*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.
“Lucky you, ain’t that somethin’. Water is somethin’ scarce ‘round here.” He pours her another before putting the whiskey back.
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!"
“Perfect ain’t what this place is, we’re all just tryin’ to keep livin’ till we’re dead.”
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?"
He chuckles, before going back to behind the counter “I assume you ain’t got some water to give back. You don’t got to give back nothin’.”
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?"
He chuckles, before going back to behind the counter “I assume you ain’t got some water to give back. You don’t got to give back nothin’.”
"What about for the whiskey? Ain't I gotta pay ya?" he says, tilting his head.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Error. (Traceback) line 1, <Salem> is undefined. >Attemp <EXTENDED SIG>? YESNO
“Lucky you, ain’t that somethin’. Water is somethin’ scarce ‘round here.” He pours her another before putting the whiskey back.
She takes a big swig. "I heard. Something about the rich and "powerful" hoarding it. Doesn't surprise me all that much, it's the same thing no matter where you go it seems."
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?"
He chuckles, before going back to behind the counter “I assume you ain’t got some water to give back. You don’t got to give back nothin’.”
"What about for the whiskey? Ain't I gotta pay ya?" he says, tilting his head.
“You don’t got to pay me nothin’ long as you stay here an’ help get more water.” He says, smiling slightly.
A man walks into the saloon. He wears a respirator and heavy clothes, namely a slightly too large jacket with many pouches and pockets, the hood pulled up his trousers having many more pockets, these visibly filled with metal, glass and string. His eyes are the most striking part of him. Contrasting with his more neutral colored clothes, his eyes are multicolored, like a rainbow, sparkling with what can only be described as pure madness
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Yo, I'm Himy (He/him) not as active as I use to be, but I'm here from time to time. I don't got much else to say.
"Like a soon to be broken man once said: You're either perfect, or you're not me."
“Lucky you, ain’t that somethin’. Water is somethin’ scarce ‘round here.” He pours her another before putting the whiskey back.
She takes a big swig. "I heard. Something about the rich and "powerful" hoarding it. Doesn't surprise me all that much, it's the same thing no matter where you go it seems."
“That’s the thing bout the world, those with the money do whatever they want, a those without either start doin’ what they need to, or find themselves dead in a gutter somewhere.”
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?"
He chuckles, before going back to behind the counter “I assume you ain’t got some water to give back. You don’t got to give back nothin’.”
"What about for the whiskey? Ain't I gotta pay ya?" he says, tilting his head.
“You don’t got to pay me nothin’ long as you stay here an’ help get more water.” He says, smiling slightly.
"I'll draw from the well here in a bit, Boss." He says, takin another drink from the bottle.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Error. (Traceback) line 1, <Salem> is undefined. >Attemp <EXTENDED SIG>? YESNO
A man walks into the saloon. He wears a respirator and heavy clothes, namely a slightly too large jacket with many pouches and pockets, the hood pulled up his trousers having many more pockets, these visibly filled with metal, glass and string. His eyes are the most striking part of him. Contrasting with his more neutral colored clothes, his eyes are multicolored, like a rainbow, sparkling with what can only be described as pure madness
Deadeye taps his foot twice, his spurs spinning before he looks up to them, “Well howdy there pardner, welcome to the inside of Draco. I imagine yer lookin’ fer somethin’ to drink, will whiskey do ya?”
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’.”
"Probably." He stands up, the sound of clattering bottles gone. "I'll make you some decoy fuses. Sound like dynamite, look a bit like dynamite, but completely harmless. Useful in a pinch." He heads upstairs.
“That’s the thing, there ain’t no well, there’s barely any water here at all. It’s all either here er in the vault, we get our water the other way.” He says, “You ever heard of a criminal named Deadeye?”
A man walks into the saloon. He wears a respirator and heavy clothes, namely a slightly too large jacket with many pouches and pockets, the hood pulled up his trousers having many more pockets, these visibly filled with metal, glass and string. His eyes are the most striking part of him. Contrasting with his more neutral colored clothes, his eyes are multicolored, like a rainbow, sparkling with what can only be described as pure madness
Deadeye taps his foot twice, his spurs spinning before he looks up to them, “Well howdy there pardner, welcome to the inside of Draco. I imagine yer lookin’ fer somethin’ to drink, will whiskey do ya?”
“Whiskey would do me just fine. But I’m here for something more than that.”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Yo, I'm Himy (He/him) not as active as I use to be, but I'm here from time to time. I don't got much else to say.
"Like a soon to be broken man once said: You're either perfect, or you're not me."
“That’s the thing, there ain’t no well, there’s barely any water here at all. It’s all either here er in the vault, we get our water the other way.” He says, “You ever heard of a criminal named Deadeye?”
"The hell's the other way?" he says, very confused now. "Yeah, heard of 'im. Not too much though."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Error. (Traceback) line 1, <Salem> is undefined. >Attemp <EXTENDED SIG>? YESNO
“That’s the thing, there ain’t no well, there’s barely any water here at all. It’s all either here er in the vault, we get our water the other way.” He says, “You ever heard of a criminal named Deadeye?”
"The hell's the other way?" he says, very confused now. "Yeah, heard of 'im. Not too much though."
“Real dangerous criminal, would rob places of their water an’ disappear into the Spellstorms. Do ya see where I’m leadin’?”
A small figure walks through the doors of the saloon, he has two massive lances strapped to his back, and a bandana- no, a bandage covering the lower portion of his face and neck. He lowers the bandage, revealing a heavily scarred face, amid which the details of a Kobold can be made out. He coughs out some sand, and raises the bandage again. He sits on one of the chairs with a plop, his lances clattering against the floors. He motions for a water, strangely enough.
*Dinner time!*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
“Lucky you, ain’t that somethin’. Water is somethin’ scarce ‘round here.” He pours her another before putting the whiskey back.
*jester!*
Error. (Traceback) line 1, <Salem> is undefined.
>Attemp <EXTENDED SIG>?
YES NO
[Enter: A new RP Thread: Sanctuary]
“Perfect ain’t what this place is, we’re all just tryin’ to keep livin’ till we’re dead.”
*Yeah?! This is overwhelming, sorry.*
*I replied :<*
*I totally get it tho.*
Error. (Traceback) line 1, <Salem> is undefined.
>Attemp <EXTENDED SIG>?
YES NO
[Enter: A new RP Thread: Sanctuary]
He chuckles, before going back to behind the counter “I assume you ain’t got some water to give back. You don’t got to give back nothin’.”
"What about for the whiskey? Ain't I gotta pay ya?" he says, tilting his head.
Error. (Traceback) line 1, <Salem> is undefined.
>Attemp <EXTENDED SIG>?
YES NO
[Enter: A new RP Thread: Sanctuary]
She takes a big swig. "I heard. Something about the rich and "powerful" hoarding it. Doesn't surprise me all that much, it's the same thing no matter where you go it seems."
“You don’t got to pay me nothin’ long as you stay here an’ help get more water.” He says, smiling slightly.
A man walks into the saloon. He wears a respirator and heavy clothes, namely a slightly too large jacket with many pouches and pockets, the hood pulled up his trousers having many more pockets, these visibly filled with metal, glass and string. His eyes are the most striking part of him. Contrasting with his more neutral colored clothes, his eyes are multicolored, like a rainbow, sparkling with what can only be described as pure madness
Yo, I'm Himy (He/him) not as active as I use to be, but I'm here from time to time. I don't got much else to say.
"Like a soon to be broken man once said: You're either perfect, or you're not me."
“That’s the thing bout the world, those with the money do whatever they want, a those without either start doin’ what they need to, or find themselves dead in a gutter somewhere.”
"I'll draw from the well here in a bit, Boss." He says, takin another drink from the bottle.
Error. (Traceback) line 1, <Salem> is undefined.
>Attemp <EXTENDED SIG>?
YES NO
[Enter: A new RP Thread: Sanctuary]
Deadeye taps his foot twice, his spurs spinning before he looks up to them, “Well howdy there pardner, welcome to the inside of Draco. I imagine yer lookin’ fer somethin’ to drink, will whiskey do ya?”
"Probably." He stands up, the sound of clattering bottles gone. "I'll make you some decoy fuses. Sound like dynamite, look a bit like dynamite, but completely harmless. Useful in a pinch." He heads upstairs.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
*Cut for Salem.*
“That’s the thing, there ain’t no well, there’s barely any water here at all. It’s all either here er in the vault, we get our water the other way.” He says, “You ever heard of a criminal named Deadeye?”
“Whiskey would do me just fine. But I’m here for something more than that.”
Yo, I'm Himy (He/him) not as active as I use to be, but I'm here from time to time. I don't got much else to say.
"Like a soon to be broken man once said: You're either perfect, or you're not me."
"The hell's the other way?" he says, very confused now. "Yeah, heard of 'im. Not too much though."
Error. (Traceback) line 1, <Salem> is undefined.
>Attemp <EXTENDED SIG>?
YES NO
[Enter: A new RP Thread: Sanctuary]
“Real dangerous criminal, would rob places of their water an’ disappear into the Spellstorms. Do ya see where I’m leadin’?”
A small figure walks through the doors of the saloon, he has two massive lances strapped to his back, and a bandana- no, a bandage covering the lower portion of his face and neck. He lowers the bandage, revealing a heavily scarred face, amid which the details of a Kobold can be made out. He coughs out some sand, and raises the bandage again. He sits on one of the chairs with a plop, his lances clattering against the floors. He motions for a water, strangely enough.
KOBOLDS WITH CANNONS! A RP thread about Small humanoids with Huge weapons.
Proud member of the EVIL JEFF CULT! PRAISE JEFF!
Homebrew Races: HERE Homebrew Spells: HERE Homebrew Monsters: HERE
MORE OF ME! (And platypodes/platypi/platypuses) (Extended signature)