02-28-2016, 06:39 PM
"Make us look humble?" Ballad replied in an accusatory tone of voice, cocking an eyebrow as they got closer to the brown door.
He chuckled. "You misunderstand. Every noteworthy diplomat has induced another through a variation of tactics that include an outward appearance of good intentions." He said, a few steps away from the door. "I intend to further my development in those arts."
The gunsmith moved towards the brown door, the shorter distance allowing him a greater sense of detail of the cabin. The doorknob was gray in color, spherical in shape, and connected to the door at a height about halfway down his thigh. Also attached to the handcrafted wooden door was the metallic hatch, albeit by the jaws of a silver eagle's head. Its head was the size of his closed fist, its eyes red and as transparent as crystal. It too was close to his thigh.
He shot a quick glance towards the windows to his left and right, swiftly noticing he was unable to look inside. The few windows not covered by frost were unfortunately concealed from view by purple drapes from the inside of the house. Without further hesitation, he brought his hand towards the latch, pulling it back before knocking it against the door. The door rocked as the clasp rapped against it, producing audible but relatively quiet noises.
"Excuse me, fine inhabitants of this abode. I request permission to access this chalet. I do not wish to incur violence against my body by intruding." He spoke, tapping the clasp against the door several times at random intervals.
He went silent, pressing the side of his head against the door, listening. There was nothing. Not even the sound of footsteps or the sound of murmurs penetrated the door.
Frowning, he tapped the door again.
"It is rather cold out here in the wilderness, and we have traveled long and hard. Please, let us in."
He was about to continue to plead some more when an impatient grumble escaped his lips.
"They ain't letting us in, assuming anyone is even here."
"Well, what do you suggest we do about that, virescent one?" SPB replied, releasing his hold on the copper latch.
"I say we just go in. If anyone's in there, we'll tell them we were knocking, and that they should've heard us. If not, we get a free house. Win-win for both of us, if you ask me." Ballad replied, reaching for the doorknob.
He smiled, saying "For once, we can agree on something,"as he twisted the knob, pushing the door forward.
----------------------
The gunsmith silently stepped into the foyer, feeling a rush of cold air follow him inside. The room in front of him was small, mostly comprised of a door a few feet to his front and left, a hallway to his right, and a staircase leading up to a second floor. The ground beneath him was dusty, and occasionally made creaking noises when he stepped on the floorboards. The air around him had a rotten smell that resonated from the hallway to his right. He decided to investigate the smell, ignoring the upper floor as he moved towards it. His less curious side had to question why he was more focused on the odor rather than the whereabouts of the abode's inhabitants, but he rationalized it as just child-like curiosity from a spirit that didn't know better.
The aroma grew stronger as they entered the next room, letting out a disgusted groan. The room was in worse condition than the foyer, with dust all over the floorboards as well as various objects of no particular value laid out in his path. To his front lay a beige couch, peppered with holes, the majority of them having lint sticking out of them alongside several stains of unknown origins. Flies buzzed around a metal bin to the side of the couch filled with scraps of food, some strewn around it half-eaten. To his right were an array of pictures, each consisting of two tiny men. One, in particular, caught his eye: A photo of one of them with an emblem on his helmet, with the other's arm, wrapped around his neck in an embrace. The one with the helmet was slightly taller than the other, a black beard that was graying near the edges. He had blue eyes and a fair set of wrinkles. He was adorned in silver armor that covered his entire torso and limbs, which he was showing off in a confident manner in the photo. The man next to him had a smaller black beard with no hint of gray and had a properly groomed ponytail alongside a shaved head in three places down the middle of his top. He wore leather armor, with a rifle on his back. They were both smiling, the younger one giving a thumbs up to the camera.
The gunsmith gritted his teeth, turning his head away from the picture, taking a quick look at a blunderbuss before staring at a nearby refrigerator. Cocking an eyebrow, he walked towards it, bringing his hand up to his nose to plug it as he passed by the bin. Getting closer to it, he glanced towards a sink to the right of the fridge, seeing it filled to the brim with mugs and plates, all dirty. Next to it was a radio, turned off. Above it was a window concealed behind purple curtains, providing an exquisite view of the outside world.
Ballad opened the door to the refrigerator, seeing a variety of food and drink within that mostly consisted of meat. The thought of food made his stomach rumble, which he satisfied by removing his scarf and grabbing what looked like a leg of some animal. He wasn't exactly the most experienced with what animal gave you what kind of meat, so he could only assume that he was about to eat the remains of some snow cat or something similar to that.
He brought the leg to his mouth, sinking his teeth into it as he closed the door. He ripped out a chunk of the meat, sliding to his right. He parted the curtains to the window, the drapes colliding with the radio. Before he could react, the top part of the radio slammed into the ground, pressing the play button and activating a song.
The song played loudly, echoing around the room. The gunner swore under his breath despite SPB's attempts to stop him, quickly ducking down to pick it up after dropping the meat leg onto the ground. The singing masked the noise of rapidly increasing footsteps as he grabbed the radio, standing back up.
He slid his index finger towards a square button on the top of the radio, stopping just short of pressing it as he looked up, seeing a dwarf holding a blunderbuss in what could best be described as "brown dwarf pajamas."
He chuckled. "You misunderstand. Every noteworthy diplomat has induced another through a variation of tactics that include an outward appearance of good intentions." He said, a few steps away from the door. "I intend to further my development in those arts."
The gunsmith moved towards the brown door, the shorter distance allowing him a greater sense of detail of the cabin. The doorknob was gray in color, spherical in shape, and connected to the door at a height about halfway down his thigh. Also attached to the handcrafted wooden door was the metallic hatch, albeit by the jaws of a silver eagle's head. Its head was the size of his closed fist, its eyes red and as transparent as crystal. It too was close to his thigh.
He shot a quick glance towards the windows to his left and right, swiftly noticing he was unable to look inside. The few windows not covered by frost were unfortunately concealed from view by purple drapes from the inside of the house. Without further hesitation, he brought his hand towards the latch, pulling it back before knocking it against the door. The door rocked as the clasp rapped against it, producing audible but relatively quiet noises.
"Excuse me, fine inhabitants of this abode. I request permission to access this chalet. I do not wish to incur violence against my body by intruding." He spoke, tapping the clasp against the door several times at random intervals.
He went silent, pressing the side of his head against the door, listening. There was nothing. Not even the sound of footsteps or the sound of murmurs penetrated the door.
Frowning, he tapped the door again.
"It is rather cold out here in the wilderness, and we have traveled long and hard. Please, let us in."
He was about to continue to plead some more when an impatient grumble escaped his lips.
"They ain't letting us in, assuming anyone is even here."
"Well, what do you suggest we do about that, virescent one?" SPB replied, releasing his hold on the copper latch.
"I say we just go in. If anyone's in there, we'll tell them we were knocking, and that they should've heard us. If not, we get a free house. Win-win for both of us, if you ask me." Ballad replied, reaching for the doorknob.
He smiled, saying "For once, we can agree on something,"as he twisted the knob, pushing the door forward.
----------------------
The gunsmith silently stepped into the foyer, feeling a rush of cold air follow him inside. The room in front of him was small, mostly comprised of a door a few feet to his front and left, a hallway to his right, and a staircase leading up to a second floor. The ground beneath him was dusty, and occasionally made creaking noises when he stepped on the floorboards. The air around him had a rotten smell that resonated from the hallway to his right. He decided to investigate the smell, ignoring the upper floor as he moved towards it. His less curious side had to question why he was more focused on the odor rather than the whereabouts of the abode's inhabitants, but he rationalized it as just child-like curiosity from a spirit that didn't know better.
The aroma grew stronger as they entered the next room, letting out a disgusted groan. The room was in worse condition than the foyer, with dust all over the floorboards as well as various objects of no particular value laid out in his path. To his front lay a beige couch, peppered with holes, the majority of them having lint sticking out of them alongside several stains of unknown origins. Flies buzzed around a metal bin to the side of the couch filled with scraps of food, some strewn around it half-eaten. To his right were an array of pictures, each consisting of two tiny men. One, in particular, caught his eye: A photo of one of them with an emblem on his helmet, with the other's arm, wrapped around his neck in an embrace. The one with the helmet was slightly taller than the other, a black beard that was graying near the edges. He had blue eyes and a fair set of wrinkles. He was adorned in silver armor that covered his entire torso and limbs, which he was showing off in a confident manner in the photo. The man next to him had a smaller black beard with no hint of gray and had a properly groomed ponytail alongside a shaved head in three places down the middle of his top. He wore leather armor, with a rifle on his back. They were both smiling, the younger one giving a thumbs up to the camera.
The gunsmith gritted his teeth, turning his head away from the picture, taking a quick look at a blunderbuss before staring at a nearby refrigerator. Cocking an eyebrow, he walked towards it, bringing his hand up to his nose to plug it as he passed by the bin. Getting closer to it, he glanced towards a sink to the right of the fridge, seeing it filled to the brim with mugs and plates, all dirty. Next to it was a radio, turned off. Above it was a window concealed behind purple curtains, providing an exquisite view of the outside world.
Ballad opened the door to the refrigerator, seeing a variety of food and drink within that mostly consisted of meat. The thought of food made his stomach rumble, which he satisfied by removing his scarf and grabbing what looked like a leg of some animal. He wasn't exactly the most experienced with what animal gave you what kind of meat, so he could only assume that he was about to eat the remains of some snow cat or something similar to that.
He brought the leg to his mouth, sinking his teeth into it as he closed the door. He ripped out a chunk of the meat, sliding to his right. He parted the curtains to the window, the drapes colliding with the radio. Before he could react, the top part of the radio slammed into the ground, pressing the play button and activating a song.
Quote:
The song played loudly, echoing around the room. The gunner swore under his breath despite SPB's attempts to stop him, quickly ducking down to pick it up after dropping the meat leg onto the ground. The singing masked the noise of rapidly increasing footsteps as he grabbed the radio, standing back up.
He slid his index finger towards a square button on the top of the radio, stopping just short of pressing it as he looked up, seeing a dwarf holding a blunderbuss in what could best be described as "brown dwarf pajamas."
Quote:Quest: Into the Halls
Word Count: 1,171
Amount left: 8,196
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