Yet another Quest for a teacher of magic.
Posted: Sun Oct 07, 2007 12:32 pm
The orc stumbles through the doorway of a bar of no particular name, leaning heavily on his staff. He walks up to the barkeep, easing himself into a stool to rest his tired knee.
The orc curls his fingers under his chin as he grunts, "Greetin's to ye."
A short dwarf, worn by the ravages of retired adventuring sputters, "Ahar! Be greeted in 'The Fluffy Sheep Tavern! What do you want to drink?"
"Oh tank youze but no, nut in mood fer drink." The orc grunts with the strong taste of disappointment upon his tongue.
"Hello. What do I have to make you?" The barkeep mutters as he polishes a mug.
"Uh, az I sez... nut fer me.. Nut in mood fer drink," He blinks, staring at the man who barely stands over the height of the bar with confusion. "Say, mebbe youze cun help m-"
"Arrr! Vote for Cromwell! Arrr!" The dwarf stands up and shouts before going back to cleaning his mug, as if it were an uncontrollable mental twitch.
The orc stares at him a moment, confused and dumbfounded. "...Yuh-yhuz...I will, I pro-mice... Now, Vhor whuz wonderin' if youze coould tell him whare to find a man.... Silas? Sir Keee-vhan Lightdot told me he iz one uf few remainin' magi-teechurz poss-a-blee avail-able."
The dwarf continues on, non-responsive to the question.
"....Oooh...A'right dhen... Mebbe nut Silas bhut does youze know uf eny magi-teechur who may huz position fer apprunt-ice avail-able?" The orc leans over the bar, brow kneaded in frustration.
The dwarf sets down his mug, taps his finger to his chin as he looks around boredly, then pours himself a beer and begins quaffing.
"....Youze eethar nut hear so gude no more, or youze one uf dem dwarfs who mebbe huz -liddal bit- uf grudge toward orcs fer sum sert uf ree-soon... Lizten, mebbe I would - I dunt know, drop sum extra coin here und dere fer youze to pick up aftar I leave..."
"Arrr...?" The dwarf states as he peers into the bottom of a now empty mug, seemingly half-listening.
The orc smiles pleasantly as his tusks bear out a bit more menacingly, "Gude, now dat I huz yer att'nshun, mebbe we cun git down to sum bid-nezz? So, if youze tell me whar I cun find tee'chur uf mag-"
"ARRR! VOTE FOR CROMWELL ARRR!" The dwarf shouts and returns to cleaning his mug.
The orc stands up in a huff, leaning heavily- if not to the extent of taking his anger out on his old staff as he hobbles towards the doorway. He turns and spouts, "And tell ANYONE who iz magi und mebbe huz wunt fer apprunt-eeze dat Vhor uf Bluudskalp tribe iz lookin' fer teecher'in!"
He hobbles out and slams the door behind him...Then opens the door and shouts back inside, "CROMWELL DUN'T HUZ MY VOTE NO MORE! UND HE HUZ YOUZE TO THANK!!"
The orc curls his fingers under his chin as he grunts, "Greetin's to ye."
A short dwarf, worn by the ravages of retired adventuring sputters, "Ahar! Be greeted in 'The Fluffy Sheep Tavern! What do you want to drink?"
"Oh tank youze but no, nut in mood fer drink." The orc grunts with the strong taste of disappointment upon his tongue.
"Hello. What do I have to make you?" The barkeep mutters as he polishes a mug.
"Uh, az I sez... nut fer me.. Nut in mood fer drink," He blinks, staring at the man who barely stands over the height of the bar with confusion. "Say, mebbe youze cun help m-"
"Arrr! Vote for Cromwell! Arrr!" The dwarf stands up and shouts before going back to cleaning his mug, as if it were an uncontrollable mental twitch.
The orc stares at him a moment, confused and dumbfounded. "...Yuh-yhuz...I will, I pro-mice... Now, Vhor whuz wonderin' if youze coould tell him whare to find a man.... Silas? Sir Keee-vhan Lightdot told me he iz one uf few remainin' magi-teechurz poss-a-blee avail-able."
The dwarf continues on, non-responsive to the question.
"....Oooh...A'right dhen... Mebbe nut Silas bhut does youze know uf eny magi-teechur who may huz position fer apprunt-ice avail-able?" The orc leans over the bar, brow kneaded in frustration.
The dwarf sets down his mug, taps his finger to his chin as he looks around boredly, then pours himself a beer and begins quaffing.
"....Youze eethar nut hear so gude no more, or youze one uf dem dwarfs who mebbe huz -liddal bit- uf grudge toward orcs fer sum sert uf ree-soon... Lizten, mebbe I would - I dunt know, drop sum extra coin here und dere fer youze to pick up aftar I leave..."
"Arrr...?" The dwarf states as he peers into the bottom of a now empty mug, seemingly half-listening.
The orc smiles pleasantly as his tusks bear out a bit more menacingly, "Gude, now dat I huz yer att'nshun, mebbe we cun git down to sum bid-nezz? So, if youze tell me whar I cun find tee'chur uf mag-"
"ARRR! VOTE FOR CROMWELL ARRR!" The dwarf shouts and returns to cleaning his mug.
The orc stands up in a huff, leaning heavily- if not to the extent of taking his anger out on his old staff as he hobbles towards the doorway. He turns and spouts, "And tell ANYONE who iz magi und mebbe huz wunt fer apprunt-eeze dat Vhor uf Bluudskalp tribe iz lookin' fer teecher'in!"
He hobbles out and slams the door behind him...Then opens the door and shouts back inside, "CROMWELL DUN'T HUZ MY VOTE NO MORE! UND HE HUZ YOUZE TO THANK!!"