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  1. "I-I'm sorry for the misunderstanding." Alrik stammered as the Ghor showed him the palm of his hand. It looked almost human, despite the opposite side being covered in coarse fur. The Ghor started talking about 'plasma rifles' and 'triggers', things Alrik hadn't the faintest idea existed. He took another bite of roast. "My name's Fiji," growled the large Ghor. "Enjoy your stay, or whatever." And with that, the lumbering beast rose from the booth and lumbered away. What a strange creature. Alrik thought as he finished the roast and sidled out of the booth. Seeing as there aren't many other people here, I may as well stick with him. "Hey! Fiji!" Alrik said loudly, taking a few quick steps towards the Ghor, his tattered cloak fluttering behind him. "I'm Alrik. Alrik Holt." He stuck out his hand. "I just got to this strange tavern." Alrik said, gazing around the large room. "How long have you been here?" @Ghorroj
  2. I would love to join this! I understand that I have just joined the site, and I am very new to rping, but I would love to learn to be a better writer and rper!
  3. @SteamWarden Alright! Thanks for letting me know. I can edit my post to reflect that.
  4. Alrik watched in awe as the wolfman screamed furiously, it's paws furiously pounding into the table beneath it. He grinned slightly as the beast fell to the snow, it's chest rising and falling as steam streamed from it's large snout. You don't see that everyday, thought Alrik as he turned his attention back to the inside of the Tavern. He noticed the bartender, a large, broad-shouldered man, and nodded at him. Suddenly, the door to the tavern crashed open behind Alrik. He spun around and was met with the sight of all 7-feet of the wolfman, its teeth barred beneath its silvery, blue fur. The beast pounded over to Aldrik and slid into the booth across from him. "If you're planning any trouble, don't. I'll have to drop you outside and it's pretty cold out there," The wolfman growled. Alrik felt his dagger, hidden beneath his tattered robes, press against his skin. "Unless you want to help me play 'kick the snowman', anyway. That'd probably be fine, but I'd better ask Just Barkeep first." The wolfman continued, just as Gwen returned with Alrik's food from the kitchen. He thanked the waitress and paid her what little money he had before taking a slice of the venison and stuffing it in his mouth. Oh wow, he thought. Even better than I expected! Alrik looked up at the wolfman. "I don't want any trouble, sir." Alrik mumbled between bites of pot roast. "I just arrived here and, from where I come from, you don't see many wolfmen. Especially at taverns." @Ghorroj
  5. Alrik pushed open the tavern’s doors, his tattered cloak pulled tightly around his body. The light inside the squat, nondescript building blinded him for a moment, as did the variety of delicious smells emanating from the kitchen at the far end of the room. How did I get here? Alrik thought, rubbing his eyes as he glanced around the room. Several patrons lounged about at glistening wooden tables. Others hung from rafters positioned several feet in the air, their feet and other appendages dangling over the rest of the bar. Alrik felt his stomach grumble. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. He stumbled over to a nearby booth and called over the nearest waitress. “Hi there! Welcome to the Tavern of Legend!” The waitress said, green eyes glittering in the yellow candle light that illuminated the room. “I’m Gwen. What can I do for you?” Her voice had a soft accent to it that, try as he might, Alrik just couldn’t place. “I, uh, can I get whatever smells so amazing?” Alrik grumbled, his hoarse voice quiet in the loud tavern. “Ah of course!” Gwen replied, her soft, pink lips parting into a smile that revealed shimmering white teeth. “What you’re smelling is Chef Berwater’s Famous Venison Pot Roast! I’ll bring that right out to you!” She spun towards the kitchen, her loose black skirt swirling around her long, pale legs. Alrik pulled off his cloak and placed it in the booth next to him. It was going to be nice to get some food in his stomach after so long without. Suddenly, a flash of blue light entered the tavern from the window next to Alrik's booth. He glanced outside and watched as a wolfman snapped his fingers repeatedly, a pile of viscera lying in the snow in front of him. What in the world? Alrik thought, eyeing the beast curiously.
  6. Currents

    Alrik Holt

    Epithet: Alrik Holt Moniker: None Title: None Visual Age: 26 Birth Place: Union City, Genesaris Race: Human Alignment: Lawful Good Gender: Male Hair: Alrik has short cropped brown hair. A thin scar extends from his forehead to around the middle of the top of his head where no hair grows. He is normally seen with light stubble covering his face and neck. Eyes: Alrik has deep brown eyes that, unless he is standing in a well lit environment, appear to be almost black. Height: Average height, perhaps around 5”10. Weight/Build: Alrik is thin, his frame carrying very little fat or muscle on it. Voice: His voice is deep, some may describe it as husky even. He is frequently hoarse as well and is quite soft spoken. Clothing: Alrik sports a long, ragged cloak over a sweat and dirt stained white blouse. His brown cloth pants are tattered and adorned with several colourful patches, specifically around the knees. Alrik wears a thin silver chain around his neck, with a small cylindrical pendant covered in miniscule runes. Skills: After living his entire life on the streets of Union City, Alrik is a skilled beggar and barterer. In combat, he is skilled with a dagger and with his fists, though he will never fight unless provoked. He is also magic sensitive and has learnt to cast a couple basic spells. His most practiced spell is pulling and pushing objects telekinetically, a skill that he uses proficiently in combat. Inventory: Nothing of note except a steel dagger he carries in a sheath on his left side, hidden inside his tattered cloak. The dagger, though appearing ordinary, pulses with a faint energy that only the most observant can notice. Background: Alrik was born on the streets on Union City. His father, a member of the city guard, abandoned Alrik’s mother after learning of her pregnancy. Alrik’s mother died of the plague when he was around 15 years-old, leaving him to fend for himself in the rougher areas of Union City. Before she passed, however, she instilled in Alrik a deep sense of justice. As such, though he had many opportunities to commit crimes and other misdeeds to better his situation, Alrik pushed himself to be noble in even his darkest hours. He frequently stands up for those less capable than himself, be it against corrupt members of the city guard or members of the gangs that inhabit the more dangerous parts of Union City. Currently, Alrik begs outside of a tavern owned by a kindly patron that frequently gives Alrik the leftover scraps. He hopes to one day save up enough money to travel to Umbra to enrol in Bronte, the Academy of the Arcane.
  7. Welcome!

    1. Currents


      thanks so much! happy to be here! can't wait to start rping!

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