When the troll asks for the stick of charcoal, the barkeep obliges, curious. As he reaches to write on the walls, a few more heads turn, although most remain fixed on their drinks and games. (13+5)The first (B4) seems to give the walls a slight sheen - almost imperceptible at a glance, and it quickly fades to nothing. (8+5) The next (T1(A3,C8)) has a similar effect, albeit creating a slightly fainter shine. (12+5,13+5) As the final pair is applied, a faint gold colour suffuses the room for a moment, causing far more of the patrons to turn from their activities. However, they quickly look away as an individual in the corner cries out victoriously, slamming a hand of cards down onto the table.
Meanwhile, the pirate lad moves to the bar, where the barman is taking up his position with habitual ease. The herbalist passes by him, through the indicated door, leading onto a small corridor, with six doors leading off. Trying the first reveals it to be open, and beyond lies a small room, containing a single straw mattress, covered with a surprisingly soft double folded blanket, on a solid wooden frame. Besides this lies a wooden crate, and on the wall above there is an unlit oil lamp. The bed and the crate together fill the entire breadth of the room, and there is little more than standing space at the base and side of the bed.
Outside, the barman has turned to the human woman - a slight grin rests on his face. ’Now, you’re in luck lady. Most of the wine supplies were burnt up in the attack or the aftermath, but we keep the good stuff locked up down in the cellars. And did I hear you say Savanal? Give me a moment, and I’ll be right back.’ He turns to the lad next, and casts an eye over his dress. ‘Well, I haven’t seen many of your lot about recently. Rum you said, right? Pretty much the same position as the wines. Two minutes….’ Saying this, he disappears down a corridor behind the bar.
The conversation continues for a short while, as the level of noise in the room rises, although no single voice rises above the others. As the hubbub nears it’s peak, the elf returns, the sound of his running preceding him. In his hands he clutches two bottles, and he almost drops them on the bar, his eyes flicking around the room.
‘Just take them, ‘kay?’ His eyes meet the troll’s, and his grin breaks out into laughter. ‘i don’t know your runes well enough to tell you what you wrote, but by the gods ser, you’ve done us well! Even the burnt cellars seem fuller, and the saferoom -’ He breaks off as a roar emerges from besides one of the card tables.
‘Cheat!’
‘What? What do you mean? I haven’t done anything!’
‘And yet you keep losing and losing but you’re pile’s growing bigger!’
‘I swea-’
The first figure, a black skinned orc covered in scars and muscles, gets to his feet, lifting with him a significantly shorter dwarf, dressed in the full blacks of one whose work might not be described as such.
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Topic: The Lone Isle RPG: The return (Read 23812 times)