Bay 12 Games Forum

Well some do not simply want to roleplay as one of the modern or futuristic, the crap i wrote was based around a 1700's time period.
And said things do not allow for city to city relations... though internal fightings between city can be fine but they can be ... complicated...

Well now it damn well is.
And whos to say its not going to be settled into, other players choose if they wish to go to said places and not just pre built places.

Or it could simply increase the speed of attack...

YAY!
we has two!
excluding phantasm.
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It is dark and muggy in the basement, filled with the things the tavern needs, stockpiles for a better way of saying it, the walls are made of concrete and don't seem to be scrubbed regularly, as mold is growing on them, the only light is from a flickering torch, if it drops on one of the ale barrels...
Joseph walks slowly and carefully, attempting to find Smithy, he walks past a poorly build wooden shelf filled with glass mugs, his foot catches on a brick laying on the floor, making Joseph fall.
Joseph instinctively reaches out for any support and grabs the poorly built shelf, pulling it down in compensation of pulling him back upright.
The glass mugs shatter on the concrete floor.
The booming voice of Gartude, screaming his name, can be heard resonating, no doubt it can be heard all over town...
Another voice is heard.
"Bloomin' heck!" The noise seems to be coming from behind a stack of barrels, "What in hell is this racket?! Keep it down for Tarlin's sake! With that lot of noise you could wake the dead!" The origin of the voice pulls himself up.
Its smithy, dressed in dirty old rags that are barely held together.
"My cousin did that once... Wake the dead that is, not break a taverns whole lot of expensive glass mugs... No one is that stupid, there'd take the fall and risk the damage to themselves..."
Smithy starts brushing himself off, including his hair, which is now revealed to be a dark brown, the colour of dirt, although it probably is dirt.
"Anyway, my cousin, Ted for the sake of naming, made such a racket that he made the dead rise from their graves! Don't ask me how he did it, but he did! I swear my honour on it! And you know how honorable i am!"
Smithy stands in a pose that would indicate someone who has just been invited to the annual Tarlinglad ball for the wealthy, which is very exclusive.
Joseph takes this opportunity to place himself behind smithy.
"Ouch!" smithy shouts, "Remind me not to drink from the damn barrels marked with X's, they have a strong hit with them, so strong that it almost killed me!"
"Uhh... Smithy... That was rat poison..." Joseph remarks as he backs up as far away from the shattered glass and fallen shelf as possible.
"As i said, it had a strong hit..." Smithy replied, clutching his head.

At this moment Gartude comes racing down the stairs, floorboards thudding along the way, and bursts through the door, almost taking it off of its hinges.
"WHO BROKE MY GLASS MUGS!" he screams as he inspects, and sees Smithy holding his head, and joseph in the far corner.
"Holy Tarlin, i think my eardrums just exploded..." remarks smithy as he falls to his knees.
Gartude falls for the set up and sees smithy the closest to the shattered glass mugs.
"RIGHT, THATS THE LAST OF YOU, YOU'RE NOT WELCOME IN THIS TAVERN ANYMORE!" gartude continues to yell as he hoists up smith, one hang on the top of the trousers, and one hang on the collar of the shirt, running upstairs.
A thudding can be heard, "Most likely gartude kicking the door open..." thinks Joseph as he hears another thud and scrape.
"And that is probably smithy being thrown out for good, Tarlin knows that he will be back withen the week though..." He continued his thoughts.
"Smithy" was always doing this, breaking and causing mischief in every tavern, though he kept coming back to this one for some reason.

Gartude comes back down the stairs to the basement, door still wide open, almost embedded into the concrete wall...
"Damn rat cut me again!" Remarks gartude, as he examines the wound dripping blood on his left arm, though to himself or to him, Joseph could not decide.
"Whatcha gawking at! Get cleaning!" yells gartude as he storms back upstairs.
Jospeh grabs the nearest broom and starts sweeping...
An hour passes.
Finally, Joseph had cleaned up the glass and put it in a cloth bag, to be used at the local orphanage, though what for, Joseph did not know...
He headed back up stairs and placed the cloth bag on the stool just beside the door to the basement.

The tavern was made of wood, and dimly lit with candles surrounded by glass that looked like flames to prevent any fires.
The light does not reach up to the roof.
The tables have four chairs each, and there are roughly 7 tables.
The bench has five stools in front of it.
And behind the bench is a shelf with all sorts of ale.

There were no customers tonight, well atleast for now anyway...

Joseph sighed, "Another busy day then..." he remarked to gartude.
"Shaddup..." Gartude replied as he wiped down the clay mugs...

Screw it, double post.

Ya know, im'a probably make my own novel in this thread by the time we get enough people to sign up... oh well...

And there should be rules like no god mode, and no deciding what happens to other characters without their owners Consent...

Also, E: anyone can jump in at any time...

meanwhile, in a town called "Tarlinglad", a boy sits on an empty wooden barrel outside the back of a tavern, seemingly mucking around with scraps of metal.
His apparel is dirty, like he had been rolled down a hill.
An apron, some rolled up striped blue and white shirt with buttons, all buttoned up except the top two buttons, a brown pair of leggings, and lastly a pair of worn out leather shoes.
He seems to be around the age of 15, old enough in the society of "tarlinglad" to be classed as an independent.
The literally dirty blond hair moves in the occasional breeze that passes into the alley way.
"Tarlin damn it!" the boy shouts as he throws the pieces of scrap metal to the ground and sighs, relaxing his body.

The tavern owner walks out the back door and immediately hits the boy with a wooden spoon, and in a horrible accent that no one could possibly comprehend says, "Young Joseph! Slacking off again i see! Why i aught to fire you, and take in some lowly homeless beggar, Tarlin knows that they would be a much better assistant than you!"
With each syllable, his black curly mustache bounces up and down, like it has a life of its own, Joseph always found this amusing...

"Lay off Gartude, you know no beggar, no matter how desperate would want to work here! They would rather be shot in the knee caps and cut up with a red hot saber." The young boy says as he gets up off the barrel and huffs out his chest in defiance, he barely makes it up to the belly button of the tavern owner.

"Pah! Such disrespect for your elders! I should drown you in the river and put you up to dry, at least then you would certainly look better, you take no pride in your appearance! A street dog is more appealing to look at than you are!" Replies Gartude, black mustache wobbling too and throe.
"I'm getting off the point, you are needed in the basement to move the barrels, and wake up smithy would you! That smelly beggar fell asleep down there, and he cut me when i tried to move him, some reflexes on him..." He quietly drifted off as he examined the rather large cut on the mans forearm, large for a normal man, but on gartude it looks less than a scratch...

The boy sighs again and enters the tavern, slowly heading down the stairs...

Quote

All i see is darkness.... oh, my hood was down.

Oh, that acolyte says that... i thought it was "or my hood is down"...

Wc3

SMEAGLE?
or golumn...

Wait, he has a bit of hair doesnt he.. ohwell...