DnD: Forget the window--you need something to get rid of this headache.
From Create Your Own Story
(Created page with 'The throbbing pain insisted, so you followed its lead and got ready to go to the market. You slipped on your old tunic, which had become a bit too small for you, and buckled your…')
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Revision as of 00:23, 17 June 2015
The throbbing pain insisted, so you followed its lead and got ready to go to the market. You slipped on your old tunic, which had become a bit too small for you, and buckled your belt around your waist until it fit snugly. You inserted your two daggers, which had taken you a year of saved up coin to buy, into the scabbards at each hip, and pulled on your worn boots, feeling wind chill tour toes through a hole near the front of one.
Standing up once more, you take initiative and head towards the stairs, the soft thumps of your shoes against the floor annoying you almost as much as the nauseating smell of alcohol. Rogues were supposed to be silent, yet it seemed that you were anything but that in your current clothes. If only you had enough money to buy a new pair of shoes...
But enough wishy-washiness, you reminded yourself. Nobody ever got anywhere by moping in their sorrows, especially not you. You opened the door and headed down the stairs to the main floor, which housed a small tavern with some tables and a counter.
A few humans sat at one table, grouped around and playing a game. You could tell that they were being cheated--the man who was playing against the others had an air of confidence about him that no casual player would have. Silently gloating, something only a spectator would notice, and certainly not the men crowded around the table. The demeanor caught your eye, and for a while you stood there at the foot of the stairs, observing the game. After all, it was rare for you to see an intelligent human--none of the ones you knew were all too close to such. He was young, late twenties at most, and had shaggy black hair with a braid near his ear, something you'd seen often on dwarves, especially those from the western lands. His eyes were fixed on the cards in front of him, and you could see the ghost of a smirk on his thin lips, as if he knew he would win. You've seen many similar things in your life here, so there was no doubt in your mind that he would indeed win.
At the counter perched another patron. This one was smaller and had long honey brown hair braided down her back. She was obviously a warrior--she wore armor that only a skilled elven craftsman could make; light but strong. On her hip was a long and elegant blade that caught your attention not only because of its obvious value, but also because of its stunning beauty. It was lightweight with a pommel that resembled a branch entwined with vines, and seemed to be made of polished steel. Her relaxed shoulders and slumped position however showed that she was not concerned about someone stealing it--which you could understand. As a thief, you were rather good at picking targets, and she was far too well armed to be a prospect.
The unusual visitors were something that distracted you from your objective--you were never known for being terribly good at keeping your focus. You pondered whether you should speak to them or not. If not helpful, they seemed to at least be interesting. Maybe even amusing, if you were talking about the conman.
