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D F Angel

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((All characters accepted. Come and go as you please.))

The Leprechaun's Foot was a tavern, inn or pub, the descriptors for it seemed to change on the fly, and its location changed all of the time as well. One minute it was, the next it was there, like some great primordial behemoth which lurked at the edge of human consciousness, just within the cusp of our understanding, our mortal interpretation making it a place for merriment and jovial bar-brawls.

This Foot in particular was nowhere in particular, which meant passer-bys were aplenty. Sat at the bar was a man with a drink. His cloak the skin of an Arctic bear, slain and skinned himself. Surrounding his mouth was Arctic hair, snow-white beard descending down his chest. A single eye, blue, and a glass eye, topaz, to fill the hole left in his face by the great beast he wore.

"I'll have another," he grunted out to the barely-defined bartender. Ormund was the old man's name, but they called him the Watcher. Was he passing time, or was he waiting for someone in particular? There was only one way to know... Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire

09-Jun-2016 00:05:23

NotFishing

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Gleaf

The door was pushed open with some effort, and in stepped a gnome. He was in his late thirties (although being a gnome he was probably older), three feet tall with a light skin tone, piercing green eyes, and ruffled dark blond hair that was starting to grey. In the way of clothing, he had wore some slightly dirty hooded green robes, a pair of worn leather boots, and a leather belt with a few pouches on it. In his hand was a three foot long old oak staff, and slung over his shoulder was a small gnome-sized traveler's pack. His name was Gleaf.

Taking a second to look at the various patrons of the bar and furrowing his brow at some of the stranger ones, Gleaf then turned and began walking towards the bar, his staff tapping lightly against the wooden floor.

When he finally reached the bar, he placed his hands up on the stool next to Ormund and hoisted himself up with a grunt. Even sitting on the stool as he was, he was still barely above the counter.

"I'll have some water." He said simply. Beneath the gold, the Bitter Steel.

09-Jun-2016 00:14:47 - Last edited on 09-Jun-2016 00:19:35 by NotFishing

D F Angel

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Ormund spat out a laugh. "Water? ****** that, fetch him ale!" He tossed a coin at the nondescript barman, and turned his large and lithe body towards the little man besides him.

"A gnome if I ever saw one," he reviewed for Gleaf, as though the gnome himself might've been caught off-guard by what he had been born as. The Watcher was always on the cusp of drunkenness, and tonight especially so. "You a mage, gnome? Where I'm from, we take no trust in mages." He was accusatory and aggressive, yet not adversarial. Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire

09-Jun-2016 00:19:20

NotFishing

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Gleaf frowned slightly, as he turned to face the rather loud and obnoxious fur-clad human sitting next to him. Perhaps he should have chosen a seat that was further away...

"Where I'm from..." He commented rather dryly. "We take no trust in loud humans." He met the man's gaze, not at all intimidated by his superior size. "But surely we both know by now not to judge people based on prejudice?" Beneath the gold, the Bitter Steel.

09-Jun-2016 00:23:54 - Last edited on 09-Jun-2016 00:28:44 by NotFishing

D F Angel

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Ormund frowned, looking deep into Gleaf's little eyes, opening his mouth, grinding his yellowed teeth- and then, a raspy chuckle left his body.

"Aye, you're a springy one, ain't ya? Appreciate that, I do. Takes 'em by surprise. No one thought I had it in me to kill this thing," he threw a thumb over his shoulder at the bearskin cloak.

"Where you from and where are you heading, then? I love a tall tale, do I." Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire

09-Jun-2016 00:29:39

NotFishing

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Gleaf paused, an uncertain look on his face, unsure of whether he should tell the stranger his tale. Then he took a deep breath and decided to continue.

"I came from a small village. Me and my younger brother - I'm waiting for him right now - were mages. My younger brother became the village healer, while I studied nature and earth spells." He paused, stroking his chin. "Eventually I developed the ability to communicate with animals - not unheard of, but something my tribe had never seen before." Now he appeared reluctant to continue.

The bartender brought him the drink, and the gnome picked it up, sniffed it, made a disapproving face, and then set it back down.

"Later on I figured I could... put thoughts into animals' heads. Command them. The other gnomes... they said it was enslavement. Unethical, blasphemous, in defiance of the laws of nature. So they cast me out. My brother didn't want me to go off alone, so he accompanied me - against my protests. Now... we have no destination in mind. We're just wanderers." He looked up at Ormund. "What about you?" Beneath the gold, the Bitter Steel.

09-Jun-2016 00:37:31 - Last edited on 09-Jun-2016 00:46:19 by NotFishing

D F Angel

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Ormund nodded thoughtfully as the gnome finished his tale, perhaps to buy him some time for the words to process in his inebriated state. "Very godly that, taking a hold of nature. Never did fancy myself a godly man, though." Seeing that his drinking friend was of the drinkless sort, the one-eyed Watcher snatched up the ale that Gleaf would not touch and had a swig for himself instead.

"My story's a simple one. A bear tried f***ing with me once. Once." He chuckled at that, and drank to the memory, a spark in his seeing eye that was brighter than the topaz shard in his other. "Viking, I am. That's me culture, not me name, see? Got myself a clubfoot in the sacking of Wesfife, put me outta work and then onto the streets. A fighter with no fight in him, that's most deplored in my parts. Kicked about, mucking for scraps, for years and years it seemed to go on..."

And it had been years as well. The man that was Ormund was a tall-talking, lecherous glory-hound. What was left of him was The Watcher, who spent what, twenty, thirty years of his life on the streets? Thrown from town to town, village to village. Too crippled to work, too broken in the mind for people to take him in for too long.

A drunken hiccough brought him back to the present.

"An' then one day I kill this bear, skewer the bloody ****** wi' his own claw, too. What a fight it was. The homeless man and the Arctic bear! Afterwhile they tells me it was Heimdal I slew, in his favoured form. If that's true, that makes me The Watcher now, though I've yet to manage summoning any Bifrosts. I'm not here for reverence, I'm here for drinks. Mayhaps you'd like to take my place as New God of the Norse, eh?" Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire

09-Jun-2016 00:49:57

NotFishing

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"There's nothing godly about it." Gleaf explained. "It's simply getting an animal to do a task for you." He then asked for another glass of water - it had not been brought to him the first time, thanks to Ormund's intervention.

But he let the man continue on with his own story. Although Gleaf did not show it in his face, he disapproved of the man's viking background. They were, after all, known to raid small defenseless villages for loot. Coming from a tribal gnomish background, Gleaf never truly understood the monetary value of gold, silver, or other similar trinkets. Why did these humans insist on killing each other over it?

"No offense to you, but I don't believe in your gods, so such a title would have limited meaning to me. Although, back to your leg. While I was a prodigy in nature magic, my brother was a prodigy in healing magic. If you like, my brother could take a look at it - but I can't promise that anything will come of it." Beneath the gold, the Bitter Steel.

09-Jun-2016 00:57:55 - Last edited on 09-Jun-2016 01:00:58 by NotFishing

D F Angel

Posts: 19,587 Opal Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

"Heh, too many years walking on broken bones," said Ormund of his leg, though it was also an apt comment on viking culture in general. "If he can manage it, I'll skin him a bear of his own. A cub, mind you. Don't reckon he'd be needing much more than a cub..."

"You have a name, son? They call me The Watcher, though what I'm supposed to be seeing is anyone's guess." Right now, he was seeing double, so perhaps that was a merit in and of itself. Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire

09-Jun-2016 01:04:30

Venom1383

Posts: 4,159 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Another entered the Leprechaun's Foot, this man of a stranger sort. The man was dressed in dusty traveling clothes, brown trousers and a dark gray tunic with big boots and a large backpack. He was 5'11 and leaning on the hefty side. But the stranger fact was that he was no man at all—for he had the head of a pig. Bristled pink skin, long snout, pointed ears at the top of his head and everything.

The Pigman walked up to the bar with a disgruntled expression on his face. "Mead." He grumbled, clearly upset. Ramsay Bolton is the king we deserve.

09-Jun-2016 01:09:06

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