Closed One Drink Too Many

Where drink flows, blood follows soon after

(This is a thread from Mizahar's fantasy role play forum. Why don't you register today? This message is not shown when you are logged in. Come roleplay with us, it's fun!)

A lawless town of anarchists, built on the ruins of an ancient mining city. [Lore]

Moderator: Morose

One Drink Too Many

Postby Garret Sawyer on December 5th, 2013, 6:32 pm

.













Timestamp - Evening, 5th of Winter, AV 513

The air was hot and stuffy tonight in The Pig's Foot Tavern, smoke hung thick and heavy in the air along with the smell of alcohol, the sound of raucous laughter filled the room as the bard sung a witty tune about an Eypharian women with six arms and her six husbands delight and the tension of the inevitable brawl that always came with a good time could be sensed by all the patrons.

In fact even Garret himself was having a good time tonight. He had perched himself on a uneven barstool, constantly adjusting his position in a vain attempt to find some comfort on it, his elbows rested on the splintering wooden counter that had been the victim of numerous carvings in a patrons moment of boredom, usually consisting of a crude picture of an unsavoury nature, and an empty tankard stood in front of him, nestled between his rough hands.

"Same again Garret?" Merv asked, he stood opposite Garret, wiping the bar down with a dampened cloth that did little to help the dirty, blackened wood. He knew Garret well enough, he came through Sunberth frequently enough not to be considered a foreigner by Merv but was by no means a close friend of the grizzled old bartender but coin was coin and Garret was regular enough not to be tossed out head first through the doors at the first sign of any trouble from Garret.
"Fill it up" He said quickly, eager for the old bartender to move along but he didn't budge, in fact he stared directly at the mercenary, clearing his throat expectantly "Problem?" Garret asked
"Yes, even in this part of the world we pay for things" Merv said sarcastically, holding out a wrinkled palm. Rather begrudgingly Garret placed a couple of dirty old silver in it, which Merv quickly pocketed "Thank you, welcome back to Sunberth by the way".

As he went on his way Garret glared at him, or more accurately at his back. He had never liked Sunbeth so many people would wonder why after three long years elsewhere why would he return? Because it was a damn good place to get money and shed blood; and right now those were two things he would love to do. But he kept his calm and returned to his now full tankard, sipping from it tentatively as the hideous quality became apparent to him, but just as coin was coin, ale was ale and he would never turn down some drink down.

As the pale orange glow of the early evening turned into the dark blue ink blot of night, very little changed in The Pig's Foot Tavern. Merv continued to tend to the bar, filling up Garret's tankard when he requested it, the bard continued to tell bawdy tales of old, right now he was performing a popular rendition of "The Akalak with a limp Lakan" and jovial nature of the patrons continued to grow, interrupted only by a short fist fight between two gamblers over the result of a hand of cards.

Best of all the two barstools either side of Garret had remained completely vacant, and anyone who had attempted to sit down on the had promptly left when Garret had turned his head around to see who was disturbing his solitude, confronting them with a piercing stare as they awkwardly shuffled off to find another seat.

Last edited by Garret Sawyer on December 6th, 2013, 7:28 am, edited 1 time in total.
Dead before bowed.
Fallon, I didn't thread because I was scared you would kill Garret, I know the rules perfectly. It was simply because I didn't like you, when I logged on and saw a bunch of veterans complaining that they couldImage not find threads and newbies should approach them because they are so much better us new people, I just thought one thing. What a bunch of cunts.

The Broken Shackles
User avatar
Garret Sawyer
You got gold? Good, who do you want dead?
 
Posts: 98
Words: 114969
Joined roleplay: November 24th, 2013, 10:24 pm
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Plotnotes

One Drink Too Many

Postby Naeya on December 5th, 2013, 10:42 pm

Cantankerous.

That was certainly one word to describe her mood. It was the rare day that Naeya was not feeling good-natured or in fine humour, but Sunberth had been wearing her down. The city was much too chaotic and far too unpredictable for the order-loving konti. Her gift had been on overdrive – the Sunberthians were notorious for leaving every other thought unsaid – and her forays into Divination had only succeeded in further delving into the pain and suffering of those around her, as if that was all they had ever known. She spent her days with her shoulders tensed and her ears alert before collapsing, exhausted, into bed at night, praying feverishly to Avalis to let her survive to see Syna rise.

In spite of the near-overwhelming stress, she had done her best to manage the situation. She tried to be home before the sky darkened so as not to invite unnecessary trouble, and repeatedly reminded herself that the wretchedness of the Sunberthians was primarily a result of poor politics – or a lack thereof.

On this day, however, everything had gone wrong. She had woken up late, delivered a parcel to the wrong residence, been hollered at by the residence’s owner, been berated by the parcel’s sender, and was then unceremoniously chased off the intended recipient’s property. Leth was now high in the evening sky, but she still had one final message to distribute before she could find release in the land of dreams.

And so Naeya was feeling particularly cantankerous as she stepped into The Pig’s Foot Tavern that night. The stuffy air, and the rousing chorus detailing exactly how limp the akalak’s lakan was, only served to heighten her dour mood.

She pressed through the rosy-cheeked crowd and made her way to the bar, clutching her letter in one hand and waving aside revelers with the other. It was a busy night, and only two empty stools remained at the bar. Naeya slipped in front of one stool and leaned precariously against the bar’s wooden counter.

“Merv!” she called out, waving the letter in an effort to capture the elderly barkeep’s attention. “Merv, letter!”

She could have sworn he was ignoring her on purpose.

Naeya loosened her white cloak while she waited and brushed a strand of pale blonde hair behind her ear. She tapped her webbed fingers anxiously against the counter and glanced sideways at the man seated next to her. He was a man who looked like he'd seen many summers, with thick, dark hair and a body that was far too large for his barstool.

“I don’t have all day, Mia.”

Merv.

“It’s Naeya. And I’ve got a letter for you from the Commons.” She passed Merv the note, to which he responded with an uninterested grunt. "I-" She broke off, hesitating. The konti was not much of an ale drinker and had studiously avoided taverns since her arrival to Sunberth. But after the day she’d had…

“Speak up, girl. You want somethin’?”

“Ale. Just one. Please.”

Even in a bad mood, she was polite.

After untying her cloak and draping it over the empty barstool to the right of the too-large man, she rolled her knotted shoulders back and settled on to the seat to wait. Her legs dangled precariously above the ground, and she dropped her elbows on the counter. The singing swelled, but Naeya did her best to ignore it - and everyone around her - as she rested her chin in her hands and massaged her tired temples.

Just one drink.
User avatar
Naeya
And yes I said yes I will Yes.
 
Posts: 399
Words: 214237
Joined roleplay: June 25th, 2012, 3:25 am
Location: Sunberth
Race: Konti
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal
Plotnotes
Medals: 2
Featured Character (1) Lore Author (1)

One Drink Too Many

Postby Garret Sawyer on December 7th, 2013, 12:06 pm

.














"What's changed Merv?" He asked, sipping on the tankard of lukewarm ale. Everything changes and it had been a long time since he last stepped foot in this tavern.
"Blimey" Merv exclaimed as he scratched his chin thoughtfully "A lot has changed since you were last here stinking up the place. Well you'll notice we had a flood a dozen or so days back, this place stood though so that's all I bloody care about. Cayln, gods rest her soul, passed away a couple of years ago"
Garret simply shrugged, he cared little about the orphans of the city "Anything else?"
"Oh yeah, you remember ol' Killroy?"
"Think so, the child toucher right?"
"That's him, he's gone and been buried. That girl of his, Hannah I think, now runs the stable"

Garret raised the tankard back up to him dry lips, taking long, deep gulps from it before pulling away, leaving it to hang limply in mid-air "Can't believe it, I won't shed any tears over the bastard but still, I was just thinking about the time I bought my horse of him the other day" he said.

Garret tipped back the tankard steeply, downing the last of its contents before slamming it down on the counter with a loud crack "Again" Garret ordered, with only the slightest hint of a slur coming through. It was an impressive feat to any man; he had been in here nearly three bells now and he yet to appear in a drunken state, it was all to time and patient, where drink in concerned you have to take your time. Merv obliged with his request as the final rousing chorus filled the tavern "And he hammered away, all night and day but lakan would always be limp!". The applause was painfully loud that he hadn't even noticed a slender figure slip its way between the bar and the stool next to him.

Only when he turned back to the bar, away from the bard he noticed. His face grimaced, the grip around his tankard tightened. A sigh of frustration escaped his lips as he heard the woman ramble on "Typical woman" Garret's thought ungraciously "Can't even think straight". His piercing green eyes bore down on woman. Short of stature and slim of body, her feet failed to even to even grace the floor with their presence. Garret scratched his rough beard slowly, his nails dragged through the coarse, dark hair as his brow furrowed from annoyance, his heavy eyebrows sinking in as his eyes narrowed, not only was she simply ignoring his stare but she was also ordering ale. The idea of her staying for a drink was enough to for him to take action.

He lent over, bringing himself closer to her, and begun to speak softly to here "I don't know if Merv has turned this into some kind of whorehouse, but in the next couple of chimes you better have either gotten up and left allowing me to drink in peace, or made me a very enticing offer regarding some money, an alleyway and some bullshit about me not forgetting then next few chimes for the rest of my life" He paused for a moment to look her over "And it ain't gonna cost me more than a couple of silvers, you're a little flat for my liking. I don't care for either option, but if I were you I would pick on quickly" He then pulled away to get a better view of her reaction with a expression on his face that made it clear he was serious.

Dead before bowed.
Fallon, I didn't thread because I was scared you would kill Garret, I know the rules perfectly. It was simply because I didn't like you, when I logged on and saw a bunch of veterans complaining that they couldImage not find threads and newbies should approach them because they are so much better us new people, I just thought one thing. What a bunch of cunts.

The Broken Shackles
User avatar
Garret Sawyer
You got gold? Good, who do you want dead?
 
Posts: 98
Words: 114969
Joined roleplay: November 24th, 2013, 10:24 pm
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Plotnotes

One Drink Too Many

Postby Naeya on December 11th, 2013, 3:59 am

She smelled him before she saw him.

The stench of cheap ale mingled unpleasantly with the sweat of day-old human, making the konti’s nose wrinkle involuntarily as she raised her head to greet the intruder. The man beside her, the one larger than his seat, had taken an unwelcome interest in her arrival. He was too angled for her to get a good look at him but she could see the deep wrinkles and old scars that spoke of long and difficult winters’ past.

As the man spoke, voice soft as if speaking to a despised ex-lover, his hot breath inflamed her cheeks and his poisonous words served only to deepen the flush. They were venomous, his words, filled with spite and hate and fire.

She flinched, feeling the blood rush to her face as adrenaline quickened the beating of her heart. Who the petch did the lout think he was - Crown Prince of Barstools? One drink. That was all she’d wanted. One measly little drink. But the gods weren’t going to let her away that easy.

Breathe, Nae. Think.

Naeya’s nostrils flared as she took a deep breath to calm the pounding in her chest. Her hands shook with an anger she hadn’t felt in seasons and she clenched them into tight fists as she turned her narrowed eyes to his. The man’s eyes were as green as her own, and yet distinctly different. They seemed colder, somehow. Harder. Meaner. She was surprised to find that her stare was firm even as her body quivered.

“Lucky for both of us, you get to save your money and spend it on a little courtesy instead,” she replied. She imagined herself on the coldest winter’s day and made an effort to emulate the frostiness in her voice, her face, and her heart. An ice queen, through and through. The man’s disrespect hung in the pit of her stomach, and she found herself latching on to it to feed the chill. Her instincts screamed at her to flee, to find another chair to sit or another tavern to visit, but she called on every ounce of self-discipline to force herself to remain seated and meet the man’s eyes.

The bastard wasn’t going to win that easily. Not today.

Naeya glanced back at the bar as Merv, oblivious to the tension, slid a drink in front of her. “Now,” she continued with faux civility, reaching her right hand out to grasp the mug. “Why don’t you let me finish my drink and I'll happily leave you to your ornery self.”

It wasn’t a question.

She took a sip of ale, keeping a watchful eye on the stranger beside her, and grimaced at the taste.

"Or, perhaps-”

Unless the man reacted in time, he would soon find the remaining ale sloshed in his face and the scorned konti halfway out of her seat, intent on heading for the door.
User avatar
Naeya
And yes I said yes I will Yes.
 
Posts: 399
Words: 214237
Joined roleplay: June 25th, 2012, 3:25 am
Location: Sunberth
Race: Konti
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal
Plotnotes
Medals: 2
Featured Character (1) Lore Author (1)

One Drink Too Many

Postby Garret Sawyer on December 13th, 2013, 10:38 pm

.














She had balls, he had to give her that one.

Garret hardly possessed the appearance of something that might haunt the nightmares of children and adults alike, he wasn't adorned with brutal scars, vicious tattoos or barbaric piercings nor was he a mountain of a man, armed to the teeth with weaponry or adorned in the most nightmarish of armour but even so he wasn't someone you would want to anger, there was always that look in his eye that made him seem tough and harsh yet here was this pint-sized woman matching his stare which had caused tougher men to walk away sheepishly just moments earlier in the same tavern.

And still she continued to stare at him, but while his green eyes did not waver from hers even Garret couldn't help notice her body quiver like a leaf in the wind, if her own body refused to believe in her words how could he? Her words were emotionless, trying to mirror frost that crept out from the edges of the tavern window, yet this only served to drain all meaning from them, Garret was a man of gold and violence yet these words promised neither to him so he saw no reason to care.

"Listen love..." He began to say as her face contorted from the taste of a man's drink "I think it's best you leav-" his attention was slackened in that moment, another cheer rose up from the tavern as the bard begun another song, one that promised blood, monsters and plenty of laughs, and the noise drew his attention, his eyes left the woman to find out what was happening, and in that moment the ale hit his face.

The tepid liquid splattered across his face, it left not a single patch of skin dry as it dripped down his brown woollen shirt, leaving a visible stain. "What as waste of ale" he thought as his eyes made there way back to the woman. He thought quickly about what he would do to her "A sharp slap seems to soft, maybe I'll punch a couple of her teeth out that'll show here a thing or two about manners"

He then heard the squeak of a stool as it was pushed against the rough wooden floor.

The woman was trying to leg it.

There was just one problem with that.

Never try to escape from someone in a busy tavern.

No doubt as soon as she stood up she had realised her mistake because Garret saw it plain as day as he stood up as quickly as his legs would let him, sending his own stool clattering to the ground. He couldn't even see the door through the dense throng of people that filled the tavern.

"Never start a fight you have to run away from lass" he declared triumphantly as he lunged forward towards her, his right hand outstretched in an attempt to grab her shoulder and twist her around as his left hand swung low and fast to punch her in the gut.
Dead before bowed.
Fallon, I didn't thread because I was scared you would kill Garret, I know the rules perfectly. It was simply because I didn't like you, when I logged on and saw a bunch of veterans complaining that they couldImage not find threads and newbies should approach them because they are so much better us new people, I just thought one thing. What a bunch of cunts.

The Broken Shackles
User avatar
Garret Sawyer
You got gold? Good, who do you want dead?
 
Posts: 98
Words: 114969
Joined roleplay: November 24th, 2013, 10:24 pm
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Plotnotes

One Drink Too Many

Postby Naeya on December 17th, 2013, 1:02 am

Shyke.

How had the tavern managed to become so crowded in the short time she'd been sitting at the bar? Men sat at every table, women sat on every man, and Sunberthians continued to pour through the open doorway, lured by a lust for liquor and easy diversions. Naeya managed to take two quick steps before being abruptly cut off by a red-headed giant and her stick of a husband.

And then he had her.

His words were already forgotten as Naeya was forced around and dealt a heavy blow to her abdomen. Any higher and he might have broken a rib. Instead, she felt the air forced from her lungs as she doubled over in shock and stumbled back, falling out of the man's tenuous grip. She'd instinctively thrown her right arm up to protect her head from a subsequent attack as her left clutched at her stomach.

"What... the petch," she gasped, backing up as far as she could to give herself a tick to recover. Her mind began to race and she forced herself to straighten. The pain she felt, and the fear, were plainly written across her pale face. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the beginnings of a human wall forming on one side of herself and her opponent; on the other side lay the bar. There wasn't an inch she could squeeze through, nowhere she could run. Just a mass of unfriendly faces, jeering them on.

"Hit 'er again!"

It was clear she would be receiving no sympathy from the onlookers. She was, without a doubt, on her own.

Naeya grabbed for her barstool, lifted it by its seat, and lobbed it heavily toward her adversary. Her intent was to trip him up and make him fall, particularly if he had begun to lunge for her once more, or to hit him in the shin and create a barrier to buy herself time.

"You have no honour," she hissed, recovering her breath. Whether or not the barstool hit, she would back up just one step from the human wall and crouch into her mountain stance: knees bent, feet shoulder-width apart, right foot before her left. She tightened her core as best she could, feeling a throb of pain at the movement, and raised her open palms to protect her face.

She danced lightly on her toes to keep herself loose, trying to calm the fear that threatened to overtake her wits. Whether or not the man had fallen, she would wait for him to recover and lunge for her again. Her intent was to duck beneath any hit that might come her way and jam her boot down on his ankle. Naeya's reaction time was slow, but she would attempt to use his own force against him and trip him into the watchers.

If the crowd refused to move, she would move them.
User avatar
Naeya
And yes I said yes I will Yes.
 
Posts: 399
Words: 214237
Joined roleplay: June 25th, 2012, 3:25 am
Location: Sunberth
Race: Konti
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal
Plotnotes
Medals: 2
Featured Character (1) Lore Author (1)

One Drink Too Many

Postby Garret Sawyer on December 18th, 2013, 6:33 pm

.














"You can't hit me, I'm a girl!"

His sister had always squealed those words to him when they were children, but to Garret those words meant nothing, he had shared a womb with his delightful twin but nought else as he knew truly what some women where capable of and had no desire to relive that experience. As soon as his fist sunk into her gut he felt the familiar, ecstatic rush. He was sick bastard, and he knew it but that didn't stop his heart beating ever faster when he struck someone, nor prevent his jaw from clenching as he heard them yelp in pain.

He felt his vice-like grip slacken around her shoulder as the blood began to rush around his body, allowing her to slip from it, putting some distance between herself and Garret.

"Hit 'er again!"

It was that voice that mad him notice the human wall formed around them. People had left their drinks, the card games and he even swore he could see some coin abandoned. The bard himself stood tentatively on his stage, he needed a crowd but his drunken rabble had been taken by another show. And curiously it appeared that this drunken rabble was on his side "For as long as I appear to be winning" he reminded himself ungraciously.

"Hit 'er again!" the voice demanded once more "Smash her pretty little face in"

Oh he intended to, but while his thoughts were distracted by violent retribution his opponent had decided to act in her desperate state. He didn't even have time to register the wooden barstool clattering towards him, bouncing off the ground wildly as he had no choice but to accept the fact it was going to hit him.

A sharp intake of breath through gritted teeth whistled throughout the tavern as a ripple of laughter travelled around the crowd "Oh you little bitch" he spat as he felt his shin throb from the collision, the bar stool had struck his right shine hard and fast, his eye wince as they watered from the pain though much to his relief there wasn't enough to form a tear.

"You have no honour,"

He felt his jaw clench at that very word though he refused to rise to her petty jabs, he could have rambled on about how he didn't have the luxury of honour and how few truly honourable men there were but some things were better left unsaid.

He limped towards her with malicious intent brandished across his face. His weapon, as always, hung by his side but he chose not to use it, he would not offer a weapon so beautiful in his eyes such a pitiful offering. "Look she is practically giving up now" he thought as she saw her hands raised, mistaking her guard for a surrender "You won't see any mercy from me lass, I might even take you round an alleyway anyway, teach you another lesson".

He leapt forward as far as his throbbing leg would allow, swing out wildly at the woman with little thought placed on precision or accuracy, fuelling his strike with anger and hatred.

Dead before bowed.
Fallon, I didn't thread because I was scared you would kill Garret, I know the rules perfectly. It was simply because I didn't like you, when I logged on and saw a bunch of veterans complaining that they couldImage not find threads and newbies should approach them because they are so much better us new people, I just thought one thing. What a bunch of cunts.

The Broken Shackles
User avatar
Garret Sawyer
You got gold? Good, who do you want dead?
 
Posts: 98
Words: 114969
Joined roleplay: November 24th, 2013, 10:24 pm
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Plotnotes

One Drink Too Many

Postby Naeya on December 19th, 2013, 7:05 pm

He might have beaten the konti on size and strength alone, but Naeya’s small stature made her nimble and her sobriety gave her a calculating edge. As the man lunged and swung his fist recklessly toward her, Naeya threw her arms up on each side of her head to protect her face. She ducked down and sidestepped his careless blow, throwing a foot out to catch his ankle. Her timing was off and she only managed to catch the back of his boot, but that was enough. The man’s momentum and the konti’s meddling sent him sailing into the human wall, and he took two observers down with him as he landed on the tavern floor.

The crowd hooted and hollered with incredulity as Naeya stumbled clear of her opponent, though she could hardly hear them over the pounding of her heart. She narrowly avoided tripping over the same barstool she’d hurled his way and threw out her hands for balance, turning swiftly to face her adversary’s inevitable retaliation. The konti nudged the fallen stool closer to the counter, wood squeaking against wood as it slid along the floor, and bent her knees. Her chest heaved with panic and exertion, and she glanced once more toward the watchers with the desperate hope that a path had appeared through which she could flee.

No such luck.

“Mother Avalis, help me now,” she whispered, praying for the strength to protect herself from her opponent’s fearsome rage. She wasn’t a warrior, not like her akalak brothers. She fought with words, not fists, and it was only pure hapchance that had saved her thus far. The longer she stayed, the more she put herself at risk.

“C’mon, mate! That all you got?”

The observers were beginning to heckle her adversary, and she felt a stab of fear in anticipation of his cruel reprisal. Naeya blanched at the thought of succumbing to the man’s assault, a reaction which further paled her face and emphasized her inhuman appearance. She wanted to scream, to stomp her feet, to plead with the crowd to let her leave. You’ve had your fight, she wanted to cry. Let me go home.

Instead, she stayed quiet - lower lip trembling with emotion - and raised her guard once more.

I want to go home.

Mod’s NotePermission received to detail Garret’s fall.
User avatar
Naeya
And yes I said yes I will Yes.
 
Posts: 399
Words: 214237
Joined roleplay: June 25th, 2012, 3:25 am
Location: Sunberth
Race: Konti
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal
Plotnotes
Medals: 2
Featured Character (1) Lore Author (1)

One Drink Too Many

Postby Garret Sawyer on December 21st, 2013, 11:29 pm

.














As he swung forward he felt the ground beneath his feet slip away, he felt the back of his boot tug as the human wall in front of him seem lurch forward as his legs stamped on the ground uselessly. His momentum carried him forward as he smacked against two bystanders. He heard the crowd howl and bawl with shock and disbelief as he pushed down the crowd, gasping as he felt the air smashed out of him. It was fortunate he managed to fall atop of the fattest man in the tavern, he had rolls of fat that hang over his trousers for all the world to see, a dark, greasy forked beard and small, watery eyes that bulged as he collided with the wooden floor. In truth though Garret felt more sorry for the slender, brown hair waitress with big brown eyes and long eyelashes whose was partially trapped under the weight of fat man.

While this hilarious scene did take some of the laughter away from Garret's failure to him it took none of the humiliation away from him as far as he was concerned. Over the years Garret had put up with plenty of shit from a multitude of employers, competitors and even targets and he had kept silent throughout these years with the promises of work and gold but right now he saw nothing but blood that need to spilt. He staggered to his feet, with difficulty as his feet sunk into the fat that shielded him as the man who currently writhed around on the floor.

He spied a glass bottle resting on the bar counter next to him, he grabbed it by the neck much to Merv's frustration apparently
"Put that down now, or I'll chuck you out!" he threatened as he threw the dirty rag down on the counter and rolled up his sleeves
"Piss off old man, I'll pay for it if you bloody well want" He smashed it against the counter top, sending shards of glass and wine falling to the floor as he stumbled forward towards her, his face was red and flustered from both anger and drink as he waved the remnants of the glass bottle around, it's jagged spikes shone dangerously in the candlelight as the crowd feel silent. Garret had seen this reaction before, many a time he had seen a bar fight break out and nearly always he had seen someone whip out a knife from his boo then the fight became a very different event, what had once seemed fun and exciting now contained actual peril and danger, the possibility of death had a tendency to make most people fall silent and this crowd were no exception.

He stared at her, not breaking eye contact as he limped forward, his aching leg fuelling his anger even more as he approached "I am going to cut that pretty little face of yours, you'll bloody well thank me for it when even the sickest of bastards won't want to rape you 'cos of your screwed up face. Say your prays love, the gods won't help you now" he threatened as his right hand arced wide, forming more of an open hand then a fist in the hope that he would slam the side of her face against the bar and the grab her hair to pin it down where he could began carving her face the vandalised counter itself.

Dead before bowed.
Fallon, I didn't thread because I was scared you would kill Garret, I know the rules perfectly. It was simply because I didn't like you, when I logged on and saw a bunch of veterans complaining that they couldImage not find threads and newbies should approach them because they are so much better us new people, I just thought one thing. What a bunch of cunts.

The Broken Shackles
User avatar
Garret Sawyer
You got gold? Good, who do you want dead?
 
Posts: 98
Words: 114969
Joined roleplay: November 24th, 2013, 10:24 pm
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Scrapbook
Plotnotes

One Drink Too Many

Postby Naeya on December 27th, 2013, 1:16 am

He almost broke her spirit when he smashed the bottle against the bar.

The shards of glass glinted viciously in the light - little daggers that whispered promises of death or disfigurement yet to come - and Naeya very nearly fell to her knees to beg him not to hurt her. Her legs shook with fear and she grasped the counter to steady herself as the man limped closer. She felt weak, as if all vitality was being dragged from her body with every step her opponent took.

What would Kobalt do? she thought. How would Imass act? Memories of her elder brother and oldest friend lit a fire in her heart. Goddess, she missed them. They would never have given up this easily. They would have fought until their last breath, unwilling - no, unable - to give in to such a savage, dishonourable man.

Naeya called upon the little fire for strength, and stoked the flames with courage and incredulity and ire as her adversary made threats of mutilation and scars.

"You fight like a filthy coward, jakri," she spat in the tavern's silence, her Rivarian accent thick beneath the Tukant swear. "What - you can't fight me, a woman half your size, without a weapon? You must have been born venhrehk."

His right hand struck her face in answer, and the konti whimpered in pain as her head was rammed against the counter's surface. White stars flashed before her eyes as skin hit wood and she strove desperately to retain consciousness. One hand clutched at the fingers that pinned her hair down, elbow thrown in front of her face in a sorry attempt to ward off his attack, while the other, trapped below the counter, resorted to clawing cruelly at the man's chest.

Behind the bar, Merv had summoned two heavyset, muscular men who were jostling their way through the tavern crowd to get a line of sight on the fighters. If anything else in his tavern was broken, Merv was ready to signal to the men to have both brawlers thrown out into the cold on their rears. The tavern owner enjoyed a good fight as much as everyone else, but drew a hard line at property destruction.

Naeya was ignorant of all movement beyond herself and her opponent as she struggled against his hold. The webbed hand that clutched at his attempted to pry his fingers from her hair so she could slip from his grasp, and her legs kicked out furiously, aiming for his injured leg to either break his knee or further inflame the bruising caused by the barstool. If he managed to cut into her skin, she would no doubt cry out and double her assault in her desperation to get loose.
User avatar
Naeya
And yes I said yes I will Yes.
 
Posts: 399
Words: 214237
Joined roleplay: June 25th, 2012, 3:25 am
Location: Sunberth
Race: Konti
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Journal
Plotnotes
Medals: 2
Featured Character (1) Lore Author (1)

Next

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 0 guests