting his drink. "And I'll get you some better whiskey if you make it back alive." He downs it like a shot.
He smirks slightly "Ain't that somethin'. I'd ask ya to find yerself somewhere to stay, but the saloon got rooms upstairs." He taps the counter before taking the water, putting it under the counter "Thank ya pardner. Someone gonna be real happy to have this."
"Thank God. Can you believe some people don't appreciate good water? Pisses me off something fierce." He sighs, shaking his hidden head. "Name's Barbeau. Inventor, cook, aquaphile."
He chuckles, grainy and rough "That name sounds like it's goin' places, an if anyone don't appreciate good water then their more stupid than a man tryin' to fight a Spellstorm."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
"Life is like a roller coaster, and you just took your seatbelt off."
"My music will reach the farthest edges of the Galaxy. What have you done today? Simpletons!"
A man rides into town on the back of what appears to be a mechanical horse. It snorts out black smoke, its hooves leaving a barely visible trail in the sand but that trail soon covers up by the blowing winds. The man ties up his horse, patting its neck, and walks into the tavern. He lowers a dusty red bandana from his mouth, grinning. He has fair skin that is slightly tanned from the sun with dark brown eyes. He takes off his cowboy hat, using it to fan his face. "Hoo-boy, what a ride." He chuckles and walks to the bar. His heavy boots clunk against the wooden surface. He wears a red jumpsuit and a pair of black overalls over the top. His arms are made of a flexible metal, the color of burnt bronze.
Behind him, just pulling in, are four very large men completely covered in clothes that hide their forms underneath. Each one wears a different mask. An owl, a demon, a blank one, and one wearing just a plain burlap sack. They trudge over to a corner of the room, bearing weapons of unusual nature. They bear a long-rodded brand and a metal whip, both fixed to their belts. They sit down and begin to chat amongst each other in chirps and clicks.
Just outside, a carriage pulls up. The side of the carriage is painted with big bold and colorful letters 'AUNTIE WOODSBANE BARBEQUE'. A giant bipedal wolf wearing a dapper beige suit steps out, a metal cane in hand. He whistles to himself, kissing his palm and putting it against the carriage "Gonna do ya proud auntie" he murmurs and steps inside. He puts on a charismatic grin, looking around, before strolling up to the bar.
It's the thought that counts with the actions people take, isn't it? Nothing counts more than the intention somebody has in this world, as there's a mindset to be held dependant on what you've set out to do in this world. Nobody understands that more than the gentleman who walks into the bar. He wears your average western garb, of black and maroon accents, boots with solid black spurs, and a tight silk mask that covers the lower portion of his face, to just above his muzzle. He sits down at the bar, knocking twice on it with his paw, and tips his hat to he barkeep. "Hello, barkeep. Might I have a glass of water?"
You wouldn't expect it from someone like Deadeye, but he laughs, grainy and rough "Did ya say a glass of water? Are ya a prince? Cause if ya ain't and ya don't need it, then you'll have to stick to somethin' else." He puts a grain whiskey down on the counter.
"I asked for a glass of water, sir. I'm quite parched, you see. I'd like to have a glass of water to quench myself before I drink anything harsher than such." he narrows his eyes. His voice is deep, and has a scratchy but smooth quality to it. "I'd hate to have to leave a bad review on such a fine establishment."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Error. (Traceback) line 1, <Salem> is undefined. >Attemp <EXTENDED SIG>? YESNO
A man rides into town on the back of what appears to be a mechanical horse. It snorts out black smoke, its hooves leaving a barely visible trail in the sand but that trail soon covers up by the blowing winds. The man ties up his horse, patting its neck, and walks into the tavern. He lowers a dusty red bandana from his mouth, grinning. He has fair skin that is slightly tanned from the sun with dark brown eyes. He takes off his cowboy hat, using it to fan his face. "Hoo-boy, what a ride." He chuckles and walks to the bar. His heavy boots clunk against the wooden surface. He wears a red jumpsuit and a pair of black overalls over the top. His arms are made of a flexible metal, the color of burnt bronze.
Behind him, just pulling in, are four very large men completely covered in clothes that hide their forms underneath. Each one wears a different mask. An owl, a demon, a blank one, and one wearing just a plain burlap sack. They trudge over to a corner of the room, bearing weapons of unusual nature. They bear a long-rodded brand and a metal whip, both fixed to their belts. They sit down and begin to chat amongst each other in chirps and clicks.
Just outside, a carriage pulls up. The side of the carriage is painted with big bold and colorful letters 'AUNTIE WOODSBANE BARBEQUE'. A giant bipedal wolf wearing a dapper beige suit steps out, a metal cane in hand. He whistles to himself, kissing his palm and putting it against the carriage "Gonna do ya proud auntie" he murmurs and steps inside. He puts on a charismatic grin, looking around, before strolling up to the bar.
Deadeye turns to them, looking them up and down despite not see anything at all. He taps the counter with a slightly clawed finger, “Ain’t that somethin’, lookin’ for somethin’ to drink pardner?”
A man rides into town on the back of what appears to be a mechanical horse. It snorts out black smoke, its hooves leaving a barely visible trail in the sand but that trail soon covers up by the blowing winds. The man ties up his horse, patting its neck, and walks into the tavern. He lowers a dusty red bandana from his mouth, grinning. He has fair skin that is slightly tanned from the sun with dark brown eyes. He takes off his cowboy hat, using it to fan his face. "Hoo-boy, what a ride." He chuckles and walks to the bar. His heavy boots clunk against the wooden surface. He wears a red jumpsuit and a pair of black overalls over the top. His arms are made of a flexible metal, the color of burnt bronze.
Behind him, just pulling in, are four very large men completely covered in clothes that hide their forms underneath. Each one wears a different mask. An owl, a demon, a blank one, and one wearing just a plain burlap sack. They trudge over to a corner of the room, bearing weapons of unusual nature. They bear a long-rodded brand and a metal whip, both fixed to their belts. They sit down and begin to chat amongst each other in chirps and clicks.
Just outside, a carriage pulls up. The side of the carriage is painted with big bold and colorful letters 'AUNTIE WOODSBANE BARBEQUE'. A giant bipedal wolf wearing a dapper beige suit steps out, a metal cane in hand. He whistles to himself, kissing his palm and putting it against the carriage "Gonna do ya proud auntie" he murmurs and steps inside. He puts on a charismatic grin, looking around, before strolling up to the bar.
Deadeye turns to them, looking them up and down despite not see anything at all. He taps the counter with a slightly clawed finger, “Ain’t that somethin’, lookin’ for somethin’ to drink pardner?”
*Very obscure, not sure anyone will know where it's from. Wylie Burp*
A hooded figure enters the saloon, her lithe feline form clear to see as her long tail gentle sways behind her. She seems to wear simple black garb that allow for full freedom of movement. The shadows seem to cling to her black fur as vibrant green eyes scan the room with caution and intrigue. To avoid the small crowd forming, she takes a step into the shadows and disappears without a trace as if the darkness consumed her, only to appear, now seating, on the shady end of the bar furthest from the door. She turns to the barkeep. "May I inquire about your selection of spirits, my good man?"
*Sorry.*
Deadeye looks at them from cleaning the counter, his sunglasses so black you can't see through them in broad daylight. He takes another toothpick from out of his mouth and sticks it into a small Grove in the counter "Spirits? We ain't got no ghosts left here, sent em all packin' last week."
*It's all good*
She chuckles good naturedly a bit. "I mean alcohol ya jester" She says as she pulls out a small bag and takes out a few coins. "I know water is scarce, but hopefully it's a bit easier to get something a bit harder."
He chuckles, a rough sounding thing before pouring a hard whiskey in a glass and sliding it over to her “That I can do for ya.” He takes the coins, putting it in his pocket “Somethin’ harder is much easier to find.”
It's the thought that counts with the actions people take, isn't it? Nothing counts more than the intention somebody has in this world, as there's a mindset to be held dependant on what you've set out to do in this world. Nobody understands that more than the gentleman who walks into the bar. He wears your average western garb, of black and maroon accents, boots with solid black spurs, and a tight silk mask that covers the lower portion of his face, to just above his muzzle. He sits down at the bar, knocking twice on it with his paw, and tips his hat to he barkeep. "Hello, barkeep. Might I have a glass of water?"
You wouldn't expect it from someone like Deadeye, but he laughs, grainy and rough "Did ya say a glass of water? Are ya a prince? Cause if ya ain't and ya don't need it, then you'll have to stick to somethin' else." He puts a grain whiskey down on the counter.
"I asked for a glass of water, sir. I'm quite parched, you see. I'd like to have a glass of water to quench myself before I drink anything harsher than such." he narrows his eyes. His voice is deep, and has a scratchy but smooth quality to it. "I'd hate to have to leave a bad review on such a fine establishment."
“Leave a bad review. You can never come back for all I care.” He looks them in the eyes through his black sunglasses, burrowing into their soul “You can get somethin’ alcoholic er you can leave, thems yer options.”
A man rides into town on the back of what appears to be a mechanical horse. It snorts out black smoke, its hooves leaving a barely visible trail in the sand but that trail soon covers up by the blowing winds. The man ties up his horse, patting its neck, and walks into the tavern. He lowers a dusty red bandana from his mouth, grinning. He has fair skin that is slightly tanned from the sun with dark brown eyes. He takes off his cowboy hat, using it to fan his face. "Hoo-boy, what a ride." He chuckles and walks to the bar. His heavy boots clunk against the wooden surface. He wears a red jumpsuit and a pair of black overalls over the top. His arms are made of a flexible metal, the color of burnt bronze.
Behind him, just pulling in, are four very large men completely covered in clothes that hide their forms underneath. Each one wears a different mask. An owl, a demon, a blank one, and one wearing just a plain burlap sack. They trudge over to a corner of the room, bearing weapons of unusual nature. They bear a long-rodded brand and a metal whip, both fixed to their belts. They sit down and begin to chat amongst each other in chirps and clicks.
Just outside, a carriage pulls up. The side of the carriage is painted with big bold and colorful letters 'AUNTIE WOODSBANE BARBEQUE'. A giant bipedal wolf wearing a dapper beige suit steps out, a metal cane in hand. He whistles to himself, kissing his palm and putting it against the carriage "Gonna do ya proud auntie" he murmurs and steps inside. He puts on a charismatic grin, looking around, before strolling up to the bar.
Deadeye turns to them, looking them up and down despite not see anything at all. He taps the counter with a slightly clawed finger, “Ain’t that somethin’, lookin’ for somethin’ to drink pardner?”
Arthur and the Wolfman both nod.
He pours two whiskeys, sliding them over for both of them.
A man rides into town on the back of what appears to be a mechanical horse. It snorts out black smoke, its hooves leaving a barely visible trail in the sand but that trail soon covers up by the blowing winds. The man ties up his horse, patting its neck, and walks into the tavern. He lowers a dusty red bandana from his mouth, grinning. He has fair skin that is slightly tanned from the sun with dark brown eyes. He takes off his cowboy hat, using it to fan his face. "Hoo-boy, what a ride." He chuckles and walks to the bar. His heavy boots clunk against the wooden surface. He wears a red jumpsuit and a pair of black overalls over the top. His arms are made of a flexible metal, the color of burnt bronze.
Behind him, just pulling in, are four very large men completely covered in clothes that hide their forms underneath. Each one wears a different mask. An owl, a demon, a blank one, and one wearing just a plain burlap sack. They trudge over to a corner of the room, bearing weapons of unusual nature. They bear a long-rodded brand and a metal whip, both fixed to their belts. They sit down and begin to chat amongst each other in chirps and clicks.
Just outside, a carriage pulls up. The side of the carriage is painted with big bold and colorful letters 'AUNTIE WOODSBANE BARBEQUE'. A giant bipedal wolf wearing a dapper beige suit steps out, a metal cane in hand. He whistles to himself, kissing his palm and putting it against the carriage "Gonna do ya proud auntie" he murmurs and steps inside. He puts on a charismatic grin, looking around, before strolling up to the bar.
Deadeye turns to them, looking them up and down despite not see anything at all. He taps the counter with a slightly clawed finger, “Ain’t that somethin’, lookin’ for somethin’ to drink pardner?”
Arthur and the Wolfman both nod.
He pours two whiskeys, sliding them over for both of them.
It's the thought that counts with the actions people take, isn't it? Nothing counts more than the intention somebody has in this world, as there's a mindset to be held dependant on what you've set out to do in this world. Nobody understands that more than the gentleman who walks into the bar. He wears your average western garb, of black and maroon accents, boots with solid black spurs, and a tight silk mask that covers the lower portion of his face, to just above his muzzle. He sits down at the bar, knocking twice on it with his paw, and tips his hat to he barkeep. "Hello, barkeep. Might I have a glass of water?"
You wouldn't expect it from someone like Deadeye, but he laughs, grainy and rough "Did ya say a glass of water? Are ya a prince? Cause if ya ain't and ya don't need it, then you'll have to stick to somethin' else." He puts a grain whiskey down on the counter.
"I asked for a glass of water, sir. I'm quite parched, you see. I'd like to have a glass of water to quench myself before I drink anything harsher than such." he narrows his eyes. His voice is deep, and has a scratchy but smooth quality to it. "I'd hate to have to leave a bad review on such a fine establishment."
“Leave a bad review. You can never come back for all I care.” He looks them in the eyes through his black sunglasses, burrowing into their soul “You can get somethin’ alcoholic er you can leave, thems yer options.”
"Fine. Give me a bottle of whiskey, friend. And a glass of water, for my dog?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Error. (Traceback) line 1, <Salem> is undefined. >Attemp <EXTENDED SIG>? YESNO
"Thank God. Can you believe some people don't appreciate good water? Pisses me off something fierce." He sighs, shaking his hidden head. "Name's Barbeau. Inventor, cook, aquaphile."
He chuckles, grainy and rough "That name sounds like it's goin' places, an if anyone don't appreciate good water then their more stupid than a man tryin' to fight a Spellstorm."
Barbeau gives a single, harsh laugh. "They think their fortune will last forever. That their shield will protect them from bandits for all eternity. They've grown complacent. But as we know, there is no free lunch in Hell. It's better they learn that before it becomes a real emergency."
It's the thought that counts with the actions people take, isn't it? Nothing counts more than the intention somebody has in this world, as there's a mindset to be held dependant on what you've set out to do in this world. Nobody understands that more than the gentleman who walks into the bar. He wears your average western garb, of black and maroon accents, boots with solid black spurs, and a tight silk mask that covers the lower portion of his face, to just above his muzzle. He sits down at the bar, knocking twice on it with his paw, and tips his hat to he barkeep. "Hello, barkeep. Might I have a glass of water?"
You wouldn't expect it from someone like Deadeye, but he laughs, grainy and rough "Did ya say a glass of water? Are ya a prince? Cause if ya ain't and ya don't need it, then you'll have to stick to somethin' else." He puts a grain whiskey down on the counter.
"I asked for a glass of water, sir. I'm quite parched, you see. I'd like to have a glass of water to quench myself before I drink anything harsher than such." he narrows his eyes. His voice is deep, and has a scratchy but smooth quality to it. "I'd hate to have to leave a bad review on such a fine establishment."
“Leave a bad review. You can never come back for all I care.” He looks them in the eyes through his black sunglasses, burrowing into their soul “You can get somethin’ alcoholic er you can leave, thems yer options.”
"Fine. Give me a bottle of whiskey, friend. And a glass of water, for my dog?"
He taps his foot for a moment before nodding. He puts a bottle of whiskey down, before moving around the counter with a bowl of water for the dog, though it isn’t much.
A man rides into town on the back of what appears to be a mechanical horse. It snorts out black smoke, its hooves leaving a barely visible trail in the sand but that trail soon covers up by the blowing winds. The man ties up his horse, patting its neck, and walks into the tavern. He lowers a dusty red bandana from his mouth, grinning. He has fair skin that is slightly tanned from the sun with dark brown eyes. He takes off his cowboy hat, using it to fan his face. "Hoo-boy, what a ride." He chuckles and walks to the bar. His heavy boots clunk against the wooden surface. He wears a red jumpsuit and a pair of black overalls over the top. His arms are made of a flexible metal, the color of burnt bronze.
Behind him, just pulling in, are four very large men completely covered in clothes that hide their forms underneath. Each one wears a different mask. An owl, a demon, a blank one, and one wearing just a plain burlap sack. They trudge over to a corner of the room, bearing weapons of unusual nature. They bear a long-rodded brand and a metal whip, both fixed to their belts. They sit down and begin to chat amongst each other in chirps and clicks.
Just outside, a carriage pulls up. The side of the carriage is painted with big bold and colorful letters 'AUNTIE WOODSBANE BARBEQUE'. A giant bipedal wolf wearing a dapper beige suit steps out, a metal cane in hand. He whistles to himself, kissing his palm and putting it against the carriage "Gonna do ya proud auntie" he murmurs and steps inside. He puts on a charismatic grin, looking around, before strolling up to the bar.
Deadeye turns to them, looking them up and down despite not see anything at all. He taps the counter with a slightly clawed finger, “Ain’t that somethin’, lookin’ for somethin’ to drink pardner?”
Arthur and the Wolfman both nod.
He pours two whiskeys, sliding them over for both of them.
The both take it, drinking it.
“Welcome to Draco, how are y’all doin’ in terms of hydration? Need water any times soon? Cause we’re runnin’ low. Might have to do somethin’ bout that soon.”
It's the thought that counts with the actions people take, isn't it? Nothing counts more than the intention somebody has in this world, as there's a mindset to be held dependant on what you've set out to do in this world. Nobody understands that more than the gentleman who walks into the bar. He wears your average western garb, of black and maroon accents, boots with solid black spurs, and a tight silk mask that covers the lower portion of his face, to just above his muzzle. He sits down at the bar, knocking twice on it with his paw, and tips his hat to he barkeep. "Hello, barkeep. Might I have a glass of water?"
You wouldn't expect it from someone like Deadeye, but he laughs, grainy and rough "Did ya say a glass of water? Are ya a prince? Cause if ya ain't and ya don't need it, then you'll have to stick to somethin' else." He puts a grain whiskey down on the counter.
"I asked for a glass of water, sir. I'm quite parched, you see. I'd like to have a glass of water to quench myself before I drink anything harsher than such." he narrows his eyes. His voice is deep, and has a scratchy but smooth quality to it. "I'd hate to have to leave a bad review on such a fine establishment."
“Leave a bad review. You can never come back for all I care.” He looks them in the eyes through his black sunglasses, burrowing into their soul “You can get somethin’ alcoholic er you can leave, thems yer options.”
"Fine. Give me a bottle of whiskey, friend. And a glass of water, for my dog?"
He taps his foot for a moment before nodding. He puts a bottle of whiskey down, before moving around the counter with a bowl of water for the dog, though it isn’t much.
He picks the bowl up and moves his bandana out of the way before downing the entire thing. "I'm the dog, friend." he says, snickering as he takes a swig from the bottle. "How much I owe ya?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Error. (Traceback) line 1, <Salem> is undefined. >Attemp <EXTENDED SIG>? YESNO
*Very obscure, not sure anyone will know where it's from. Wylie Burp*
A hooded figure enters the saloon, her lithe feline form clear to see as her long tail gentle sways behind her. She seems to wear simple black garb that allow for full freedom of movement. The shadows seem to cling to her black fur as vibrant green eyes scan the room with caution and intrigue. To avoid the small crowd forming, she takes a step into the shadows and disappears without a trace as if the darkness consumed her, only to appear, now seating, on the shady end of the bar furthest from the door. She turns to the barkeep. "May I inquire about your selection of spirits, my good man?"
*Sorry.*
Deadeye looks at them from cleaning the counter, his sunglasses so black you can't see through them in broad daylight. He takes another toothpick from out of his mouth and sticks it into a small Grove in the counter "Spirits? We ain't got no ghosts left here, sent em all packin' last week."
*It's all good*
She chuckles good naturedly a bit. "I mean alcohol ya jester" She says as she pulls out a small bag and takes out a few coins. "I know water is scarce, but hopefully it's a bit easier to get something a bit harder."
He chuckles, a rough sounding thing before pouring a hard whiskey in a glass and sliding it over to her “That I can do for ya.” He takes the coins, putting it in his pocket “Somethin’ harder is much easier to find.”
She takes the drink and swirls it a bit before she takes a long glup from it. "Luckily I don't need water as much as the average person. The benefits of training one's body to endure such scarcity of sustenance." she says as she places the cup down.
A man rides into town on the back of what appears to be a mechanical horse. It snorts out black smoke, its hooves leaving a barely visible trail in the sand but that trail soon covers up by the blowing winds. The man ties up his horse, patting its neck, and walks into the tavern. He lowers a dusty red bandana from his mouth, grinning. He has fair skin that is slightly tanned from the sun with dark brown eyes. He takes off his cowboy hat, using it to fan his face. "Hoo-boy, what a ride." He chuckles and walks to the bar. His heavy boots clunk against the wooden surface. He wears a red jumpsuit and a pair of black overalls over the top. His arms are made of a flexible metal, the color of burnt bronze.
Behind him, just pulling in, are four very large men completely covered in clothes that hide their forms underneath. Each one wears a different mask. An owl, a demon, a blank one, and one wearing just a plain burlap sack. They trudge over to a corner of the room, bearing weapons of unusual nature. They bear a long-rodded brand and a metal whip, both fixed to their belts. They sit down and begin to chat amongst each other in chirps and clicks.
Just outside, a carriage pulls up. The side of the carriage is painted with big bold and colorful letters 'AUNTIE WOODSBANE BARBEQUE'. A giant bipedal wolf wearing a dapper beige suit steps out, a metal cane in hand. He whistles to himself, kissing his palm and putting it against the carriage "Gonna do ya proud auntie" he murmurs and steps inside. He puts on a charismatic grin, looking around, before strolling up to the bar.
Deadeye turns to them, looking them up and down despite not see anything at all. He taps the counter with a slightly clawed finger, “Ain’t that somethin’, lookin’ for somethin’ to drink pardner?”
Arthur and the Wolfman both nod.
He pours two whiskeys, sliding them over for both of them.
The both take it, drinking it.
“Welcome to Draco, how are y’all doin’ in terms of hydration? Need water any times soon? Cause we’re runnin’ low. Might have to do somethin’ bout that soon.”
Arthur raises a brow "A drought?" He chuckles "Thats rough.."
"Indeed" The wolfman says "But my meats have plenty of juices in them to rehydrate a soul in need!"
"Thank God. Can you believe some people don't appreciate good water? Pisses me off something fierce." He sighs, shaking his hidden head. "Name's Barbeau. Inventor, cook, aquaphile."
He chuckles, grainy and rough "That name sounds like it's goin' places, an if anyone don't appreciate good water then their more stupid than a man tryin' to fight a Spellstorm."
Barbeau gives a single, harsh laugh. "They think their fortune will last forever. That their shield will protect them from bandits for all eternity. They've grown complacent. But as we know, there is no free lunch in Hell. It's better they learn that before it becomes a real emergency."
“They’ll have to deal with someone who’s been robbin’ these things fer years.” He laughs before going back to cleaning the counter “I’ll start preparin’ for that heist, you should get restin’.”
A man rides into town on the back of what appears to be a mechanical horse. It snorts out black smoke, its hooves leaving a barely visible trail in the sand but that trail soon covers up by the blowing winds. The man ties up his horse, patting its neck, and walks into the tavern. He lowers a dusty red bandana from his mouth, grinning. He has fair skin that is slightly tanned from the sun with dark brown eyes. He takes off his cowboy hat, using it to fan his face. "Hoo-boy, what a ride." He chuckles and walks to the bar. His heavy boots clunk against the wooden surface. He wears a red jumpsuit and a pair of black overalls over the top. His arms are made of a flexible metal, the color of burnt bronze.
Behind him, just pulling in, are four very large men completely covered in clothes that hide their forms underneath. Each one wears a different mask. An owl, a demon, a blank one, and one wearing just a plain burlap sack. They trudge over to a corner of the room, bearing weapons of unusual nature. They bear a long-rodded brand and a metal whip, both fixed to their belts. They sit down and begin to chat amongst each other in chirps and clicks.
Just outside, a carriage pulls up. The side of the carriage is painted with big bold and colorful letters 'AUNTIE WOODSBANE BARBEQUE'. A giant bipedal wolf wearing a dapper beige suit steps out, a metal cane in hand. He whistles to himself, kissing his palm and putting it against the carriage "Gonna do ya proud auntie" he murmurs and steps inside. He puts on a charismatic grin, looking around, before strolling up to the bar.
Deadeye turns to them, looking them up and down despite not see anything at all. He taps the counter with a slightly clawed finger, “Ain’t that somethin’, lookin’ for somethin’ to drink pardner?”
Arthur and the Wolfman both nod.
He pours two whiskeys, sliding them over for both of them.
The both take it, drinking it.
“Welcome to Draco, how are y’all doin’ in terms of hydration? Need water any times soon? Cause we’re runnin’ low. Might have to do somethin’ bout that soon.”
Arthur raises a brow "A drought?" He chuckles "Thats rough.."
"Indeed" The wolfman says "But my meats have plenty of juices in them to rehydrate a soul in need!"
He turns to the wolfman, “This ain’t the place to advertise yer meats, though anythin’ to eat or drink is always welcome ‘round here.” He says, downing another whiskey in two gulps.
A man rides into town on the back of what appears to be a mechanical horse. It snorts out black smoke, its hooves leaving a barely visible trail in the sand but that trail soon covers up by the blowing winds. The man ties up his horse, patting its neck, and walks into the tavern. He lowers a dusty red bandana from his mouth, grinning. He has fair skin that is slightly tanned from the sun with dark brown eyes. He takes off his cowboy hat, using it to fan his face. "Hoo-boy, what a ride." He chuckles and walks to the bar. His heavy boots clunk against the wooden surface. He wears a red jumpsuit and a pair of black overalls over the top. His arms are made of a flexible metal, the color of burnt bronze.
Behind him, just pulling in, are four very large men completely covered in clothes that hide their forms underneath. Each one wears a different mask. An owl, a demon, a blank one, and one wearing just a plain burlap sack. They trudge over to a corner of the room, bearing weapons of unusual nature. They bear a long-rodded brand and a metal whip, both fixed to their belts. They sit down and begin to chat amongst each other in chirps and clicks.
Just outside, a carriage pulls up. The side of the carriage is painted with big bold and colorful letters 'AUNTIE WOODSBANE BARBEQUE'. A giant bipedal wolf wearing a dapper beige suit steps out, a metal cane in hand. He whistles to himself, kissing his palm and putting it against the carriage "Gonna do ya proud auntie" he murmurs and steps inside. He puts on a charismatic grin, looking around, before strolling up to the bar.
Deadeye turns to them, looking them up and down despite not see anything at all. He taps the counter with a slightly clawed finger, “Ain’t that somethin’, lookin’ for somethin’ to drink pardner?”
Arthur and the Wolfman both nod.
He pours two whiskeys, sliding them over for both of them.
The both take it, drinking it.
“Welcome to Draco, how are y’all doin’ in terms of hydration? Need water any times soon? Cause we’re runnin’ low. Might have to do somethin’ bout that soon.”
Arthur raises a brow "A drought?" He chuckles "Thats rough.."
"Indeed" The wolfman says "But my meats have plenty of juices in them to rehydrate a soul in need!"
He turns to the wolfman, “This ain’t the place to advertise yer meats, though anythin’ to eat or drink is always welcome ‘round here.” He says, downing another whiskey in two gulps.
It grins and claps its hands together "perfect then!"
He chuckles, grainy and rough "That name sounds like it's goin' places, an if anyone don't appreciate good water then their more stupid than a man tryin' to fight a Spellstorm."
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
"Life is like a roller coaster, and you just took your seatbelt off."
"My music will reach the farthest edges of the Galaxy. What have you done today? Simpletons!"
A man rides into town on the back of what appears to be a mechanical horse. It snorts out black smoke, its hooves leaving a barely visible trail in the sand but that trail soon covers up by the blowing winds. The man ties up his horse, patting its neck, and walks into the tavern. He lowers a dusty red bandana from his mouth, grinning. He has fair skin that is slightly tanned from the sun with dark brown eyes. He takes off his cowboy hat, using it to fan his face. "Hoo-boy, what a ride." He chuckles and walks to the bar. His heavy boots clunk against the wooden surface. He wears a red jumpsuit and a pair of black overalls over the top. His arms are made of a flexible metal, the color of burnt bronze.
Behind him, just pulling in, are four very large men completely covered in clothes that hide their forms underneath. Each one wears a different mask. An owl, a demon, a blank one, and one wearing just a plain burlap sack. They trudge over to a corner of the room, bearing weapons of unusual nature. They bear a long-rodded brand and a metal whip, both fixed to their belts. They sit down and begin to chat amongst each other in chirps and clicks.
Just outside, a carriage pulls up. The side of the carriage is painted with big bold and colorful letters 'AUNTIE WOODSBANE BARBEQUE'. A giant bipedal wolf wearing a dapper beige suit steps out, a metal cane in hand. He whistles to himself, kissing his palm and putting it against the carriage "Gonna do ya proud auntie" he murmurs and steps inside. He puts on a charismatic grin, looking around, before strolling up to the bar.
[ Discord: #houseofash4056 | PlayStation: RoseGardenTea | Instagram: undertonetrash | Youtube: Area 23 | Steam: RoseGardenTea. ]
- Pronouns: [He/Him/They/Them] Sexuality: [Panromantic/Demisexual] -
"Friends do not handcuff each other to filthy pipes in cold basements." - Miss Scarlett.
"I asked for a glass of water, sir. I'm quite parched, you see. I'd like to have a glass of water to quench myself before I drink anything harsher than such." he narrows his eyes. His voice is deep, and has a scratchy but smooth quality to it. "I'd hate to have to leave a bad review on such a fine establishment."
Error. (Traceback) line 1, <Salem> is undefined.
>Attemp <EXTENDED SIG>?
YES NO
[Enter: A new RP Thread: Sanctuary]
Deadeye turns to them, looking them up and down despite not see anything at all. He taps the counter with a slightly clawed finger, “Ain’t that somethin’, lookin’ for somethin’ to drink pardner?”
*Smoking Joe*
*This seems so neat, can't wait to cook something up*
Arthur and the Wolfman both nod.
[ Discord: #houseofash4056 | PlayStation: RoseGardenTea | Instagram: undertonetrash | Youtube: Area 23 | Steam: RoseGardenTea. ]
- Pronouns: [He/Him/They/Them] Sexuality: [Panromantic/Demisexual] -
"Friends do not handcuff each other to filthy pipes in cold basements." - Miss Scarlett.
He chuckles, a rough sounding thing before pouring a hard whiskey in a glass and sliding it over to her “That I can do for ya.” He takes the coins, putting it in his pocket “Somethin’ harder is much easier to find.”
“Leave a bad review. You can never come back for all I care.” He looks them in the eyes through his black sunglasses, burrowing into their soul “You can get somethin’ alcoholic er you can leave, thems yer options.”
He pours two whiskeys, sliding them over for both of them.
The both take it, drinking it.
[ Discord: #houseofash4056 | PlayStation: RoseGardenTea | Instagram: undertonetrash | Youtube: Area 23 | Steam: RoseGardenTea. ]
- Pronouns: [He/Him/They/Them] Sexuality: [Panromantic/Demisexual] -
"Friends do not handcuff each other to filthy pipes in cold basements." - Miss Scarlett.
"Fine. Give me a bottle of whiskey, friend. And a glass of water, for my dog?"
Error. (Traceback) line 1, <Salem> is undefined.
>Attemp <EXTENDED SIG>?
YES NO
[Enter: A new RP Thread: Sanctuary]
Barbeau gives a single, harsh laugh. "They think their fortune will last forever. That their shield will protect them from bandits for all eternity. They've grown complacent. But as we know, there is no free lunch in Hell. It's better they learn that before it becomes a real emergency."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
He taps his foot for a moment before nodding. He puts a bottle of whiskey down, before moving around the counter with a bowl of water for the dog, though it isn’t much.
“Welcome to Draco, how are y’all doin’ in terms of hydration? Need water any times soon? Cause we’re runnin’ low. Might have to do somethin’ bout that soon.”
He picks the bowl up and moves his bandana out of the way before downing the entire thing. "I'm the dog, friend." he says, snickering as he takes a swig from the bottle. "How much I owe ya?"
Error. (Traceback) line 1, <Salem> is undefined.
>Attemp <EXTENDED SIG>?
YES NO
[Enter: A new RP Thread: Sanctuary]
She takes the drink and swirls it a bit before she takes a long glup from it. "Luckily I don't need water as much as the average person. The benefits of training one's body to endure such scarcity of sustenance." she says as she places the cup down.
Arthur raises a brow "A drought?" He chuckles "Thats rough.."
"Indeed" The wolfman says "But my meats have plenty of juices in them to rehydrate a soul in need!"
[ Discord: #houseofash4056 | PlayStation: RoseGardenTea | Instagram: undertonetrash | Youtube: Area 23 | Steam: RoseGardenTea. ]
- Pronouns: [He/Him/They/Them] Sexuality: [Panromantic/Demisexual] -
"Friends do not handcuff each other to filthy pipes in cold basements." - Miss Scarlett.
“They’ll have to deal with someone who’s been robbin’ these things fer years.” He laughs before going back to cleaning the counter “I’ll start preparin’ for that heist, you should get restin’.”
He turns to the wolfman, “This ain’t the place to advertise yer meats, though anythin’ to eat or drink is always welcome ‘round here.” He says, downing another whiskey in two gulps.
It grins and claps its hands together "perfect then!"
[ Discord: #houseofash4056 | PlayStation: RoseGardenTea | Instagram: undertonetrash | Youtube: Area 23 | Steam: RoseGardenTea. ]
- Pronouns: [He/Him/They/Them] Sexuality: [Panromantic/Demisexual] -
"Friends do not handcuff each other to filthy pipes in cold basements." - Miss Scarlett.