[IC] Stories from Idumea: An Evening of Relaxation

[taistelusopuli]

It was a warm summer evening and sun was about to set behind the mountains. Shadows were growing longer rapidly as even the wind settled down to rest from it's labor. Everyone, with the exception of the village doctor and the Fair Maiden Inn personell, had concluded the work of the day.

There was a calm and light hearted buzz in the ground floor of the inn where the only pub of the village had it's home. Mainly the men of Avveel had gathered to relax from the hard work of the past week. The candles gave light to the big room casting dancing shadows everywhere and warming up the air. One called for food and another more ale, the mood was happy and everyone enjoyed their time.

Muorra had also come to relax to the pub. He was sitting by himself by the counter with a pint of fresh ale talking to the owner of the Inn. "Innkeeper," Muorra grunted over the desk trying to be discreet, "I know our kids are in love. Shouldn't we have them married already? They have been playing their game for two months already for Guardians sake!" He tried to keep his strong voice as low as possible.

"Ha! Eager you are, Muorra! Eager you are", the Innkeeper laughed at his suggestion. "The kids take their time and make that call when they are ready for it." Muorra waved at the Innkeeper's words and laughed then. He rose up with his pint, holding it by his chest. He was proud of his new white shirt. He turned to head to the nearby table where the shoemaker was telling a story.

[Doc Doctor]

Down the stairs tumbled a tall black man, belting out exclamations and curses with each bump and dump.
"Ayeee! Sweet mudda of Rimba! Me bumboclottin' ass! Awww batty pussy cheese!!"

The tribesman landed in a heap before springing quickly to his feet and glancing about sharply to ensure nobody had laughed at his pain. The dreadlocked fellow took two steps before collapsing onto his face, muttering more tropical obscenities into the floorboards. Yup. He was drunk as a skunk.

He climbed to his feet a minute later, shaking his head vigorously. There was a devious glint in his eye now.The islander swaggered into the middle of the room, grabbing some random dude's bottle of rum and swilling down half the contents. He belched loudly, smacked the butt of a passing waitress, and proceeded then to bellow out his innermost desires.

"Where da white wimmon at!?"

[taistelusopuli]

Muorra stopped abruptly when this stranger tumbled down the stairs. It was most definitely sure that he was not from around the neighborhood - or from the neighboring villages either and that he had had a few drinks too much. He looked down and just barely saved his new white shirt from getting an ugly ale colored stain. In confusion of the moment his pint had begun to tilt to a dangerous direction.

At first the man who's rum was being devoured didn't notice. When he heard the knock of the wood upon the bottle hitting the table he realized what just happened. "Hey!" the man reacted. "That was mine!" The stranger had already moved on and slapped a passing waitress. The sweet girl froze mid air and turned red in her face but the stranger did not see that.

Once he voiced his desire for pleasurable company the nearest tables turned to look at him. Muorra also returned his attention to the sex hungry drunk. Fair Maiden was a pub. Not a brothel.

"I don't know what the women find attractive where you come from but that dance wont get you a keg to please you", Muorra spat from the back of his mind. He bursted a short loud laughter out that made sure the pub's attention was at the now rather unstable visitor if he had gone unnoticed until now. Then he turned to continue his way to the table where the storytelling had seized for the time of the episode. Pub wide laughter accompanied his exit from the situation.

[Dark Light]

The tedious motion of the tavern doors repeat as with a soft kick they swing open, revealing the silhouette of a large man standing in the doorway, casting a long shadow across the dusty floor.

He smells like a tavern, strong booze and cigaret smoke, mixed with a little hint of motor oil and sweat. An open sturdy leather jacket flaps in the wind, his chest and stomach bare except for the intricate patterns of ink that run over his muscular form. His jeans are tattered and torn, his boots large and heavy, clanking with buckles as he steps inside.

His bright pale blue eyes scan the room and the people around him. A smug look, that only adds to his rugged charm, is printed on his face in the form of a half smile as he casually strolls towards a corner of the bar.

"Your best whiskey and keep 'em comin" he says as he pulls up a barstool and gets comfortable, twisting on his seat just enough that his eyes can scan the two other patrons, sizing them up.

(Clay Available for interaction)

[taistelusopuli]

The Barkeeper welcomed the guest with a cheerful "evenings ser! How do you want to feel in the morning? Like knocked out by a sledge hammer or more like my daughter had wiped the tavern floor with your face?" The good willing man laughed cheerfully. Then he brought a glass and two bottles - one turning towards red and one more towards amber.

Muorra didn't pay attention to Clay coming in. He was focused on the Shoemaker's story about how the King himself had come to his small shop of all places to by a new strap for his fancy shoes. The climax of the story was when the King missed a step going out and fell face first out of the door. He was lucky - well kind of. Had the pile of horse crap not been where it was, the scene would've been much bloodier and not so funny for the town's people who happened to see the unlucky event.

Muorra was done with his pint and headed back to get some more. He took a couple of steps backwards while still talking to the men of the village who were gathered to the table. Without paying attention to his surroundings he was dangerously on a collision course with Clay. Muorra was about to turn towards the direction he was headed... @Dark Light