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ChaoticanWriter last won the day on July 11

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    ChaoticanWriter (Matt)

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  1. Gavin blinked. A voice spoke from the chair on the other side of him. It contained hints of gravel, baritone, and smoke, like someone was twanging a lute in his ear on the lowest string. He turned himself to the other side, his eyes seeing a dark pair looking back in their direction. By the look of him, he seemed a strange bit different than some of the other patrons. Nearly all of them were shades of grit; beach sand, dirt, mud, soot, charcoal, rotten seaweed, bits of vomit and shit. This one had motifs of lowland desert. The only one wearing a stenson. Not to mention the badge grinning at Blackjack. Oh look. A third wheel! Gavin thought. Not that I was keeping my conversation with Antique to myself. Still... where's the rest of the wagon? Blackjack's brow raised lightly in amusement, and flashed a smile. He pointed to his hat. "Ey! Haven't I seen ya from somewhere!?" he asked. Clearly a lie. He's never seen this man before in his life. However, the question was always keen to attract an answer; something to gauge who this person was from the outset. Responses were often quite revealing. Sometimes, he could spot a liar or a threat in the first interaction. ... In his profession, knowing these things from the beginning saved a pint of blood at least. Also, there was something about the badge. It suggested something. Both parts law and disorder. He looked like an enforcer; a constable of a law written in the dark. Perhaps a former constable? ... If Blackjacks abundant capacity of caution allowed him to guess, he could be law enforcement. He could be someone with a shared mercenary profession as Blackjack. He could also be a lone wolf, sizing up prey, looking for an opening to sink his teeth into. ... Or just someone looking for an excuse to drink; there's always that.
  2. Played "Monster of the Week" (Tabletop RPG) for the first time last night. In the specific campaign my friend is running, everyone played a band of show-biz people, actors, and influencers that are all burnouts, Birdman-style, and get invited to this party on a giant zeppelin by a hyper-rich mogul, who seems to be growing sketchier and sketchier by the moment. My character is MattAttack!1!, a Let's Play Gamer who lost a bunch of followers because of an incident trying to make a scary/trolly video in an abandoned mansion because my camera person got severely injured because of my carelessness. I'm basically the mundane one of the group who freaks out easily at everything remotely scary, and defends himself with his skateboard and his "anime-girl" etched nunchucks. XD ... His special move is a fight-or-flight reaction which causes him to dropkick his enemies,... in accordance with his "D-d-d-d-dropkick that Like Button" catchphrase. Other characters of the group involve knockoffs of Randy Savage, Bruce Cambell / Ash (Evil Dead), Bear Grylls, Barney the Dinosaur, and others. Their burnout status involves the entire spectrum of scandal.
  3. "Antique. Lovely! ... Mine 's Gavin, but those who once knew me did so by th'name Blackjack." Blackjack found Antiques name curious. He refrained from making any pun or question of her name; people who are careless with the names of others usually lose teeth. Or a tongue, depending on the person. Try making a gaff or pun without either of those thing in your employ. Blackjack knew a compatriot who was a practical joker in an earlier life who was captured and returned to his party with no more jokes to tell. Gavins eyes drift for a moment as he takes his reflection. Again, his mind turns to war,... just like that. It was going to take considerable time for him to evade these spirits of yonder memory, and he doubted he would afford that peace of mind in his lifetime. A fortune it was that he came out with most of himself intact, and little regret of deciding to leave the old shores. Antiques voice spoke again, and he blinked, returning to the world. He smiled. The witful attempt was welcome; it seemed like most he talked to thus far on his journey were cautious, shy, or were born with eyes that were best to judging from across a room. Candor. A missing virtue of conversation. Sincerity? Possibly. One could never know in a battle of roguish wit and whimsy... whether one was wakefully wrapping wonders with a womanly wanderer, or was he unwittingly awaiting a waylay with a warring womans waysighted weapon and then whack! .... wounded... or worse.... wretched red waterfall,... wailing weakened words, weary, and withering away with the worms. (Gavin knew a bard or two in the service.)... He studied the gold in her eyes carefully. At least for now, Gavin sensed no ill will from his new friend, and so why not throw the caution to the wind and engage in the next round of whiskey? "They say liquor after ale makes one deathly pale." Blackjack said with a bit of a song in his voice, before speaking the next piece plain. "But my gut 's iron-clad if your is!" ... ((So. Drunken montage? =3 ))
  4. Blackjack had no disagreement there. He had seen plenty a loss, and plenty of people he fought beside suffering beating or death because of it. Losing was an ugly affair. Especially in war. In terms of winning, it really depended on the goal of the fight. Protecting your dignity, standing your ground, or fighting for you life makes winning a sweeter affair. Those who lose can lie in the mud for all he cared. Yet, he knew, as he realized his new friend knew, that most fights were fights of aggression, regardless what side they were on. Nobody deserved victory, even the winner. The only palpable justice was the ugliness that came from loss. Gavin smirked at her reference of the establishment, "The world has a talent for hidin' that of which makes it most interesting." Perhaps with double-meaning, granted his newfound conversation. Indeed. In terms of the establishment, one comes no closer to the wilderness of human kind than a true hole-n-the-wall. Especially if its built of old stone, and strong liquor. "Oh. Trust. I 'ave no designs. Just in need of a way to pass the eve. ... The names Gavin. Some call me Blackjack. ... And you are?" He greeted his new acquaintance, and began to speak the basics. How he stepped on-shore earlier today with a mission of adventure and discovery. The reason for his immigration, to escape a bit of his previous occupation of named mercenary work for pointless, petty wars. He was light on the details, but enough for her to get the profile and his intention to settle new ground,... start over... if not simply reveal the uncertainty of being on new shores. ------------------------ Once he had a moment to listen to his new acquaintance and catch her name , he manages to return to her earlier inquiry. Where to sit. ... He peers out amongst the various tables sprawled across the room. His eye zeroed once again to the one table in the back, featuring the group of private individuals who seemed to be playing a game of chance. A mysterious air of smoke hung above the table, as each player at the table eyed each other with secrets in their eyes. Individuals of various shades exchanging crafty, calculated words, each vying for the treasure at the center of the table. Seated with them, the same man with the eyeball in the jar. In a brief flash, he noticed the table lay out its cards, and a couple of players stood up once from their chairs, and cursed with grit in their teeth before stomping away. ... Well, look at that. Looks like the card table has opened up. A loud chorus of voices sounded from the other direction. Gavin blinked, and looked to the opposite side of the room. A boisterous band bellowed the words of a shanty which Blackjack recognized as a sailors tune, with words of seafaring and plunder. Pirates? They seemed like more jovial and reckless lot than the frigate he floated in on. A woman with a large scar across her face, a large red pointed hat, and a worn but grand-looking red admirals uniform stood up with her tankard in the air, leading the group of all shapes and sizes. A mean lot if caught on a bad night, but tonight seemed far from it for them. "Why not the one over there?" Gavin inquired to the gambling table. He turned to look toward the woman. "Unless you're not a fan of a game of chance? Perhaps the lovely bunch of seafaring bards is more your type. ... I'm otherwise not opposed to keepin the conversation between us two." If the choices weren't a bombardment enough, a question sparked behind his eyes. "By the by, Y'don't happen to know much about more... 'syndicated'... perhaps 'thefty' occupations here in the Rising West, if you catch my drift? Once again. No designs. ... Just making conversation." A half truth.
  5. Y'know, I wondered if having an entry about roleplaying, the value of it, and how to participate in it would be a great topic! (Would have the added benefit of plugging Valcure. 😉 )
  6. Hello Valucreants! Input and opinions requested! As some of you know from seeing a couple of my posts, or seeing me around in general, I run a niche blog called ChaoticanWriter. (-waves-) The story behind it was to be sort of a "writers platform" for myself. Since I'm being quite slow to write actual fiction pieces, and since I've had ridiculous trouble nailing down a proper pseudonym (my real name is super-common), I've instead used it as a community-forward place where I write or post about writing or worldbuilding topics. It was sort of a long-shot endeavor, but I managed to gain some cool perks, and provide some value to people! =D My best article has more than 10,000 organic views. Yey! A bunch of people have used some of my writing prompts on their own blogs or sites as a basis for short stories A few people thought my two-article series on Types of Governments in world-building was super cool! Some Wikipedia pages cited my site as one of the sources. These sound bigger than they actually are, but it's a sure sign that over the past couple years, the site hasn't just become some obscure place nobody has seen. ------------- Anyhow, I have some topics and stuff partially written, but I really would like input from people in the writing / worldbuilding / creative / roleplaying space. I'd like to actually spend my writing time focusing on stuff people would be into, given the literary/intellectual space I've taken up. What kind of topics do you like to read about? Have there been any big questions you've asked about writing or world-building that you haven't had the answer to? OR, that you did a bunch of research on, and find fascinating! Are you more into reading -about- writing and worldbuilding, or do you prefer to read things like short fiction, flash fiction, etc? What are your influences when it comes to character creation, or world-building? Bunch of other similar questions, but really welcoming you to explore the space and tell me about what interests you! Thank you all in advance for your input! =3 It means a lot to me as a writer.
  7. A den of wild animals and drunkenness. There in the spacious stone undercroft, under a ceiling with crossing arches, rugged pillars, and flagstone flooring, a tight sea of mingling patrons of various bands cackled, caroused, and clamored about. In the far corner, a trio of musicians played merrily with instruments Gavin was not much familiar with; a stringed instrument with a long neck and flat-teardrop of a base, a set of drums shaped like braziers, and a set of three flutes strapped together and spread out like a fan. As Blackjack meandered forward, his lips curved in a smirk that expressed mild interest, but hid an earnest desire to plaster himself a permanent grin. He set to eye out the far corners as to measure the extent of entertainment at his fingertips, perhaps seeking a table of gambling fools of which to encroach upon after a few drinks in. Amid the chaos, his perceptiveness failed him on the recent bout of violence that transpired over towards the bar, as his view was blocked by a small group of laughing drinkers; men with long beards, fur caps, and rugged gamblesons. Even as they passed, his focus was measuring a few of the oddities. In particular, a strange fellow at one of the gambling tables, heavyset, with an eye-patch and a stoppered glass jar on the table in front of him. It at first looked to be filled with pickle juice and a single egg, when Gavin realized it wasn't an egg. That might explain the eyepatch. Then, someones voice pulled his attention. Behind him, black curls crowned a head of fair almond, and golden orbs gleamed in his direction, albeit with a mix of intention and inebriation. Her first words were hard to make out, causing him to lean closer. Her second words pulled him back again, shouted over the ruckus and hitting him firmly in the eardrums. ... though, I enjoy the phrase. Its quite catchy. After his momentary wince, he reformed composure and smiled with a raised brow. "When one wishes willingly!" Gavin hid a second wince. Trying to play "bard" aren't we? A simple "yes" would have been sufficient. Yet, Blackjack let the words hang in the air, confident by them in appearance at least. He gave her a steady gaze, despite an odd pause hanging in the air as if he were to follow it up with something redeemingly clever. Instead, he gestured towards the bar. "Lead the way, miss." As she turned the way back toward the bar, he followed, snaking through the murder of crows toward the long stretch of bartop. Leaning against it with a casual air, he ordered his drink, taking his time to note the others along the bar. As the space opened for time, some half a minute later, he turned his attention returned to the woman. At first, he said nothing, just flashing a half-hearted smirk when she looked back. Once the glass of whiskey was poured, he faced forward, took a deep inhale of the smoke-laden air, and took the glass by his fingertips. Continuing to lean forward at the bar, he manages to utter some words before his first take. "Did you win?" he asked. It was a rogue question, thrown into the air with no context or origin of conversation. Despite not noticing the fight, we was noticing her prodding her side, which was enough to figure that she had been in a tussle of some kind. ... Once his throat felt the burn of the whiskey recede, he turned to face her. "I noticed you checkin' for bruises." he said. "I would have figured a personal quarrel, but you don't seem like the type to take that sort of trouble."
  8. Super! You are more than welcome to! And I enjoy the post. Your character seems equal measures savvy, surly, and slurring. =D Happy to play a catalyst in your characters revival. Taking more discussion points with @Malintzin , I've figured out what my goal for the thread is going to be, but naturally threads such as these go the direction that fate has decided for them. Still, these are my thoughts on how I'm going to play Blackjack: As a player, I've decided that there is more value to being a character central to a setting/community, rather than a free-radical. So, I'm playing Blackjack as a recent transplant with a bloody past who is disillusioned with war and petty mercenary work, and wants to start something new. This will likely manifest in him gaining the funds to buy out the Withering Wyrm (tavern), and become its new owner. ... Granted, this will not prevent him from mingling in the criminal world, but will allow him to gain some "white gloved" renown for once. Obtaining ownership has three obstables: realization, money, and extortion. Blackjack will realize that he'll need to change his ways (slightly) by the end of the thread, and decide that running a business is the way to do it. Blackjack needs funds (in any case). Easiest way would be through gambling, but not necessarily the only way. Unbeknownst to Blackjack, the Withering Wyrm is being extorted by a local ganger. Who that person is, whether they are alone or part of a group, and how they're extorting, is open to other player influence. Blackjacks profile is bare-bones. My apologies for that. I was initially going to discover him in-media-res, and realized it was me putting myself in literary debt. If you want a quick summary, then I'll do so in true DnD5e character sheet style. Ideal: "The best way to get me to do something is to tell me I can't do it." Trait: "Ive done plenty of bad things to good people. There's no good in pretending to be something I'm not." Bonds: "Someone saved my life on the battlefield. To this day, I will never leave a friend behind." Flaws: "I have a weakness for the vices of the city, especially hard drink, gambling, and other carnal pleasures." Also, @zackrobbman, you're free to play Clive if you're interested! The more the merrier. Port Kyros, being its traditional eastern port-city, will probably be on the more exotic side. It's certainly gaining Blackjacks attention. My work week is definitely busier, but I'll make sure to get a response to your post soon. Happy writing! 😃
  9. So I'd like to know from the wider Valucre... Why do you roleplay? For me... I roleplay in order to provide myself scenarios to live out characters in my head, and experience adventures with a level of appreciation and gratitude for what comes out of me in the form of words. It helps me sharpen my prose and practice with my literary toolbox. Moreso, rather than just "writing",... the reason I roleplay is for the social aspect. To be able to mingle with the creative minds of others, playing my characters alongside others characters, my projections of storytelling alongside others. Theres a unique kind of dynamic when you are matching creative egos with (and against) someone else. Both people are showing a part of themselves, their personality, and their knowledge that is encoded in character development, and in order to decrypt and decode it, one must take their own projection and observe it. Interact with it. Like a social experiment driven purely by imagination. How about you?
  10. Greetings, and welcome to V A L U C R E! You definitely discovered a great place to entertain your talents for roleplay! The Lore here is well written, and rounded for most settings and styles of role-play! The place has seen multiple changes, updates, and revisions over the years. I'd recommend: - Looking at the main descriptions for the three continents. Just the high-level stuff. - Going to the Water Cooler to see what kind of story-lines are abrewing, what threads are open, and what quests there might be. - Develop your first character, and find a group, established thread, or new thread to start out with. (Also. Don't do what I did and just start a random thread in a random forum. =3 I used to RP here years ago, and just came back from a hiatus. Most RP's here are co-ordinated OOC.)
  11. I posted the thread link on my first post. The first post, he comes across the Withering Wyrm, which is the tavern that (I decided after the fact, not stated in the thread) I want him to own by the end of the thread. Second post, he gets bored, and seeks out the underbelly of Port Kyros, and comes across a different place... a back-alley pub for sailors, pirates, and theives. He'll likely get involved in either gambling, burglary, or smuggling....or some other criminal venture.... and gain the finds to afford the tavern by the end.
  12. Greetings RPers of all shapes and sizes! I'm seeking some willing participants who might help me along in one of my quests! In the city of Port Kyros, a newcomer has set foot on land, and is embarking on a time of discovery of it's underbelly, and will soon come into the position of acquiring a tavern! Will his history as a scoundrel and a mercenary, and thirst for seedy places get him in hot water? Will be prevail to acquire funds, and realize his destiny of being a tavern-keeping resident of this city? *record slows* ...erm,.. *sigh* So... I made this character, and he's the first RP character I've made in years. Aaand... I sort of just threw him into his own thread without any plan, co-ordination, recruitment, or thinking? 🤔 Chose the most baseline quest in Port Kyros, and rolled the dice, and after a couple of solid posts, its crickets. I'm looking for someone who has a character (hopefully one in the area) that can warrant him some interaction, so that its not just me... typing to myself for 15 posts. I know. It's dumb. I should have known better. I shouldn't have bet all of my limited bandwidth on a quest without any planning. I should have figured out what his motivations were before I started posting. I should have figured that my history with revolving-door, open RP's would have backfired. I should have given my character big sparkly anime eyes, quirkiness dialed up to 11, and infinite power levels motivated by teenage angst. I should have become an intern, working in the mail room while getting my way through RP school, and eventually climb the ladder to becoming senior manager. Its been a while since I've done this. Halp? ...
  13. Humble beginnings. First foray into the port city, a bit of alcohol and conversation with patrons and tavernkeeps, learning the dialogue, eyeing the sights, and a bed to lie and let the burns of the sun heal. Years of wandering between petty kingdoms and fighting useless causes led to his exodus from the home continent, and now, he found himself in a city the likes of which he never laid eyes on. The locals certainly had interesting customs. A mesh of people who claim to be from all over the continent, but the locals in particular were exceeding the bounds of normal hospitality,... that is... the level of hospitality Gavin was used to. Frankly, he was used to fighters in the wilds, the seedy parts of cities, and the bigoted reception of high-class snobs, monarchs, and their armed entourage. As harmonious and relaxing as the first day was, the midnight crow cawed in his mind. At once, the comfort of the bed suddenly felt like quicksand beneath him. The peace was deafening. Where some reveled in the comfort, something else nagged at him. A sense of misplacement. A thirst to fend off the simplicity of it all. Damn it all! What is this feeling? It is... is it... Yes. Boredom. Too little recklessness. Too little danger. In the moments that followed, his feet touched the ground, and like a terrible wind, he grabbed for his equipment, shuffled out the door, and proceeded down the street. Carefully laid, aged brick spoke of history, but it was a heralded, grand history which spoke nothing of the toils of social decay. It was like an open-air museum, and the taste in his mouth soured. He needed a different place to spend his time until the witching hour, a truer test of the cities nature; the kind of environment which bled intoxication like the dew off a barrel of whiskey. The type of place where the air was thick in the schemes and laments of the seedy. His eyes judged the make of the bricks beneath, as if seeking their every flaw, counting them as he wandered the streets, his ears tuned to find the candor of loud, anarchic chorus that made weaker wanderers turn boot. As luck would have it, after twenty minutes of this urban tracking through narrower and narrower streets, he heard in the distance of an open alley the sounds he was looking for. Coming to and from the alley, a cackling entourage of scoundrels, sailors, pirates, and brigands,... each obvious of their station yet unrelated to each other by Gavins collection, wandered the narrow street much the same way patrons several drinks into a binge would. The scent was one of smoke from a nearby pit, the salt of the sea wind, the breath of drunks, and the refuse of ill intention. Just my kind of people. At the far end of the alley, beyond the flicker of ominous torchlight, an iron banded door marked the epicenter of their comings and goings. On its face, lie a rough carving of a dagger and a chalice. A tavern with no name. Something to give him the lay of the true face of Port Kyros, at the time of the night when the watch were dozing to sleep, and the locals dreamed of black swifts... or whatever they dreamed about at night. ... Study of his drunken street specimen grew into familiarity eventually, which drew him into the street light, his stride finding the correct tempo. Granted, it didn't prevent any gawking looks from some of them, but it didn't attract any wrongful attention. As he reached the end of the alley, and pushed open the door, a cacophony rushed past him, the shouting and cheering and singing and angry yelling and glass breaking coming upon his senses at once. He moved down the stairs into the underground bar, where he came face to face with the menagerie, drunken animals of all stripes and colors, of various roars, and sharpness of claws. The scent billowed in a mixture of smoke, spent powder, spilled drinks, sweat, bad breath, and that oh so beautiful smell of sentient refuse. Blackjack smiled. My kind of place alright!
  14. I should probably add that I've released a couple new articles at my site as well! =D A listing of 36 different types of governments. A small snapshot as a world-building resource! Worldbuilding: 36 Types of Government (Part 1) Worldbuilding: 36 Types of Government (Part 2)
  15. [Note: This RP is an open thread candidate for the Become Somebody quest for Port Kyros.]

 -------------------- Dead wood beholds an aging lamp post, standing tall at the top of the incline from the pier. The cage shifts back and forth, as much as heavy iron could in the sea wind. Facing against the sea, six legs crawl eagerly, a copper-red body seeking out its future nest. The wharf borer, a tiny critter known to burrow itself into old docks and ships, prods the tall pole with its antennae, tasting the wood as it climbed higher. Near to the metal ring that beheld the lantern, seeing the bits of crevices underneath, it begins tearing at the fibers of the wood grain.
 A sudden blow cracks its exoskeleton. Its front legs barely holding on before its torn from its grip, its body crushed under beak. ... The black bird, having watched from the end of the lanterns arm, leaps with wings spread to grasp the top of the pole, and proceeds to devour the borer in a swift motion. Its meal eaten, it takes flight from the pole, soaring over the docks

. -------------------- The heavy thunks of boot steps resound along the ramp coming down from the now docked trading ship, as sailors and mercers with crates and marked barrels shuffled to and from the vessel. Blackjack's feet land on the pier. His eyes caught the flight of a black swift floating high above the port. Its wings glided on the breeze, as if to make its presence known. Gavin figured avians couldn't give a shit-covered feather over the thought two-legged ground dwellers, but Gavin would take a symbol of fortune any day. May it be known by the lady of luck that today was a special occasion. It was a new land; a new morning. Against the gleam of the sun, a city lied before him, it's towering spires and rolling sea of baroque dwellings, some fine, others ramshackle, laid thick on his curiosity. 

 "I wouldn't be walkin' too far from the ship before the bill has been paid, Mr. Nobb." the bosun called from the ship. Gavin turns and looks up to the red-bearded man in uniform.
 "Aye. Could have sworn that barrel the crew finished off the other night was payment enough." Gavin shouted back. The bosun chuckled at him, his voice taking a reproachful tone.
 "Now now, Mr. Nobb." he said. "Whiskey's always welcome aboard my ship, but travelers pay the toll. Last we spoke, I only got half of the lot from you. If every land-hopper paid me in barrels, this ship would be liverless as a floatin' cadaver under the gulls." Gavin grinned, pulling the strap of his pack For how snake-tongued Gavin was in his trade, the wit of experienced sailors was disarming even to him. For a moment, he was tempted to play at the mans patience, but decided against it. 

 "Sounds like you got bit by the barrel yourself. You don't remember? I gave you the other half!" ... Before the bosun could protest, Gavin took his hand and pointed to his vest, midway up the left side. The bosun blinked, interpreting the gesture to open his jacket. His eyes lit up in confusion upon realizing a pouch of coins was sitting in his inside pocket; the pouch that Gavin slipped into his jacket just before he had stepped off the ship. ... "Safe voyage!"

 Sometimes, you have to use your roguery for entertainment. Can't risk the setting in of rust, now can we?

 Without a look back, Gavin turned and made long strides towards the interior of the pier, casual and careless as the wind.


The people were donned in various degrees of dress, from couples with finely tailored frock coats and dresses with corsets wearing gleaming jewelry, to dull grey rags with one too many tears. An eclectic sort, while present altogether, not intermingling. A city of open doors, with a class divide. Seems like a town where a man like him can find some opportunity. A swindle here, a pick-pocket there,... and then perhaps move on to some serious sell-sword work! 
 First, one needs to know the place of operation.
 Get the lay of the land. Know the locals. Know who to make friends with, who to avoid, and... if you're feeling like a complete charlatan,... who your marks are. 

 Months it had been since he left the old coast, a withered heap of war-torn landscape, worn out welcomes, and more than coins worth of regret. Sometimes, Gavin figured, if you found yourself hanging from a ledge with too much baggage strapped to you, your best off cutting the rope and going elsewhere.

 His first few hours in the city composed of short conversations with mercers, tavern keepers and the like. A few drinks and some "manually" acquired funds later, the most important details of the city were established, which placed Gavin on course towards the Old City, to an inn that was mentioned to be a distance from the Nova Citadel, but within sight of it, an old tavern known as the Wretched Worm.


As the fine brick turned to old stones, and color began to gray, the older parts of the city exposed themselves. Nestled amongst the more ancient stonework and winding, narrowing roads, the Wretched Worm sneered across the way, its overly gothic decor spilling a sort of alluring yet novel atmosphere. The wood panel, iron-banded sign hung from a dragon-shaped arm, its letters drawn in an extravagant serif calligraphy.

 Stepping into the establishment, he eyes its interior. If one could imagine a collection of features which a normal person would call rich, but a noble turned down due to the lack of detail or the number of imperfections, it may go on to describe what the inside of this tavern and inn looked like. A fireplace with a chipped mantle. Fine chairs with worn coverings. Onamented wood panel with plenty of cracks and pieces missing. A long, polished bar with mahogany stools, all scratched or stained. The room seemed to suggest honest attempts at luxury, without being anything luxurous. Hand-me-downs from some uncertain donor. Perhaps several, over multiple hands. There were few patrons within the place, being mid-day. The true alcoholics, as it were. "Merry morning, sir!" a dark skinned woman in a simple, short-sleeved, black corset dress spoke in a courteous and song-like tone from behind the bar, having finished sorting bottles in the cabinet behind her. A pinch of proper accent for addressing guests, over a genuine city-dweller voice, and busy undertone as not to draw out the courtesy too far. "Are you looking for a drink? Our drinks are distilled right here in the Old City. Or perhaps is it a room you're looking for?" Blackjack stepped to the bar, declining a stool, with his palms on the bartop, eyes rolling across the top of his gaze as if pondering to himself, before flashing a clever smirk. "All of the above, lass." ...
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