Author: Ourla
Title: A Bardish Prankster Takes on Kurac
Date: 2007-06-24 20:07:22
Type: Logs
Synopsis: A bardess of the Poets Circle plays an elaborate prank on the Kuracis who have hired her to entertain at their party. Never underestimate an Elkinhym.
Title: A Bardish Prankster Takes on Kurac
Date: 2007-06-24 20:07:22
Type: Logs
Synopsis: A bardess of the Poets Circle plays an elaborate prank on the Kuracis who have hired her to entertain at their party. Never underestimate an Elkinhym.
"The Tembo's Tooth" - Tavern [EWD Quit]
Smooth, sanded cylini planks have been laid across the floor of this
cramped room, their polished surface flickering in the lights of the candles.
Dark stains splatter the wooden floor at odd intervals, disrupting the
otherwise smooth contour of the wood with slight warps and bends. A curved
bar, formed from what appears to have once been highly polished agafari wood
extends from the northern wall. Spaced around it are several bare, ascetic
wooden barstools. A sturdy trapdoor has been set in the floor behind the
bar. Several rows of shelves have been inset into the wall behind the bar
and contain a variety of local ales and liquor. Willowy, vine-like plants
drape from rounded clay bowls, the gloss of their leaves reflecting the dim
light of the candles spaced around the room. Rows of booths line the
northern and southern walls while the center of the room is occupied by
two rounded tables.
A few bleached wooden casks are here.
A couple of wooden casks are here.
A couple of dull wooden casks are here.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The dirty, hair-covered half-giant is standing here.
The tan, choppy-haired man is standing here.
The tall, scarred human is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The tall, crop-haired human is standing here.
The adult human male stands near a cold eyed woman.
The robust, head-shaven man stands patiently behind the bar.
The onyx-skinned, ruby-maned man is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The shaven, pinch-faced soldier scowls as he patrols the streets here.
The brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The fuzzy, red-streaked pup is here on a leash tied to the bar.
The stocky, clean-shaven man is standing here.
The coffee-tressed young woman is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The inky-curled female half-giant towers near the bar here.
The cold eyed woman is standing here, looking a bit winded.
- she is carrying a plain bag of cloth.
The long-limbed blue-eyed man is standing here.
The spiral-tressed, bronzed woman stands here, attentively watching the area.
The wasp-waisted brunette woman is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The lanky, jade-eyed youth lounges at the bar.
The ancient, tremulous man sits at a far table, chatting to some youngsters.
Leaning against one wall, a curly-haired man keeps an eye on the tavern.
The black-bearded, heavyset man leans against the bar, frowning.
Sitting at a booth, the rangy, iron-haired woman converses with some hunters.
The toned, ruby-red half-giant sits cross-legged beside the bar.
score
You are Tsenna, of many people. (type 'tribes' to see your tribes).
Keywords: spiral-scarred black woman tsen
Sdesc: the spiral-scarred black woman
Objective: Become an archer supreme.
Long Description:
Code Generated Long Description.
You are 25 years, 1 months, and 199 days old,
which by your race and appearance is adult.
You are 66 inches tall, and weigh 6 ten-stone.
Your strength is below average, your agility is good,
your wisdom is average, and your endurance is good.
You are a little hungry and not thirsty.
You are semi-intoxicated.
Your health is 104(104), you have 114(114) stamina, and 97(97) stun.
You have been playing for 13 days and 18 hours.
You are sitting on a bare, wooden barstool, at a curved, agafari bar.
You are currently speaking sirihish with a northern accent.
Nodding to the ethereal, fair-haired woman as she begins to pick a spirited, whimsical tune on your light-stained cunyati lute, you say, in sirihish:
"May I present 'Roll Your Leg Over,' composed by Tsenna of Elkinhym as a commentary on the young men of Tuluk. "
Grinning broadly to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, you ask, in sirihish:
"May I introduce my ravishing accompaniest, Aja?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman stands away from a curved, agafari bar as she brushes a thumb over the strings of her instrument.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman holds her light-stained cunyati lute.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman walks with careful, practiced steps to the opposite side of the room from you.
At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish:
"Oh, this sounds good already."
Nodding, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"It is good...perfect for a Kuraci party."
Her low-pitched voice husky, her good eye twinkling at the stocky, clean-shaven man, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were locks on a gate,
Then I'd be the key to insert and rotate."
Her tone coy as she glances at the ethereal, fair-haired woman, grinning, you sing, in sirihish:
"I wish all the laddies were pies on a shelf,
And I was the baker: I'd eat 'em myself."
You sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were Firestorm's flame,
We'd wake up come morning with no one to blame."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman taps a foot against her chair, fingers giving a percussive snap against her strings as she plays.
The easygoing notes drizzling through the conversation in the room, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were kank beasts so fine,
Then I'd mount with a quickness, they all would be mine."
The strings ringing under your light-gauge bone pick, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were belshun fruits sweet,
Then I'd suck out their juices and chew on their meat."
Glancing out the eastern doors as she shifts chords for the chorus, you sing, in sirihish:
"Roll your leg over, and roll your leg over
And roll your leg over, its better that way."
Shrugging with a cheeky grin, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were musical notes,
Then I'd be the fiddler and I'd play em by rote."
At your table, the stocky, clean-shaven man says in sirihish, quietly:
"I could get the hang of this.. think there'll be an audience participation segment?"
A tiny, sly smirk to the stocky, clean-shaven man quirking the corners of her full lips, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were carru in clover,
Then I'd ram and I'd ram and I'd ram em all over."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman gives a laugh, fingers racing over the strings, dancing about to your singing.
Bringing a hand to her mouth, the wasp-waisted brunette woman laughs softly as she watches you.
At a compact agafari table, you overhear the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar say in sirihish, with an amused snort:
"Carru."
You sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were winds on the lea,
Then I'd be the grasses and let them blow me."
The sinewy, weather-worn man burts into laughter as he chews another bite from his half eaten large stuffed and fried gourd blossom and begins to choke.
Her dark fingers dancing over your light-stained cunyati lute's strings, in a sage tone, you sing, in sirihish:
"I wish all the young laddies were pipes in the yard,
After I drained 'em, they'd still remain hard."
The sinewy, weather-worn man somehow manages to continue laughing as he gives several hard coughs, sending partially chewed food all over the bar before him.
The tall, scarred human lets out an uproarous laugh.
At your table, the chubby, brown-haired man says in sirihish:
"That's still the best line..."
Taking a deep breath with a grin to the chubby, brown-haired man and the stocky, clean-shaven man, you sing, in sirihish:
"Roll your leg over, and roll your leg over,
And roll your leg over, its better that way."
With you eyes on her lute, the ethereal, fair-haired woman sings, in sirihish:
"And roll your leg over, and roll your leg over
And roll your leg over, it's better that way."
The spiral-scarred black woman laughs, winking to the ethereal, fair-haired woman across the room.
A hint of coyness in her low, throaty voice as she plays, you sing, in sirihish:
"If laddies were sundials in shiny stone cases,
Then I'd be the hand and I'd sit on their faces."
With a laugh, the tall, crop-haired human says to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"This...now this is a song."
At your table, the tall, scarred human says in sirihish, chuckling again:
"This -is- definitely a song..."
Flicking a smile to the tall, crop-haired human, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were cooks in the kitchen,
They'd taste my tidbits and then quit their bitchin'."
Winking broadly to the sleek, black-haired woman as the notes of your light-stained cunyati lute bleed into those of the ethereal, fair-haired woman's instrument, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were needles and pins,
Then I'd be cushion to hold their pricks in."
At your table, the chubby, brown-haired man says in sirihish:
"I'm going to cry...krath..."
Glancing warily at the fuzzy, red-streaked pup, her good eye twinkling, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were young 'toks full grown,
Then I'd be the ground where they bury their bone."
With a quick, high interlude, the ethereal, fair-haired woman says to you, in sirihish:
"Kill 'em all, Tsen, and there's no pay for us..."
The lute's rich notes purling forth as she nods knowingly, you sing, in sirihish:
"If all the young laddies were singing this song,
It'd be over too quick and it'd be half as long."
Calling out, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Everyone!"
You sing, in sirihish:
"Roll your leg over, and roll your leg over,
And roll your leg over, its better that way!"
In fragile, riotous harmony, the ethereal, fair-haired woman sings, in sirihish:
"Roll your leg over, and roll your leg over
And roll your leg over, it's better that way."
The chubby, brown-haired man adds his voice to the line, raising his red-striped granite tankard.
The tall, crop-haired human joins in the singing of the chorus.
In a terrible voice, the adult human male sings, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Ehmm....roll the leg over?"
Pounding her red-striped granite tankard lightly on a compact agafari table, the wasp-waisted brunette woman sings, in sirihish:
"Roll your leg over, and roll your leg over,
And roll your leg over, its better that way!"
The sleek, black-haired woman claps, singing along loudly.
At a compact agafari table, you overhear the wasp-waisted brunette woman say in sirihish, looking back to the brutally-scarred, crimson-haired Jihaen templar with a wave of her hand toward you:
"And -that- is why I'm throwing a humor competition."
At your table, the chubby, brown-haired man says in sirihish, to the stocky, clean-shaven man:
"Now you know why I wanted her to sing it."
The stocky, clean-shaven man says to the tall, crop-haired human, in sirihish:
"I think we should bring this one down to Luir's with us."
The stocky, clean-shaven man nods firmly at the chubby, brown-haired man.
The tall, crop-haired human grins and nods to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
At your table, the coffee-tressed young woman says in southern-accented sirihish:
"She could teach that bard in the Barrel a thing or two."
The sinewy, weather-worn man leans his head down onto his arm as it rests on the bartop with his entire body shaking with laughter.
With a laugh, you stand up from a curved, agafari bar.
The spiral-scarred black woman legs a fancy half-bow from the waist, grinning mischeviously and daintily extending an ankle.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman jumps on her chair, finishing her last note.
The sinewy, weather-worn man calls out with chorus in a loud roar and slams his fist against the bartop.
Gesturing to you, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Throw her coins...throw her coins..."
At a curved, agafari bar, you overhear the coffee-tressed young woman say in southern-accented sirihish, setting her red-striped granite tankard down and clapping:
"Kind of makes me wish I could sing."
Makes his way towards you handing over a pile of a coins, the stocky, crooked-nose man says to you, in sirihish:
"I am glad I did not miss that, that song is now one of my favorites. "
[Time passes, games are played, and drinks are drunk. After a while, people begin to trickle home for the night.]
"The Tembo's Tooth" - Tavern [EWD Quit]
Smooth, sanded cylini planks have been laid across the floor of this
cramped room, their polished surface flickering in the lights of the candles.
Dark stains splatter the wooden floor at odd intervals, disrupting the
otherwise smooth contour of the wood with slight warps and bends. A curved
bar, formed from what appears to have once been highly polished agafari wood
extends from the northern wall. Spaced around it are several bare, ascetic
wooden barstools. A sturdy trapdoor has been set in the floor behind the
bar. Several rows of shelves have been inset into the wall behind the bar
and contain a variety of local ales and liquor. Willowy, vine-like plants
drape from rounded clay bowls, the gloss of their leaves reflecting the dim
light of the candles spaced around the room. Rows of booths line the
northern and southern walls while the center of the room is occupied by
two rounded tables.
A tiny tower of glazed ceramic pieces sits here.
A few bleached wooden casks are here.
A couple of wooden casks are here.
A couple of dull wooden casks are here.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The long-braided white haired man next to a a scarred templar.
The robust, head-shaven man stands patiently behind the bar.
The slender, pitch-haired young man is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The stocky, crooked-nose man is standing here.
The chubby, brown-haired man is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The sinewy, weather-worn man is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman leans against a curved, agafari bar.
The tall, scarred human is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The fuzzy, red-streaked pup is here on a leash tied to the bar.
The stocky, clean-shaven man is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The coffee-tressed young woman is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The inky-curled female half-giant towers near the bar here.
The lanky, jade-eyed youth lounges at the bar.
The ancient, tremulous man sits at a far table, chatting to some youngsters.
Leaning against one wall, a curly-haired man keeps an eye on the tavern.
The black-bearded, heavyset man leans against the bar, frowning.
Sitting at a booth, the rangy, iron-haired woman converses with some hunters.
The toned, ruby-red half-giant sits cross-legged beside the bar.
The chubby, brown-haired man says to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Well, Cousin. I'm going to stagger on back."
With a grin, the chubby, brown-haired man asks the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Clean up, hmm?"
l me
This human female's skin is such a dark shade of brown as to be almost
black, wrapping her lanky curves like a burnished horta fruit. Her rounded
face is cupped on either side by low, broad cheekbones and a strong jaw; the
baobab-purple lips are plump on her slightly overbitten mouth. Below the
highly arched brows, her one good eye is of the deepest gold hue, the other
missing, replaced by a shallow pit of pocked tissue. Thin lines of
scarification radiate in a tight spiral from the socket across the left side
of her face. Her rangy body, while medium in height, is well-muscled and
fit with long, nimble hands and slim hips. Thick, smooth black dreadlocks
fall in regal columns over her slim shoulders, small rings of bone and agate
visible among them.
The spiral-scarred black woman is in excellent condition.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman brushes a few strands of hair out of her face with one hand.
Raising a brow, you say to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"Oh, Brethel, I had a question to ask you."
The chubby, brown-haired man nods to you.
The stocky, clean-shaven man says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"Sure... before you do... a guy from Storm might contact you, I was talking to him."
Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Hopefully not tonight...I won't understand him."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman finishes her tankard with a toss of her head.
Leaning over, you say to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"Have you ever heard the old nursery rhyme about Simple Sager? I loved it as a child."
Shaking his head, the chubby, brown-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
"Never have."
As she stands, you say to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"I simply must take just the shortest amount of your time. I'll be swift."
You stand up from a curved, agafari bar.
The chubby, brown-haired man listens to you.
Folding her hands with exaggerated primness under her breasts, you recite, in sirihish:
"Simple Sager met a baker going to the Ivory;
Said Simple Sager to the baker "Come on now, step lively.""
With a nimble little caper, winking to the chubby, brown-haired man, you recite, in sirihish:
"Said the baker to Simple Sager "Why is it you care?"
Said Simple Sager to the baker "I want to steal your wares!""
Miming an overhand throw, you recite, in sirihish:
"Simple Sager went a-runnin' for to catch a pie;
The baker saw him coming, and let his sweet goods fly."
The chubby, brown-haired man watches you with amusement.
You recite, in sirihish:
"Simple Sager sat there dripping, licking off the ginka;
"Free pie's nicer than stolen ones any day, I think-a.""
With a blithe smile on her round-boned face, you recite, in sirihish:
"He went to bake some of his own and threw them at the crowd;
They carried off poor Simple Sager, wrapped up in a shroud."
open sack
Ok.
You get your handful of flour from your long, durrit-hide sack.
It is very light.
The spiral-scarred black woman pats her cheeks with your handful of flour, reaching back into the sack for a crisp linen apron. She ties it around her waist.
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Oh oh..."
As she hunkers low behind the inky-curled female half-giant, you get your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack.
It is very light.
Stepping back, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Krath..."
Launching it through the air in a lazy arc toward the chubby, brown-haired man, you drop your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie, turning on her toes to dash off with a laugh.
Shown to the room as:
A juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie is here lays in a crumbled heap here.
As she ducks behind a compact agafari table, you exclaim to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"Arright, you can go!"
The chubby, brown-haired man takes the pie full in the face.
Peeping around the room, you get your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack.
It is very light.
Begins to reach for the tower, the slender, pitch-haired young man's hand hovers an inch away, attention clearly drawn elsewhere as he watches the pie sail.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman laughs, shaking as she looks down at you.
The stocky, clean-shaven man turns and glances at the chubby, brown-haired man, laughing wildly.
At a compact agafari table, you overhear the stocky, crooked-nose man say in sirihish, smileing back with a knock on the table:
"First time I've sat all through the party, and just glad nothing happen and nothing does, there has been enough excitement tonight"
Pegging it nimbly at the stocky, clean-shaven man, you drop your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie, her good eye twinkling gold in the lamplight.
Shown to the room as:
A juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie lays in a spattered mess on the floor.
The coffee-tressed young woman blinks, staring at the chubby, brown-haired man with wide eyes.
The slender, pitch-haired young man muffles a snicker by biting on his lower lip, looking at the chubby, brown-haired man's ginka-pie covered face.
The chubby, brown-haired man laughs, wiping the pie from his face.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman laughs hard enough to slip out of her chair, curling onto her side with amusement beside you.
The cold eyed woman chuckles.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman stands up from a compact agafari table.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman sits down.
The spiral-scarred black woman dives behind another table, peeping up briefly with her face covered in flour.
The sinewy, weather-worn man doubles over in laughter as he watches you, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Tugging it free with a wicked chuckle, you get your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack.
It is very light.
The stocky, clean-shaven man's laughter cuts off in a surprised 'gmmf!' as he is pied square in the face as well.
Grinning, pie dripping from his face, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"After all we did..."
The dirty, hair-covered half-giant has entered the world.
Sending it sailing across the room toward the sinewy, weather-worn man, you drop your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie, laughing merrily.
Shown to the room as:
Dribbling down the wall, a juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie is crumbled here.
Slanting a glance at you, the slender, pitch-haired young man says to the coffee-tressed young woman, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'd be ready to duck if I were you, she seems to have an endless supply."
Stumbling with a helpless giggle, the spiral-scarred black woman ducks behind the dirty, hair-covered half-giant.
Looking around, the stocky, clean-shaven man exclaims, in sirihish:
".. somebody give me something to throw back!"
The dirty, hair-covered half-giant walks west.
The robust, head-shaven man trades a loaf of sandhog headcheese to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
At a curved, agafari bar, you overhear the coffee-tressed young woman say in southern-accented sirihish, frowning:
"Ginka stains."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman sits up on the floor, resting her head on her knees as she laughs.
You get your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack, snaking her arm in.
It is very light.
The stocky, clean-shaven man snatches a plate from the robust, head-shaven man, leaping off his stool.
The stocky, clean-shaven man stands up from a curved, agafari bar.
The sinewy, weather-worn man gets his pile of allanaki coins from his bone-framed, double strapped coin belt.
"The Tembo's Tooth" - Tavern [EWD Quit]
Smooth, sanded cylini planks have been laid across the floor of this
cramped room, their polished surface flickering in the lights of the candles.
Dark stains splatter the wooden floor at odd intervals, disrupting the
otherwise smooth contour of the wood with slight warps and bends. A curved
bar, formed from what appears to have once been highly polished agafari wood
extends from the northern wall. Spaced around it are several bare, ascetic
wooden barstools. A sturdy trapdoor has been set in the floor behind the
bar. Several rows of shelves have been inset into the wall behind the bar
and contain a variety of local ales and liquor. Willowy, vine-like plants
drape from rounded clay bowls, the gloss of their leaves reflecting the dim
light of the candles spaced around the room. Rows of booths line the
northern and southern walls while the center of the room is occupied by
two rounded tables.
Dribbling down the wall, a juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie is crumbled here.
A juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie lays in a spattered mess on the floor.
A juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie is here lays in a crumbled heap here.
A tiny tower of glazed ceramic pieces sits here.
A few bleached wooden casks are here.
A couple of wooden casks are here.
A couple of dull wooden casks are here.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The long-limbed blue-eyed man is standing here.
The adult human male stands near the cold eyed woman.
The long-braided white haired man is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The robust, head-shaven man stands patiently behind the bar.
The slender, pitch-haired young man is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The stocky, crooked-nose man is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The chubby, brown-haired man is standing here.
The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman is sitting here.
The tall, scarred human is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The fuzzy, red-streaked pup is here on a leash tied to the bar.
The stocky, clean-shaven man is standing here.
The coffee-tressed young woman is sitting at a curved, agafari bar.
The inky-curled female half-giant towers near the bar here.
The cold eyed woman is standing here, looking a bit winded.
- she is carrying a plain bag of cloth.
The lanky, jade-eyed youth lounges at the bar.
The ancient, tremulous man sits at a far table, chatting to some youngsters.
Leaning against one wall, a curly-haired man keeps an eye on the tavern.
The black-bearded, heavyset man leans against the bar, frowning.
Sitting at a booth, the rangy, iron-haired woman converses with some hunters.
The toned, ruby-red half-giant sits cross-legged beside the bar.
The robust, head-shaven man trades a shik-blood pudding cake to the sinewy, weather-worn man.
The chubby, brown-haired man gets his red-striped granite tankard from a curved, agafari bar.
Hand still hovering near a tower of glazed ceramic pieces, the slender, pitch-haired young man watches you.
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"You throw...I'll pour."
The chubby, brown-haired man begins stalking you, moving towards a compact agafari table.
The stocky, clean-shaven man charges you, closing the distance across the room before tossing his loaf of sandhog headcheese straight at you.
With a deft underhanded toss, you drop your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie, watching it tumble through the air toward the chubby, brown-haired man as she ducks.
Shown to the room as:
In a ruin, a juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie lays splattered on the floor.
The stocky, clean-shaven man drops a loaf of sandhog headcheese.
At a curved, agafari bar, you overhear the coffee-tressed young woman say in southern-accented sirihish, sighing:
"I may as well get out of here. I lost the game and two small, and I really don't want to end up with stains all over my clothes."
The chubby, brown-haired man turns, the pie glancing off his shoulder.
Chasing after him with his shik-blood pudding cake help before him, the sinewy, weather-worn man exclaims to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Second volley, sir!"
A moment too late, the spiral-scarred black woman shrieks as a loaf of sandhog headcheese smears across her face, laughing.
The sinewy, weather-worn man gives his shik-blood pudding cake to the stocky, clean-shaven man.
You get your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack, as she dashes across the room.
It is very light.
The coffee-tressed young woman stands up from a curved, agafari bar.
Chucking it high in the air to the slender, pitch-haired young man, you drop your juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie.
Shown to the room as:
A juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie is here smeared on the floor by the doorway.
Keeping behind the inky-curled female half-giant, the coffee-tressed young woman hurries out into the street.
Pulling herself up with the help of the table, the ethereal, fair-haired woman stands up.
The coffee-tressed young woman walks west.
The inky-curled female half-giant walks west.
The chubby, brown-haired man catches up to you, attempting to hold you with one hand while he pours out his red-striped granite tankard.
Jumping over tables in his pursuit of you, the stocky, clean-shaven man asks, in sirihish:
"How many pies do you -have-, woman?"
You say, in sirihish:
"More than you could ever eat!"
The long-limbed blue-eyed man walks west.
The cold eyed woman walks west.
You get your slice of ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack, scooping it forth with a laugh.
It is very light.
Attention having bene quite fixedly on you, the slender, pitch-haired young man stands up from a curved, agafari bar, sidestepping in time to avoid the face, but getting winged on the silk-clad shoulder.
The adult human male walks west.
Chucking his shik-blood pudding cake at you, the stocky, clean-shaven man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
"Well you can eat... this!"
The stocky, clean-shaven man drops a shik-blood pudding cake.
The spiral-scarred black woman gargles, lifting her face in a sputtering attempt to swallow some of the ale gushing over her head.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman shields her face with one hand from the bits of flying pie getting scattered -everywhere-.
Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Now is when we need the ginka sauce..."
The stocky, clean-shaven man says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"Maybe we should do this at the End during the festival..."
The long-braided white haired man holds up his new large spiked wooden shield covering his head with it as cake flys all over the room.
Waving her arms helplessly, your slice of ginka pie in one hand, the spiral-scarred black woman squeezes her good eye shut as a shik-blood pudding cake joins a loaf of sandhog headcheese, mashed in her hair.
Holding onto you, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Hey...she was going to take a ride in one of the casks...help me take her to one..."
Letting it fly toward him, drops of oozy filling spraying the air, you give your slice of ginka pie to the long-braided white haired man.
Chuckling, the sinewy, weather-worn man exclaims to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Yeah, but don't announce it! The surprise is half the fun!"
The chubby, brown-haired man tries to hoist up you.
Squawking as she squirms, you exclaim to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Hey, I was just kiddin', I -swear-!"
Managing to get a hand in, you get your slice of ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack.
It is very light.
With an evil grin, the stocky, clean-shaven man looks down at you.
"The Tembo's Tooth" - Tavern [EWD Quit]
Smooth, sanded cylini planks have been laid across the floor of this
cramped room, their polished surface flickering in the lights of the candles.
Dark stains splatter the wooden floor at odd intervals, disrupting the
otherwise smooth contour of the wood with slight warps and bends. A curved
bar, formed from what appears to have once been highly polished agafari wood
extends from the northern wall. Spaced around it are several bare, ascetic
wooden barstools. A sturdy trapdoor has been set in the floor behind the
bar. Several rows of shelves have been inset into the wall behind the bar
and contain a variety of local ales and liquor. Willowy, vine-like plants
drape from rounded clay bowls, the gloss of their leaves reflecting the dim
light of the candles spaced around the room. Rows of booths line the
northern and southern walls while the center of the room is occupied by
two rounded tables.
A brackish-brown cake has been left here.
A loaf of sandhog headcheese is here in an appetizing splatter on the floor.
A juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie is here smeared on the floor by the doorway.
In a ruin, a juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie lays splattered on the floor.
Dribbling down the wall, a juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie is crumbled here.
A juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie lays in a spattered mess on the floor.
A juicy, lightly-brown ginka pie is here lays in a crumbled heap here.
A tiny tower of glazed ceramic pieces sits here.
A few bleached wooden casks are here.
A couple of wooden casks are here.
A couple of dull wooden casks are here.
The Tuluk bulletin board is here propped up on a stand.
The long-braided white haired man is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The robust, head-shaven man stands patiently behind the bar.
The slender, pitch-haired young man is standing here.
The stocky, crooked-nose man is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The chubby, brown-haired man is standing here.
The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman is standing here.
The tall, scarred human is sitting at a compact agafari table.
The fuzzy, red-streaked pup is here on a leash tied to the bar.
The stocky, clean-shaven man is standing here.
The lanky, jade-eyed youth lounges at the bar.
The ancient, tremulous man sits at a far table, chatting to some youngsters.
Leaning against one wall, a curly-haired man keeps an eye on the tavern.
The black-bearded, heavyset man leans against the bar, frowning.
Sitting at a booth, the rangy, iron-haired woman converses with some hunters.
The toned, ruby-red half-giant sits cross-legged beside the bar.
The long-braided white haired man grunts softly as a slice of ginka pie land straight into his new large spiked wooden shield with a frown.
The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Get a full one...!"
You give your slice of ginka pie to the ethereal, fair-haired woman, throwing it over the heads of a pair of surprised merchants toward her.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman says, in sirihish:
"... We drank... 'em... dry..."
The stocky, clean-shaven man picks up a bleached wooden cask.
The spiral-scarred black woman crows triumphantly at the ethereal, fair-haired woman's words.
The long-braided white haired man keeps his new large spiked wooden shield over his head.
Chuckling as he rises to his feet, the tall, scarred human says, in sirihish:
"This could get bad..."
The tall, scarred human stands up from a compact agafari table.
The stocky, clean-shaven man grunts and retrieves his bleached wooden cask from the bar, shaking his head.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman blinks in surprise, not even noticing as a ginka pie comes flying at her head.
The stocky, clean-shaven man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Not this one!"
With a the jauntiest salute she can muster, you get your slice of ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack.
It is very light.
With a laugh, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Hurry up...I can't hang on much longer...good thing I learned wrestling..."
The stocky, clean-shaven man lumbers across the room, carrying his bleached wooden cask over toward you, held out in front of him as a shield.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman gulps, freezing as globs of ginka pour down her hair and into her laced lavender silk blouse.
With a neat overhand toss at the stocky, clean-shaven man, you drop your slice of ginka pie, laughing wickedly.
Shown to the room as:
A slice of ginka pie lies on the ground, uneaten.
You get your slice of ginka pie from your long, durrit-hide sack.
It is very light.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman wets her lips as she gathers up bits of pie from her body.
The stocky, clean-shaven man holds his bleached wooden cask up in defense and catches the pie full on. It explodes, sending ginka-shrapnel -everywhere-.
Carefully dabbing it on her face first, you eat your slice of ginka pie.
You are a little hungry.
The chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Mynkas...Nahkt...Agents need some help here...head first...three times in the spiced ginka..."
The long-braided white haired man keeps his new large spiked wooden shield over his head frowning slightly as pie is thrown about the room.
Peeling the ginka-covered one off first, then the clean one, the slender, pitch-haired young man stops using his pair of deep blue, purple-trimmed silk sleeves.
Leaning heavily against a curved, agafari bar, the ethereal, fair-haired woman asks the slender, pitch-haired young man, in sirihish:
"... Agent Mika?"
The sinewy, weather-worn man move up to the chubby, brown-haired man witha quick step and takes hold of you.
The long-braided white haired man looks up at the slender, pitch-haired young man.
The stocky, clean-shaven man pops the cork on his bleached wooden cask and lifts it, trying to pour as much as he can over you... and the chubby, brown-haired man.
Renewing her squirming efforts heartily, you exclaim to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"I'll get away unless you say four dunks!"
Grinning, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Hey...not on me..."
The chubby, brown-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Four!"
The tall, scarred human splutters as ginka pie and shrapnel rain over him.
The chubby, brown-haired man opens his mouth, trying to take some of the wine in his mouth.
The stocky, clean-shaven man drops a bleached wooden cask.
After tucking the sleeves away with a chuckle, the slender, pitch-haired young man asks the ethereal, fair-haired woman, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Hm?"
The ethereal, fair-haired woman takes her ginka-filled hand and rubs it over the slender, pitch-haired young man's face.
Looking his messy, stained self over, the stocky, clean-shaven man says, in sirihish:
"I should go chase down Zaea and give her a big hug."
With a wink, the chubby, brown-haired man says to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"Sounds like a good plan."
The sinewy, weather-worn man stands well back from you to avoid your flailing limbs, laughing heartily all the while.
Standing a moment in shock, mouth opened to say something and face covered in pie, the slender, pitch-haired young man catches an arm around the ethereal, fair-haired woman's waist to hold her up as he begins to laugh.
The ethereal, fair-haired woman laughs, body shaking as she presses a ginka-stained face into the slender, pitch-haired young man's shoulder.
The spiral-scarred black woman struggles to her feet, brushing sheets of slimy ginka from your flowing black-silk dancing skirt.
The chubby, brown-haired man sits down to rest.
At a compact agafari table, you overhear the stocky, crooked-nose man say in sirihish, shaking his head as he looks upon all the pie everywhere:
"Glad I picked this time to sit, away from them...its more fun to watch..."
Blowing a kiss, the spiral-scarred black woman flicks bits of gooey pie at the chubby, brown-haired man, taking a deep breath.
Clapping out a steady beat with both hands, you sing, in sirihish:
"I don't believe there's anything as sweet as ginka pie,
If it be melting in your mouth or dripping down your eye."
The chubby, brown-haired man picks up whatever pie he can find and tries to put it in your face.
Gargling with a shriek of laughter as she tries to avoid the chubby, brown-haired man, you sing, in sirihish:
"Its golden-brown exterior is really quite exquisite,
Its scrumptious fruity innards beckon you to visit."
Her a face dripping mess, flicking a grin to the sinewy, weather-worn man, you sing, in sirihish:
"There's nothing in this world of ours as sweet as ginka pie,
Dip your tongue into its warmth, it always will comply."
Licking the pie away very slowly, to the chubby, brown-haired man, you sing, in sirihish:
"Wiggle it around a bit until you find a nubbin
Of ginka fruit beneath your tooth and slather it with lovin'."
With a cheeky smile around the room as she claps the rhythm, you sing, in sirihish:
"There's simply nothing in the world as sweet as ginka pie,
I hope today by sharing them I've won you to my side."
Calling out as she ducks her head and spreads her empty hands, you sing, in sirihish:
"If anyone has got a piece that they have yet to savor,
I bid you all, draw back your arms and now return the favor!"
The spiral-scarred black woman bows, squeezing her eyes shut.
Moving slowly to his feet, the chubby, brown-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Krath...we throw the best parties..."
Tilting his head side to side with a smirk, the stocky, crooked-nose man says to the long-braided white haired man, in sirihish:
"Well there is much more, plenty of people covered in ginka...and more importantly, lovely bardesses covered in ginka-sauce. "
The stocky, clean-shaven man says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"I declare this one a -complete- success."
The slender, pitch-haired young man puts his knot of black, viscous spice into his leather-strapped, rich purple satchel.
Nodding in agreement, an arm still wrapped protectively around a bleached wooden cask, the tall, scarred human says, in sirihish:
"Best parties ever."
The stocky, clean-shaven man says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in sirihish:
"So now we have to top this one... and keep it going... for three weeks straight."
The stocky, clean-shaven man grins.
Raising a slice of ginka pie, you say to the stocky, crooked-nose man, in sirihish:
"I concur. To you two."
The long-braided white haired man smiles looking about pie covered people letting out a loud laugh before looking back at the stocky, crooked-nose man.
The slender, pitch-haired young man slants a smirk at the ethereal, fair-haired woman, wiping his curls back as they stick to his forehead.
The spiral-scarred black woman turns a slice of ginka pie to the chubby, brown-haired man, casually letting it slide out of her hand at him.
The long-braided white haired man looks over at you raising his new large spiked wooden shield covering most of his body.
Slipping, grinning to the long-braided white haired man, you stand up.
The chubby, brown-haired man doesn't even blink as the pie strikes him in the chest.
Her hand leaving smears on the smooth leather, you get your light brown, leather instrument case from your long, durrit-hide sack.
It is very light, and about half full.
As he pounds his fist upon the table, the stocky, crooked-nose man says to you, in sirihish:
"You get him Tsenna, leave no part uncovered. "
Glancing assessingly at the chubby, brown-haired man, you ask the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"No part?"
With a smile, the chubby, brown-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
"Can't get to all my parts in here though..."
The slender, pitch-haired young man says to the chubby, brown-haired man, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I wouldn't bet on it. You challenge her, she'll get you."
Turning to address the crowd, you say, in sirihish:
"In His Light, all."
The ethereal, fair-haired woman says to you, in sirihish:
"... S'a good pie."
Lifting a hand, the sinewy, weather-worn man says to you, in sirihish:
"Shade."
The spiral-scarred black woman slides and slips toward the door, pausing once to survey the chaotic room.
You think:
"Without a hitch, Tsenna, without a hitch!"