Enter Martes, the Bartender11/03/2006 . Edited 3/14/2008 #1
Martes patted the various pockets lining the chest of his tattered wool vest before the muffled peal of his key ring greeted his ears. He fumbled with the various keys that ran along its circuit until at last the Melting Pot’s front door cleared its throat.
"Ahem. It’s the fourth one past your left thumb."
Martes removed the spectacles from his right vest pocket and placed them on his nose. Squinting, he shuffled the keys with one hand, running the other through the silver streaks in his ash-gray hair. Then, finding the key, he tested the lock on the front door. The gears protested for a moment, before the bolt rolled into place with an audible clunk.
"Thank you," Martes told the door before turning the knob. It didn’t budge. "What now?" he asked the door impatiently.
"The sign," the door told him.
Martes reached above his head and pulled the pin from the sign over the door. The wooden flap on top swung down, and the sign’s messaged changed to announce the tavern as open for business.
The door clicked and swung open of its own accord, and Martes stepped inside.
Enter Angel Macleod, a chivalrous half-elf thief 30 years of age, yet has the skin of a 19-year-old.11/03/2006 #2
His white overcoat swayed in the wind as he approached the door of the Melting Pot tavern, revealing his comfortable black shirt, baggy black pants, and black adventuring boots. His extremely long, snow white hair flowed like a river of quicksilver, and his different colored eyes (left one yellow, right one turquoise) lay on the door. He reached out to grasp the doorknob...
"Hello, traveler. Welcome to the Melting Pot tavern," the door suddenly spoke.
Angel flinched and looked left to right. "Who said that?"
"Um, I did, sir," the door said.
Angel then looked at the door, his eyes wide. "How strange. A talking door."
"Ahem. Your hair is down to your ankles and your eyes are different colors, and you call me strange?" the door said.
"Point taken," Angel said sheepishly.
"Anyway, please come inside," the door spoke as it swung open. Angel hesitated for a minute, then stepped inside.
Enter Lana Crane, a woman of about thirty five years of age, thin, tan, and rather plain looking. A black patch covers the spot where her right eye used to be.11/04/2006 . Edited 11/04/2006 #3
She brushed a long strand of her mud brown hair from her one good eye as she nearly passed up the Melting Pot tavern. Seeing the sign that said it was open, she paused, staring.
"Well, are you coming in or not?" said the door.
Lana jumped in astonishment.
"Did you just...?" she asked the door.
"Yes. I'm a talking door. Welcome to the Melting Pot. Come on in."
The door swung open and Lana slowly walked through it, patting all of the pockets of her patched up vest and breeches.
Enter Roger Kingsworth, an auburn-haired youth of average height. A sturdy leather harness hangs from his shoulder; supporting two zweihanders.11/04/2006 . Edited 11/09/2006 #4
"Aren't those swords a bit too big for you, sonny?"
He stopped, and turned around slowly on the spot, he squinted at his surroundings.
"Who's there?" His hand drifted to the larger of the two swords, Nightwoods. Its 6-span (as the king spread's his palm) blade shimmering in the moonlight.
"Only a harmless wooden door. You aren't going to hack me open are you, dear boy?"
"You can talk?" The grip on the sword tightened.
"I expect you are feeling a bit mad; talking to a door. A fairly common reaction, most travellers are fascinated by me. It's good for business"
In his nineteen years, Roger had never heard a door speak.
"Come in boy, the cider's good"
"I don't drink" he replied shortly.
"A good dinner, then. You look famished".
Roger had spent the past two days in Pyranor Forest, narrowly escaping a group of gnomes he had met on the road. Dinner was a godsend.
"Alright" he said, relaxing his grip on his sword.
The door was already open.
|Evil Minion Number 2
Enter Laoyu11/04/2006 #5
“Demon!” exclaimed a tall brown skinned man as he stepped back from the door that had greeted him, his hands shaking quite feverously and his un-bandaged eye widening.
With an exuberated tone, the door said, “Sir, I am not a demon.”
“Demons are known well for their lies,” mused the man, “I do not believe you.”
“If I were a demon, do you honestly believe I would wait this long to attack?”
“That is a good point, yet I can not be sure how you could talk otherwise,” the once-warrior said as he shook his head, letting his tied back black hair move from between his shoulder blades.
“Have you heard of a thing called ‘magic’?”
“Indeed, I have heard of magics that do not depend on dancing with demonic deities,” came the response of Laoyu, while he scratched the scars and the stubs of a beard on his chin. “I shall believe you for now, only if you do not touch me.”
With out waiting for any sort of response, he edged his way toward the open door, practically bolting through as soon he was sure it wasn’t going to steal his soul.
Enter Dr. Emrys11/05/2006 #6
Dr. Emrys walked up to the Melting Pot Tavern. It had been a long day pretending to be a human as he subtetuted a class of kids. The day was over, and the old wizard was thirsty. The door spoke to him. "Who the Hell are you?"
The wizard looked up, shocked to be adressed in this mannor. He would normally give quite a good sacre to somebody who talked to him this way. However, he was tired and only said, "I am known by many names. The one that I go by when I don't want to be surronded by fanaticks is "Dr. Emrys." Without another word, he walked into the tavern.
Enter Ty Foe-slay, mercenary11/05/2006 #7
She walked down the dusty street wondering who would hire her next. Her lose fitting black shirt and pants that were tucked into knee high black leather boots hid her many knives and other tools of her trade. A long charcole gray cloack hung down her back with the hood pushed back to reveil her dark red hair, tan skin, and silver eyes. The inside was covered in pockets that could hold anything and never gain any weight. She stood around 5'8" with a full hourglass figure.
She would have kept on walking but she stopped dead in her tracks when a voice called out, "Someone inside could help you mercenary."
"What the...?" she asked looking around for someone.
"That would be me." said the door leading into the tavern.
"Oh...well I guess I should go in then." she said with a curious glint in her unusal eyes.
"You are the first one not to be completly shocked by this. May i ask why?" it said
"I have seen too much in these worlds not to be shocked by something like you." she said and walked on in.
Enter Rem (Reman Girnar)11/05/2006 . Edited 11/07/2006 #8
Rem regarded the sign in front of him critically. A wooden likeness of an overflowing kettle swung uneasily in the wind, with a thick board creaking beneath it in the shape of an arrow pointing towards the door. The image struck him as easy to misinterpret as a witch's brew. From the outside it was not the most well kept of buildings, but he hadn't been hoping for much else.
"I assure you there are more interesting features to the tavern, though the conversation on the inside can't match what you get out here."
Rem's right hand moved towards the long sword at his hip, a simple blade with a hilt for two hands and a blade light enough for one. On his right was sheathed a medium steel dagger, short of blade but with a strong hooked cross guard. The armor he wore was even less ornate than his blades, consisting only of a simple leather tunic and leggings, padding against the battered mail shirt that completed it. His boots were worn but durable, with the dust of many different roads and many different colors spotting their various surfaces. Likewise were the thin leather gloves on his hands. No helm or hood completed the attire, though on his back was slung a large round shield bearing a blue-painted Great Bear, insignia of the northern outland colonies.
Without drawing the sword or turning his head, Rem listened. "Show yourself," he spoke after a moment.
"Not this again. Look, if I wasn't bolted to a doorframe, I'd find someone more interesting to talk to. You all come in confused, then leave drunk. If I get another dent from you, I'm breaking your nose next time you come inside."
Slowly Rem turned his head towards the door. With a quick glance down either sides of the street, he leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. "This is some sort of a joke, right?"
"Yes of course," the door said. "My very existence is a joke. Don't worry, once you've had a few drinks you can ponder the meaning of life, and realize your existence is a joke as well."
The door swung open and Rem went inside, glancing over his shoulder as the door shut behind him. Only after it latched into place did he let his hand off the pommel of his sword.
Enter Mezzik Sandros (AKA Mezzisander the Silver) in human guise. His clothes are of middle class quality and appear to be about a century out of fashion. He is slightly tall with shiny black hair and rather angular features. His eyes are slightly reptillian with a slight silvery sheen on the gray. He is a little pale, and rather cold to the touch. The scent of rain hangs about him.11/05/2006 #9
"Haven't seen you in a while," said the door.
Mezzik smiled and said "I've been sleeping." He pointed at the sign over the door "The Melting Pot now, is it? What happened to the Drowsing Drake?"
"You really have been sleeping. The owner snuffed it twenty years ago."
"Does the new owner know how to serve up a frosty yeti?"
"Of course," said the door, swinging open to admit him, "but only creeps like you order it."
Mezzik just laughed and stepped lightly into the tavern.
Eldarath might have considered wrapping his feet if he'd been human, but as it were, the thick, leathery pads on the soles of his feet served well enough to muffle his landing. It was late, he was tired, and flying long distances always made him thirsty. Probably something to do with breathing through his mouth all the time instead of his snout, but that was flying for you.11/07/2006 #10
Human drinks tended to turn his blood to poison. A Dragonkin of the other flights might have shied away from said drinks for that reason, but Eldarath LIKED poison. Especially when it was in him.
"Go away," the door muttered. "I don't like the sight of you, black Dragonkin. Everyone knows your ilk are evil."
Eldarath had come across talking flowers, pots, suns, things that went bump in the dark and primordial oozes. A talking door wasn't very strange by comparison. "Then it appears we have an understanding. I don't like you, and you don't like me, but I'll be buying something from the person who owns you. You might get some oil in the bargain, if you're a good door and open now. I won't cause any UNECESSARY trouble, I promise."
"And what good is a promise from the mouth of one from the Black Flight?"
"Or I could rip you to shreds with my claws, if you like. You see, I'm really thristy, and there's something to drink inside. The fact that you are obstructing my way is beneficial to neither of us."
"You won't fit through me. You're nearly one-and a half-times as tall as the average human."
"I can and I WILL. No more oil for your hinges, now that you've been a bad door."
"You don't mind the fact that you're stepping into a tavern full of generic fantasy races who are possibly all on the supposed side of Good and are extremely xenophobic in the process?"
"I'll get my drink, if it means I have to garrotte them all. I don't like generic fantasy races, but I don't like being thirsty even more."
For a moment the door hesistated before swinging open, letting Eldarath step inside.
"I see we have come to an agreement. Thank you very much," Eldarath said as he entered. "I might consider the oil when I leave..."
Enter Bylan a full blood dragon in human form. He is tall with tan skin, copper eyes, and permaturely silver hair. he appears to be about 25 but you may never be sure with dragons. He is dressed in brown soft leather boots and pants, a form fitting white shirt shows off his muscular form. While he doesn't show any weapon he gives off an air of being undistructable. Few woman don't follow him with their eyes and fewer still hang around after they get to know him.11/07/2006 #11
"I advise you to go somewhere else dragon." said the door to the tavern he had been heading to.
"Why? I can sence my kind in there.Even a door such as you must have noticed how rare females are in these worlds of late." he calmly replied
"I must admit you have been the nicest one i have met. I thought there was something unnusal about that mercenary woman who came in here. Well if you must you must. Just none of that fire breathing if you will."
Bylan smiled and entered.
Enter Fahim Voide, the young Necromancer.11/07/2006 #12
He slowly dragged his mud caked shoes down the street, clomping towards a rather inviting looking door, he decided, while gazing onward in hope that beyond it would lead to warmth.
For days he had been traveling in the wilderness, regrettably straying from marked paths just to do a little sight seeing. He figured it quite a miracle that he had not died. Although the heaviness in his joints told him that he was dead tired, nonetheless.
Fahim pushed his thick lensed glasses up his nose, and stared expectantly at the door through dead eyes. His senses tingled as he placed his gloved arms behind his back, standing as tall as his short frame could manage.
“Well?” The Necromancer cocked his head to one side, his hair shifted to reveal many strands of grey in the otherwise dark brown population. Not a sign of aging, he could reassure himself with that.
“Well what?” The door answered. Fahim’s mouth widened into a pleased smile.
“Thank heavens! I knew I could sense something, and it was you, door!” He let out a sigh of relief. “Now, could you let me in, if that is what you do, I mean, you are not here to scare away customers are you?” He raised a questionable eyebrow.
“Of course that is what I do! If I was just a decoration don’t you think I would look better?” The door snapped back.
“I suppose so.” He laughed pushing up his glasses once again. “So, how about it?”
“What makes you so sure I’ll let a walking pile of death just come waltzing in?” He frowned at the door’s remark.
“I’m terribly hurt. What makes you think I’m dead? I have a pulse.” He placed a gloved hand on his neck. “I would show you it, but unfortunately you do not have arms.” He smirked.
“You think you’re so clever.”
“Quite.” Fahim bowed quickly in gratefulness to the door, as it swung itself open, before darting inside of the Tavern.
Enter Metis Archeon Goodspeed, Knight of Mithesius. Tall and slender for a human. His auburn hair hangs past his shoulders in thick matted curls that needs to be brushed badly. His brown eyes look around cautiously. His long sword hangs happily off his hip and his trusty bow and quiver is slung over his shoulder.11/09/2006 #13
Metis wears plain brown leather breeches and a padded leather jacket under a shirt of chain male. A callused hand strays to his sword hilt as he suspiciously eyes the sign and door before him.
"This place reeks of evil," he mutters to himself with a sigh.
"Well then, aren't you being a little judgmental, Knight?" the door retorts.
Metis jumps back and draws his sword. "What witchery is this?"
"Knight of Mithesius indeed," the door chuckles, "you aren't suppose to judge peoples you haven't met, you know better than that."
Metis narrows his eyes and shieths his sword, "You know quite a bit for a door."
"If only I could meet a creature deserving of a good conversation with me," the door sighed, "then I could put my knowledge to good use."
"Well at the very least you could be of some use and open. I've been hunting a band of slavers for three months threw the Dim-wood. I'm in no mood to put up with the likes of you, I'd like a tankard of beer and a place to rest my care warn feet if you don't mind."
"All right, all right," the door opened, "no respect, none at all."
Enter Rajael Kennemton, formerly known as the Black Sorceress of Telwahr. Tugging her black hair out from beneath the strap of her satchel, she studied the door. Short for her people, she never bothered to discover if there truly was a spell to grant her greater height, although she'd been proud enough to use a spell of youth. In retrospect, it was for the best, given how far she'd had to travel in the past year. This cold land was no Telwahr.11/10/2006 #14
"Aren't you a fascinating peace of work?" she said conversationally. "Who made you?"
"He wasn't so kind as to give me his name."
Rajael smiled. "I made a door like you once. Spiderweb and mata blood, clover and a finger bone." Her smile grew even wider. "And a tree, of course. I think it was oak, but it might have been maple. It wasn't so kind as to tell me, or to let me know that the Awnasee were coming for my head."
"No Awnasee in here," the door informed her. "Are you going to come in?"
"Are you going to open?"
The door swung open, and she laughed at it's mutter as she walked into the tavern.
Enter Zaeri, a woman with a glistening red stone necklace, around the age of twenty.11/10/2006 #15
Zaeri's hand went automatically to her necklace when as stranger brushed past her exiting the tavern. She eyed it curiously, the scars that were imprinted deeply onto the side of her face whone a little bit brighter than her skin in the dim light. She looked around the street for someone she knew, then gathered that she would be inside waiting for her. Brushing her long black hair out of her face as she often did when annoyed, she set out towards the tavern, her long grey skirt soaked up dampness from the puddles she walked over.
"Who are you?"
Zaeri yelped, her hand was tight around the hilt of her sword as she looked for the source of the voice.
"Who's there?" she called out.
"I am. Over here."
She looked to the door, shaking her head.
"No way! It isn't possible..." she walked closer to the door, bending slightly looking for the mouth.
"You, who are you?" the door asked again, this time she answered.
"I am Zaeri," she replied, "And who are you?" She had to admit that it was rather strange talking to a door and it wasn't something that she was keen on doing again. Yet again she was nervously holding her necklace.
"I am a door," the door replied obviously and Zaeri felt angry to have been insulted by a door for the first time in her life, but it wasn't really insulting her at all.
Before she unleashed her anger out on the door, it opened and a gush of warm air swept through her and led her inside without any more time spent on talking to the door.
enter Rion11/12/2006 #16
he was an elderly dark elf who had just come back from helping an army through an enchanted forest as he walked toward the door of the tavern he heard what sounded like some talking to him from behind the door the voice asked
"who are you"
Rion returned " I am Rion the mage looking for food and board who wants to know"
the voice said "me the door who would it be"
rion looked up at the door with a delighted look on his face " i haven't seen an enchantment like this in years, would you kindly open up so that i may enter"
the door swung silently open
Enter Anya Nightmoon, a woman of about thirty, with short cropped platinum blonde hair, and gray eyes that tend to stay directed to the floor. She wears a simple homespun gray robe, tied at the waist with rope, leather sandals, a change purse on her waist, and a leather satchel slung over her shoulder. Around her neck is a silver medallion depicting a rising sun. She carries a walking stick.11/13/2006 #17
"What's someone like YOU doing here, Sister?" asked the door, rudely.
Anya widened her eyes slightly in surprise but otherwise gave no more outwardly visible signs of her astonishment.
"Even a sister of the Kelateen Order needs to rest her feet, door. I am weary. Travelling for miles on foot can be tiring," she replied softly.
"You might want to try somewhere else. There are a lot of rough customers in there. Not good company for a good sister such as yourself. I've already had a guy lead another guy out into the alley at knife point."
Anya raised her eyes to glare at the door and there was steel in them. "LET ME THROUGH."
"Don't say I didn't warn you," the door replied peevishly, swinging open to let her pass.
She lowered her gaze once more and entered.
((Fine, after Eldarath and direct provocation, I'm going to create Ugg, orcish university student. Genric orc name, not-so-generic orc. Have fun-he's designed to be more genial than most-although I'll have to ask Qlmmb if Eldarath can still serve as an antagonist in any future quests you go upon.))11/14/2006 #18
While the city was comprised of more races than most, Ugg felt comfort in the small token that marked him as a student and thus not some marauder-not that he looked very much like one, with neat-cropped hair and a university uniform.
Of course, said university was a training ground for COMPETENT evil people, but that was always hush-hush. No one could argue with increased education. Training to be a competent shaman was taking its toll on Ugg, and the examinations on the subject of spirit-speaking were coming up soon.
"The melting pot tavern," he mused. "A drink perhaps?"
"A talking door," Ugg muttered, absentmindedly scratching a tusk. "I wonder. What made you? high magic? Shamanistic magic? Rituals? Hm..."
"Do you want in?" the door grumbled. "I've already admitted too many sad characters through me today-you don't top the list. Keep it short and simple, I'm tired."
"I suppose," Ugg replied. "I need to stay awake these days."
Without another word, the door swung open and Ugg the orc walked inside, unsure of how he'd be received.
Enter the Black Death.11/14/2006 #19
A girl dressed in black walked up through the quiet town. It was dark out, and she was dressed so heavily in black, that she seemed to disappear into the darkness around her. She looked here and there before she finally stopped at a certain tavern.
"Oooh," she breathed aloud. "The Melting Pot Tavern. A tavern for melting pots! Oh, I want to join! I want to drink beer and melt a pot!"
She ran up to the door and knocked on it furiously.
"Let me melt a pot!" she cried.
"Uh... okay," a voice replied sheepishly. "Melt a pot. Sure. Whatever you say. Just... stop... hitting... me!"
The girl smiled, believing there to be someone on the other side of the door, before skipping in. The door swung shut behind her and sighed.
"Well, in all my years... i certaintly haven't heard that one before."
((this isn't because she's polish and blonde. that's just the way her character is. just want to make sure i don't offend anyone... i'm polish and blonde, too!))
Hunter was just about to open the door when he heard the some one ask11/14/2006 #20
After a few seconds he figured it out that it was the door that had spoke.
“Hunter would you please allow me to enter?” hunter replied
The door then said “why should I”
Then becoming a annoyed by the door said, in a matter of fact tone, “if you don’t I’ll rip you to shreds and burn you”
“Well with that type of attitude I staying closed” said the door.
“Your funeral” Hunter said as he unsheathed Fang from his shoulder and planted it solidly in to the wood of the door, which caused it to scream “Ok, ok I’ll open up just get that thing out of me!” after removing Fang and sheathing it the door swung open without another comment
She had been hunting, and the stench of it clung to her skin--yet she did not care. Several passing her gaped openly, but she did not notice, for it was not her way. Bereft of clothing and weapons but for that which nature had given her, the she-elf strode through the town, searching for a place in which to curl up and observe her surroundings. She would have walked past the tavern, seeking somewhere with quieter venue, when a sense of otherness struck her.11/19/2006 #21
She stopped and looked left. There was a door, and it seemed a recent chunk had been taken out of it. People brushed past her in annoyed rush, though all saw fit to avoid touching her. That suited her just fine. She abhorred touch. Her silence continued as she stared at the door, a pause filled with curiosity. She knew something was watching her back.
"Flesh?" She asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.
"Certainly not." The door responded, sounding only mildly affronted.
Deilakrion continued to stare at the door, rubbing grimy hands on her thighs.
"Beast?" The door suddenly asked, sarcasm laced through its tone.
"Creature. This creature is a creature," Deilakrion said off-handedly, turning more fully to study the door, "What. . .?"
"I am a door." The door said impatiently. Its tone was becoming grievous, though it was lost upon Deilakrion's mind.
"This creature shall enter." She said, pausing momentarily to let a mother with a string of children pass before she moved to stand before the door. She grasped the knob, but it did not budge. She scowled.
"You're naked." The door said.
"This creature has no need of fleshy clothes." She bared her teeth at it, bristling. Fleshes were bad enough, but now an object was chastising her for her mannerisms? She shook her head to herself, heaving a sigh.
"Do you even have money?" It was clearly exasperated at the odd elf--certainly this wasn't a typical encounter! But Deilakrion only frowned at the door, offended at the question. What use had she for such fleshy trappings? She turned as if to walk away, when the door spoke up, albeit grudgingly.
"You may enter."
And so she did.
As she fell though the mirror her failing hands grabbed an old stuffed toy wolf that had been put there earilier when she was putting some of her old stuff up in the attic. She expected to crash thru and break the mirror, but instead she kept on falling till she landed on the hard dirt. Another body landed beside her. She laid there for a minute looking up at the stars above her and took stock of what had happened. "I hit my head on the wall or floor after I crashed thru the mirror...so I must be knocked out and dreaming." she said aloud to herself. She slowly got to her feet. The mirror lay in peices all around her reflecting the stars and moon. When she brushed off her clothes she figured two things out. 1. She is in a completly different outfit that looked very medevilish and 2. she had several cut on her exposed skin from the glass.11/19/2006 #22
"Are you alright, Paige?" a soft voice asked. She turned around to find a rather large black wolf looking at her worridly.
"Yep, I'm dreaming." she said more to herself than to answer. "Who are you? And did you just talk?"
"I am Cota, I have always talked and when you were a pup you talked to me and understood, but as you grew you lost the ability." the wold said this as if it was fact and she had no reason to disbelieve him. Besides to her this was all a dream.
"Well Cota we can't stay here all night lets go over to those buildings. Surely one is an inn." so they walked over to the first one and thankfully it was a tavern that would most likly have a spare room. A sign out front showed some kind of pot and the words beneath said 'Melting Pot Tavern'. She looked over at Cota and he nodded. She was about to reach for the knob when she heard a voice.
"Arn't you a little young?"
"Who said that?" she asked while Cota let out a low growl.
"I did, the door. Well you might as well come in. I have already let in enough oddities and you and your over grown dog are but one more." it said and swung open. Since things stranger than this had happened in her dreams she thought it was fine, but she layed one hand on Cota just in case.
Enter Aly and Andrew11/19/2006 #23
"Well aren't you going-what in the hell happened to your hair."
Aly subconciously ran her hand through her cut up auburn hair. Her blue eyes peeked up at the massive door.
"What's it to you, I thought this was a bar! Let me in!"
"Password." Aly looked dumbfounded at the door, and scratched her head.
"Damn it, you let all these other people with out a password!" She grabbed hold of the knob, but as much as she tried to twist and turn the knob, the door would not open. She was surprised when she was pushed aside by her friend Andrew, who simply turned the knob the other way and entered the tavern. She gaped at her brunette friend and looked up at the door.
"I'm going to make you into fire wood one day," she anounced before entering the bar.
|Evil Minion Number 2
Artis watched in amusement as a naked elf and a girl with a black wolf entered, turning to his smaller companion and exclaiming, “Well, looks like we found a place with enough freaks to let us in!”11/19/2006 #24
Big yellow eyes looked up at him from under the white hood, the bigger than average mouth undser it showing no signs of expression, or the desire to speak. Though the rest of the white cloak that covered past her feet shook slightly in excitement.
Thrusting a hand through his gray hair, the hald demon took off toward the inn, not bothering to conceal his horns in the geasture. The demon tried to walk through the door, though found it woudn’t budge. With an annoyed glare from his red cat-like eyes, he growled down at it. “Hey, what gives?”
“Sorry, no admition to demons.”
“What!? You let in naked elves!”
“Though that’s a good point, it’s still polocy not to let in things that start with “D” that don’t conceal their nature.”
“Ok, wait up…” With in a moment, the half breed was covered in fire, though it hardly seamed to effect his clothing or anything on him. As quickly as it came, the fire was gone, along with the half-breed’s horns and wings. He flipped his bandana so that it covered the holes where his wings used to be and asked, “Now can I enter?”
“I guess… I should retire after today.”
With that, the half demon entered, almost literally dragging along the cloaked girl.
((I'll edit this later, when I'm not so sleepy...))
|To Be Ascertained
The door of the Melting Pot Tavern closed itself , lazily, as the last visitor walked away. It began humming to itself, hoping that that was the last of the traffic the pub would recieve that day. How wrong.11/21/2006 #25
"LET ME IN LET ME IN! I ASK SANCTUARY OF THY HOUSEHOLD! LET ME IN!" There is a huge thumping noise, as a boy of fifteen pounds the door in desparation, getting down on his knees in the thick blanket of snow outside.
"Ok, ok, just don't kill me in the process!" the door weeps, swinging open sadly.
"Thank..you.." the boy whimpers, almost collapsing onto the floor in relief and exhaustion. The door gets a better view of the latest entree. He is rather small, a result of a stunted growth, but has large hands, that are rough, dry and worn by the elements. His skin is slightly tanned, his face thin, forlorn and hollow. His hair resembles that of seaweed; long and wavy, fair in colour with occasional blonde streaks. But his eyes are covered with a silken black blindfold, contrasting greatly with his torn and patched measly rags.
"Just who ARE you?" asked the door, slightly confused at the difference between this one and the rest.
"I am Paul Whikestren. Nothing more than a saw mill worker, just down on his luck and pursued by foes he cannot see." he replies, a sense of mystery hanging about. The door got the hint that there was more. More that it was not allowed to ask of. If doors have an equivalent of nodding, then that is what it did.
"Thou art the barkeep, no? I'll need a drink from thy cellars, if thou would be pleased so to fetch it for me, I will pay for its worth."
"What?" the door asks, completely baffled at the boy's language, and at the fact he was not looking at the door, but forward, as if there was a person in front. Then it realised. The boy was blind; its own voice was no different from a human's, it did not matter where it came from. Paul did not know that it was the door who was the talker.
"I am not the bartender! That guy at the BAR is. I'm just the door."
Paul jumped, letting out a small shriek, and promptly wacked his head on the hat-stand.
"A talking door? Impossible! Surely thou jest?"
"Ever considered magic before?" the door tries, wondering how on earth this boy could go through this world and live in it for fifteen years without ever knowing about magic. Paul begins to chuckle.
"Thou art a jester, perhaps? All citizens of sound mind in this realm know that magic perished along with the dragons! Aeons ago!"
"Well, that's where your wrong." the door replies, matter-of-fact.
Paul's face sinks like a ship, like he has just been disproved of his entire reality.
"Just where hast my wonderings led me to?...." he mumbles, before walking into a chair as he slouches his way towards the bar.
[mindwarp: removed at the author's request.]11/25/2006 . Edited by Mindwarp, 2/23/2008 #26
Drake folded his large black wings and landed infront of what appeared to be a tavern. She was here. He could sense her presence. At last he had found her. After the war in Gadmoren he had been to injured to much else than to seal himself off in a cave and drop into a healing coma. It must have been at least a few years for knight that he had eaten a few days ago had worn a new type of armor and a seal on his sword said it had been at least 5 years. He was about to go into the building but he quickly realized that he would have to change into his human form. He reached out to open the door when it suddendly decided to talk. " Not another dragon! I refuse to let you enter!!!" it said. Drake just gave the door one of his dragon smile that was full of teeth and predory intent. "I smell demon and elf and others of their elk. Most importantly I smell a female of my kind. If you let them then you should let me. HOwever I would prefer if you did not for I would enjoy to burn you into a little pile of ash. So please keep yourself closed." At that the door swung open with a humph and quickly shut itself behind him.11/26/2006 #27
Enter Emily Taff.11/26/2006 . Edited 11/27/2006 #28
Emily weirs clothes that are as non discript as herself: what was once a white long-sleeved shirt, now gray and brown with the stains of constant travel, brown leather pants, and a thick warm hooded cloak of homespun gray wool (the hood of her cloak is currently not on her head, but hung back over her shoulders). If anyone notices Emily at all it is because she is so strikingly ordinary looking. She is of avrage height and avrage build and has brown eyes and brown hair that is pulled back in a smiple braid that hangs to her shoulders.
Emily walked up to the door of "The Melting Pot" and leaning her walking stick against the wall she looked at the door for a moment. The door apeared simple in construction, and yet seemed beautifual to her eyes. She ran both hands over the smooth wood and smiled.
"Someone put a lot of care and effort into your creation..." she said, her voice thick with a rich cultured accent, "and what is this I feel? Intelagence... impashientce, cunning, and perhaps anoyance and irritation as well."
Her smile turned from contemplative to amused as she concidered the door a moment longer, still letting her hands rove over the time warm smoothness of the wood.
"Intellagent, yes," the door answered, indeed impashient and irritated, "Are you coming in or do you intend to pet me all night?"
Emily let out a bit of soft laughter, "If you would kindly open for me I would very much like to enter."
"Very well then," the door swung open and Emily took her walking stick in hand again and stepped threw the threshold.
[mindwarp: removed at the author's request.]11/27/2006 . Edited by Mindwarp, 2/23/2008 #29
[mindwarp: removed at the author's request.]11/27/2006 . Edited by Mindwarp, 2/23/2008 #30
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