03-27-2016, 12:16 PM
The Bloody Boar's Inn was renowned among the dwarves of Nierhin for selling cheap, high quality food and drink. It was especially helpful that they had very little competition within the village, as most of the other famous inns and taverns were more prosperous within the city of Dwarfholm where they were safe from troll raids. But many of the townsfolk would agree that even if brands like Wild Heart's Inn or Troll Tusk Tavern had set up shop within the confines of their settlement, Bloody Boar's would still give them a run for their money if only because of its vastly superior indoors appearance.
The green gunsmith would've been considered a lucky man to experience its beauty without a preconceived notion firsthand. Many a Nierhin dwarf would've commented on how blown away he must have been when he opened the door and saw the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the candles burning bright enough to light up the entire inn. The sweet scent of liquor filling his nostrils as he turned his head to face the pristine bar, seeing the various brandies stacked up against the masterfully crafted and clear wooden shelves behind it. The blissful notes of a flute and viol accompanied by the banging of drums providing an indescribably hearty sensation....
Unfortunately, the leafy-colored inventor was on strictly business terms and thus had no time nor want for such things. As much as the specter inhabiting his body might have wanted to try out the wines and talk to the denizens of the village, he was held back by the need to find the leader. A need that, at first, he did not want to satisfy immediately. It was only through constant internal pressuring from Ballad did the being finally relent and put its focus squarely on the search. Despite this, SPB warned him not to blow up and pour all of his frustration out, else they would repeat what happened with Mister Lynch. The inventor, after a bit of grumbling, kept silent after this.
The gunman slid towards the bar counter where a singular dwarf handmaiden was busy cleaning it with a rag. He leaned forward, tapping the wooden counter with his fist to get her attention.
“Wha' do ya need.” The female bartender said, brushing her blond hair past one of her eyes as she looked up at the newcomer. She visibly flinched, grimacing behind her hair for a moment.
“Hello, miss bartender,” he replied, ignoring the urge to curse at her, “forgive my intrusion, but I require assistance in a business matter. Where is the wondrous chief of this settlement and where can I locate his person?”
“Lookin' for Ol' Dane? He's over ther' somewher',” she said, waving towards the back of the inn before ignoring him in favor of a dwarf.
The dark-green weapon designer gave his thanks, moving off of the counter top. He disregarded the several odd looks he received from the patrons next to him, instead focusing on the back of the inn.
The sounds of claps and cheers grew louder as he fumbled his way through crowds and sets of tables, a look of confusion plastered on his face. Eventually, after pushing past some unruly dwarves, he came across the source of the ruckus. In front of a large podium sat two dwarves, one of which was drinking from a gigantic gourd that was more than twice his height. The one with the gourd had a black, frizzled beard that was graying near the edges which, while probably attractive among the dwarven population, did nothing to hide the sagging wrinkles on his cheeks. He had a silver helmet on his head that had two teeth-like horns sticking out like a bull's as well as an emblem of a shield embedded on the front of it. His torso and limbs were covered by comparatively shiny and well-made silver armor covered in scrapes and scratches.
The spectators clamored ferociously as the helmeted dwarf leaned backwards, chugging down the contents of the gourd. The dwarf in front of him gave him a worried look that was replaced with mock sadness as the silver-armored dwarf set the humongous gourd back on the table. He let out a victorious roar, standing up onto his chair as he pounded his chest, much to the delight of the crowd. He hopped down from his seat, giving his competitor a congratulatory handshake. The gunsmith noticed that he had a huge smile on his face as he went around chest bumping random customers, who didn't seem the least bit unnerved by his behavior.
This must be the one. You going to go after him or what?
I'm amused by this rather unusual display. I think I'll observe for the time being.
SPB, if you don't fucking move your ass over to him, I WILL blow up. I swear to-
Yes, master...
Sighing, the sharpshooter walked towards the dwarf, tapping him on the shoulder just as he began to move towards the bar counter. He whirled around, letting out a surprised cry as he looked at Ballad's face. He began chuckling, planting his hand on the gunsmith's shoulder as he knelt down to meet his height.
“By Thor's Hammer! Ya almost gave me a heart attack, lad! My poor, aching heart! I think I'll faint!” He shouted, holding his hand to his forehead as he dramatically fell backwards, only stopping once the gunner reached behind him to prevent his fall.
“Heeheehee, thank ya lad. Lord knows what woulda happened if ya hadn' stopped me. I'd say ya and I are gonna get along just fine,” he said, his voice baritone and distinctly jolly.
The melodramatic dwarf quickly noticed that both of the gunner's eyebrows were cocked in a puzzled manner.
“Oh my goodness, I am sorry. I forgot to introduce myself!” He cried, holding his gloved hand out towards the man, “name's Dane. Leader of Nierhin, at yer service!”
Neither SPB nor Ballad knew whether to be relieved that the leader of the village wasn't nearly as prejudiced as the rest of them seemed to be or to be disturbed for the same reason. The gunner grabbed onto the dwarf's hand, allowing him to shake it vigorously.
“Y-Ye-Yes, thank you, you are very, shall I say, neighborly, sir Dane, Leader of Nierhin,” the gunner stuttered, pulling his hand back as Dane let go of it, “apologies, but... you aren't quite what I anticipated, sir dwarf.”
“Ah, it's okay, I get that a lot. What brins' ya her', mister...?”
“My identification is Ballad, and I-”
“Ballad?” Dane cried, and just as soon as the gunner realized what was happening, the entrance was blocked by two dwarven guards and he had more than a fair share of knives very close to his form, ready to stab at a moments notice.
“That escalated quickly..”
The green gunsmith would've been considered a lucky man to experience its beauty without a preconceived notion firsthand. Many a Nierhin dwarf would've commented on how blown away he must have been when he opened the door and saw the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the candles burning bright enough to light up the entire inn. The sweet scent of liquor filling his nostrils as he turned his head to face the pristine bar, seeing the various brandies stacked up against the masterfully crafted and clear wooden shelves behind it. The blissful notes of a flute and viol accompanied by the banging of drums providing an indescribably hearty sensation....
Quote:Bloody Boar's Inn
Unfortunately, the leafy-colored inventor was on strictly business terms and thus had no time nor want for such things. As much as the specter inhabiting his body might have wanted to try out the wines and talk to the denizens of the village, he was held back by the need to find the leader. A need that, at first, he did not want to satisfy immediately. It was only through constant internal pressuring from Ballad did the being finally relent and put its focus squarely on the search. Despite this, SPB warned him not to blow up and pour all of his frustration out, else they would repeat what happened with Mister Lynch. The inventor, after a bit of grumbling, kept silent after this.
The gunman slid towards the bar counter where a singular dwarf handmaiden was busy cleaning it with a rag. He leaned forward, tapping the wooden counter with his fist to get her attention.
“Wha' do ya need.” The female bartender said, brushing her blond hair past one of her eyes as she looked up at the newcomer. She visibly flinched, grimacing behind her hair for a moment.
“Hello, miss bartender,” he replied, ignoring the urge to curse at her, “forgive my intrusion, but I require assistance in a business matter. Where is the wondrous chief of this settlement and where can I locate his person?”
“Lookin' for Ol' Dane? He's over ther' somewher',” she said, waving towards the back of the inn before ignoring him in favor of a dwarf.
The dark-green weapon designer gave his thanks, moving off of the counter top. He disregarded the several odd looks he received from the patrons next to him, instead focusing on the back of the inn.
The sounds of claps and cheers grew louder as he fumbled his way through crowds and sets of tables, a look of confusion plastered on his face. Eventually, after pushing past some unruly dwarves, he came across the source of the ruckus. In front of a large podium sat two dwarves, one of which was drinking from a gigantic gourd that was more than twice his height. The one with the gourd had a black, frizzled beard that was graying near the edges which, while probably attractive among the dwarven population, did nothing to hide the sagging wrinkles on his cheeks. He had a silver helmet on his head that had two teeth-like horns sticking out like a bull's as well as an emblem of a shield embedded on the front of it. His torso and limbs were covered by comparatively shiny and well-made silver armor covered in scrapes and scratches.
The spectators clamored ferociously as the helmeted dwarf leaned backwards, chugging down the contents of the gourd. The dwarf in front of him gave him a worried look that was replaced with mock sadness as the silver-armored dwarf set the humongous gourd back on the table. He let out a victorious roar, standing up onto his chair as he pounded his chest, much to the delight of the crowd. He hopped down from his seat, giving his competitor a congratulatory handshake. The gunsmith noticed that he had a huge smile on his face as he went around chest bumping random customers, who didn't seem the least bit unnerved by his behavior.
This must be the one. You going to go after him or what?
I'm amused by this rather unusual display. I think I'll observe for the time being.
SPB, if you don't fucking move your ass over to him, I WILL blow up. I swear to-
Yes, master...
Sighing, the sharpshooter walked towards the dwarf, tapping him on the shoulder just as he began to move towards the bar counter. He whirled around, letting out a surprised cry as he looked at Ballad's face. He began chuckling, planting his hand on the gunsmith's shoulder as he knelt down to meet his height.
“By Thor's Hammer! Ya almost gave me a heart attack, lad! My poor, aching heart! I think I'll faint!” He shouted, holding his hand to his forehead as he dramatically fell backwards, only stopping once the gunner reached behind him to prevent his fall.
“Heeheehee, thank ya lad. Lord knows what woulda happened if ya hadn' stopped me. I'd say ya and I are gonna get along just fine,” he said, his voice baritone and distinctly jolly.
The melodramatic dwarf quickly noticed that both of the gunner's eyebrows were cocked in a puzzled manner.
“Oh my goodness, I am sorry. I forgot to introduce myself!” He cried, holding his gloved hand out towards the man, “name's Dane. Leader of Nierhin, at yer service!”
Neither SPB nor Ballad knew whether to be relieved that the leader of the village wasn't nearly as prejudiced as the rest of them seemed to be or to be disturbed for the same reason. The gunner grabbed onto the dwarf's hand, allowing him to shake it vigorously.
“Y-Ye-Yes, thank you, you are very, shall I say, neighborly, sir Dane, Leader of Nierhin,” the gunner stuttered, pulling his hand back as Dane let go of it, “apologies, but... you aren't quite what I anticipated, sir dwarf.”
“Ah, it's okay, I get that a lot. What brins' ya her', mister...?”
“My identification is Ballad, and I-”
“Ballad?” Dane cried, and just as soon as the gunner realized what was happening, the entrance was blocked by two dwarven guards and he had more than a fair share of knives very close to his form, ready to stab at a moments notice.
“That escalated quickly..”
Quote:Quest: Into the Halls
Word Count: 1,154
Amount Left: 3,450
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New to OV? Need a question answered? Want a C&C of your work? Send a PM to me!
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