Starting Date and Time: Jedayan 40th, 301DM
Starting Location: The Labourer tavern in Pyresia
CS URLs: Aussir Denthanus & Drachiathoryx
Light and raucous music poured out of the open windows to the busy tavern onto the sandstone pavement beyond, mingling with the chatter and shouts of the crowd within. Beyond its windows a light breeze blew up the slope of the mountainside city from the sea, bringing both the scent of salt and the fragrance of jungle blooms to compete with the stink of sweaty bodies and stale ale. Looking down the slope to the harbour, many parts of the city glowed with a hellish light where the ornate stone culverts channeled lava safely down to the water.
The heavy stone door to the bar swung open with surprising smoothness, dwarven construction of course, under an engraved basalt sign identifying the place as The Labourer.
"Dwarves," Drache smirked a little, part exasperation, part fondness for the gruff stoneworkers and guildsmen of Pyresia. She was forced to bow her proud spiral horns under the door-frame to join the crowd. Thankfully the ceiling inside was a good bit more forgiving to non-dwarves.
Tucking her strong wings tightly to her back as she threaded her way through the crowd, the crimson beauty was unsurprised to find that she was far from the tallest person in the room. The Labourer was a known hangout for mercs and head-hunters and retired or failed arena fighters. Her amber eyes skimmed the low stage, her ear-frills catching the frantic and almost grating sound of fiddles, flutes, and drums being played at maximum volume. No doubt there was a different group of entertainers in here every night.
Not seeing the person she'd come here to meet, the shapely dragonkin made her way to the end of the bar and the last two free seats. The counter had been constructed out of a huge slab of rock, polished and finished with glass so that the spires of green gemstones glittered prettily within. Much of the decoration in any building in the city incorporated the natural seams of gems and geodes threading through the stone.
Sighing smokily, Drache lifted her tail and sat down on a wooden barstool with one long leg crossed over the other, drumming her black-clawed fingers on the smooth counter, her gleaming amber eyes following the dwarven bar-tender as he served drinks and cheap stew to patrons at the other end. other eyes followed her to her seat. There weren't many women present, other than the ones serving drinks or gradually losing their clothes in the laps of other patrons, and certainly none of those had scales.
Her hand lifted to touch a tiny quartz vial hanging from a chain around her neck while she waited. Purple wasn't normally her colour, but the tiny bottle contained a glittering purple powder that shifted as she spun it round and round.
Even in such a crowded place, Drache couldn't help but feel a certain oppressive loneliness. It was a feeling she though she'd outgrown long ago, but for some reason had returned to plague her full-force since the tragic events of the Vircastorian ruins. The voices around her seemed to fade and hear ear-frill twitched, her eyes growing unfocused, and she could almost hear the hiss of the slug-God's breath... turned it absent-mindedly. Apart from the necklace, the half-dragon wore a brown suede vest and a long black skirt slit up to the hip on both sides.
Starting Location: The Labourer tavern in Pyresia
CS URLs: Aussir Denthanus & Drachiathoryx
Light and raucous music poured out of the open windows to the busy tavern onto the sandstone pavement beyond, mingling with the chatter and shouts of the crowd within. Beyond its windows a light breeze blew up the slope of the mountainside city from the sea, bringing both the scent of salt and the fragrance of jungle blooms to compete with the stink of sweaty bodies and stale ale. Looking down the slope to the harbour, many parts of the city glowed with a hellish light where the ornate stone culverts channeled lava safely down to the water.
The heavy stone door to the bar swung open with surprising smoothness, dwarven construction of course, under an engraved basalt sign identifying the place as The Labourer.
"Dwarves," Drache smirked a little, part exasperation, part fondness for the gruff stoneworkers and guildsmen of Pyresia. She was forced to bow her proud spiral horns under the door-frame to join the crowd. Thankfully the ceiling inside was a good bit more forgiving to non-dwarves.
Tucking her strong wings tightly to her back as she threaded her way through the crowd, the crimson beauty was unsurprised to find that she was far from the tallest person in the room. The Labourer was a known hangout for mercs and head-hunters and retired or failed arena fighters. Her amber eyes skimmed the low stage, her ear-frills catching the frantic and almost grating sound of fiddles, flutes, and drums being played at maximum volume. No doubt there was a different group of entertainers in here every night.
Not seeing the person she'd come here to meet, the shapely dragonkin made her way to the end of the bar and the last two free seats. The counter had been constructed out of a huge slab of rock, polished and finished with glass so that the spires of green gemstones glittered prettily within. Much of the decoration in any building in the city incorporated the natural seams of gems and geodes threading through the stone.
Sighing smokily, Drache lifted her tail and sat down on a wooden barstool with one long leg crossed over the other, drumming her black-clawed fingers on the smooth counter, her gleaming amber eyes following the dwarven bar-tender as he served drinks and cheap stew to patrons at the other end. other eyes followed her to her seat. There weren't many women present, other than the ones serving drinks or gradually losing their clothes in the laps of other patrons, and certainly none of those had scales.
Her hand lifted to touch a tiny quartz vial hanging from a chain around her neck while she waited. Purple wasn't normally her colour, but the tiny bottle contained a glittering purple powder that shifted as she spun it round and round.
Even in such a crowded place, Drache couldn't help but feel a certain oppressive loneliness. It was a feeling she though she'd outgrown long ago, but for some reason had returned to plague her full-force since the tragic events of the Vircastorian ruins. The voices around her seemed to fade and hear ear-frill twitched, her eyes growing unfocused, and she could almost hear the hiss of the slug-God's breath... turned it absent-mindedly. Apart from the necklace, the half-dragon wore a brown suede vest and a long black skirt slit up to the hip on both sides.