Author: Rhyden
Title: Zan
Date: 2009-03-27 04:02:23
Type: Logs
Synopsis: After losing another bagful of obsidian coins, the foolish thief Zan is summoned by the Guild Boss Marin. During the meeting, Zan soon learns the punishment for his mistakes and the lack of mercy in the Guild.
Title: Zan
Date: 2009-03-27 04:02:23
Type: Logs
Synopsis: After losing another bagful of obsidian coins, the foolish thief Zan is summoned by the Guild Boss Marin. During the meeting, Zan soon learns the punishment for his mistakes and the lack of mercy in the Guild.
The Main Room of the Bard's Barrel [NSW]
A myriad of grinning skulls, each painted with bright colors laid
over the pallid bone, stare down from the broad wooden shelf that lines this
spacious room at eye level. Splashes of blue, green and red cover the clay
brick walls in an enthusiastic but inexpert abstract mural, some spatters of
the same paint dotted across the red tiled floor. The room is filled with
clamor: the clink and clatter of dishes and drinks, instruments being tuned,
scraps of song, and a general constant roar of conversation. A small wooden
stage sits along the northern wall, two ragged velvet curtains framing it,
looped back with blue-dyed ropes. A wide archway leads out onto the dusty
street, while a smaller one to the west provides a glimpse of a smaller,
quieter chamber.
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The wiry, bald man is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.
The light-skinned young man is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.
A lean, grey-eyed bard leans against the stage.
A lean, spike-haired elf drums softly in the corner.
A tall, amber-eyed woman polishes glasses behind the boxy wooden bar.
The husky, weatherworn dwarf is here, seated at a large table, drinking ale.
The huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room cThe huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room casually from a table here.
The bald, muscular woman slouches at a large table, drinking ale.
The small, dark-haired man sits at a table in the back, staring into his drink.
The solemn, club-footed man limps slowly along here.
>sit round (grabbing a chair)
Grabbing a chair, you sit at a round, blue-painted table.
>l self
Close-cut, oily black hair sticks out in jagged lengths from this short,
skinny man's head. His dark bushy brows hang over hazel colored eyes, a
small nose centered in his dark skinned, youthful features. His round ears
stick out near the long sable sideburns that trail down his angular cheeks,
developing into a scraggly black beard across his narrow chin, marked by
patches of short stubble. His neck crawls down to his narrow shoulders and
his wiry arms are slim, with little visible muscle. His legs are similar;
slight and bony, like the rest of his lean body.
The figure in a filthy dark, hooded cloak is in excellent condition.
an ancient, battered surmac
an angular, crescent shaped scar
a filthy dark, hooded cloak
a pair of grimy linen trousers
a pair of dark leather footpads
>contact marin
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man with the Way.
>psi Got an update on m'situation, boss.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Got an update on m'situation, boss."
>psi Y'spoken wit' Gin yet? Maybe y'speakin' wit' Corin right now?
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Y'spoken wit' Gin yet? Maybe y'speakin' wit' Corin right now?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Do you have my coin?"
>psi A whore stole it from me. Workin' on gettin' it back, boss.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"A whore stole it from me. Workin' on gettin' it back, boss."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"What's her name?"
>psi Miranda.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Miranda."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Good luck with that. She might stab you in the back."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
>psi What's dat mean?
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"What's dat mean?"
The light-skinned young man raises the hood of a dusty hooded, sleeveless white sandcloth cloak.
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless white sandcloth cloak stands up from a boxy wooden bar.
>think Quit bein' fuckin' subtle.
You think:
"Quit bein' fuckin' subtle."
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless white sandcloth cloak walks north.
>cease
You suffer from use of the Way.
You dissolve the psychic link.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm saying that Miranda is a whore, who's a templar's aide, and likes to stab people."
>contact marin
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man with the Way.
>psi So how y'suggest I get y'coins back from'er, boss?
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"So how y'suggest I get y'coins back from'er, boss?"
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"How'd she steal from you?"
>psi Left m'clothes in'er main room after we fucked while I's gettin' a drink, come back'n m'belt was a lot lighter.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Left m'clothes in'er main room after we fucked while I's gettin' a drink, come back'n m'belt was a lot lighter."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"How much did she charge for the fuck?"
>psi Nothin'. Hence why I's call it stealin' from me.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Nothin'. Hence why I's call it stealin' from me."
The wiry, bald man stands up from a boxy wooden bar.
The wiry, bald man walks west.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Get your idiot ass to the Folley."
>stand
You stand up from a round, blue-painted table.
>n
[Travelling to the Folley Tavern to meet with Marin]
A Cramped, Dingy Bar [EWU]
Were it not for the sheer overpowering vileness of the air outside,
this small and tightly-cramped room would scarcely seem a breath of
freshness at all. Thick, acrid smoke intermingles with the smell of
unwashed bodies, vomit, cheap booze, and ancient decay in the limited
confines of this room, creating a unique amalgam of foulness that even the
rough sensibilities of a dwarf would quail at. The walls of the room are
short and the roof is relatively low, giving one an acute claustrophobic
feeling that mirrors the feel of the surrounding alleyways with merciless
precision. A few crates are stacked here and there in a seemingly haphazard
array. Whatever their intended purpose, it appears as though patrons have
begun using them as seats in lieu of squatting on the ale-damp floor. The
center of the room draws your attention once your eyes have adjusted to the
change in lighting and reveals a strange stoneworked depression, roughly
three cords deep and ten cords across. Broken stonework sculptures surround
the edges of the depression in a seeming mockery of a gleeful dance.
Several battered crates with a thick slab of pure obsidian draped across
them seem to serve as a makeshift bar in a corner of the room. An equally
battered wooden door is situated just behind it.
Just beside the bar, a loosely hanging rope ladder disappears up into a
jagged hole in the ceiling of the room.
A ladder-backed bone chair sits here.
A ladder-backed bone chair is here standing idly near the wall.
A message board is propped up against a wall.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
The slim, dusky man is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
The tall, scarlet-haired woman is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
The lithe, dark-haired man is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
The long-haired, scar faced man stands by the bar, arms over his chest.
The thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
The tall and thick male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap is standing here.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man shakes his head a bit, looking to you.
>emote walks towards ~bar with a nod to ~marin
The short, black-haired man walks towards a sturdy old bar with a nod to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man.
>sit bar
You sit at a sturdy old bar.
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Zan. You need a new name."
At your table, the tall, scarlet-haired woman says in sirihish, nodding down to you:
"'Ey Zan."
>nod corin
You nod to her.
At your table, the slim, dusky man says in rinthi-accented sirihish, nodding to you:
"'ello Zan."
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish, glancing to the lithe, dark-haired man:
"Got an idea for a new name for Zan, Vel?"
>talk (eyes rolling with a grin) Idiot fucktard face?
At your table, you say in sirihish, eyes rolling with a grin:
"Idiot fucktard face?"
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Fucktard. That's quite a good one."
At your table, the lithe, dark-haired man says in sirihish, looking to you:
"Damn don't know if I can beat that."
The slim, dusky man smirks at you.
The tall, scarlet-haired woman rubs her chin thoughtfully while regarding you before cracking a faint grin.
>talk (pulling a shot-glass off ~bar) I can nick a bagga coins like it weren't m'business...now...-HOLDIN'- onto dem coins...dat's m'problem.
At your table, you say in sirihish, pulling a shot-glass off a sturdy old bar:
"I can nick a bagga coins like it weren't m'business...now...-HOLDIN'- onto dem coins...dat's m'problem."
>keyword shot bar
On a sturdy old bar:
1.shot - a shot-glass
2.shot - a shot-glass
3.shot - a shot-glass
4.shot - a shot-glass
5.shot - a shot-glass
6.shot - a shot-glass
>get 6.shot bar
You get your shot-glass from a sturdy old bar.
It is very light, and full.
>drink shot (with a grunt)
With a grunt, you drink the whisky.
>put shot bar
You put your shot-glass onto a sturdy old bar.
>emote smacks his lips together with a quenching grunt.
The short, black-haired man smacks his lips together with a quenching grunt.
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Where's my hundred, then?"
>get coins belt
The belt does not contain 'coins'.
>get coins pouch
The pouch does not contain 'coins'.
>get coins cloak
You get your pile of allanaki coins from your filthy dark, hooded cloak.
There were 55 coins.
It is very light.
You are carrying:
55 obsidian pieces
You give the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man 55 coins.
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"What the fuck is this?"
>emote rummages around %cloak pockets.
The short, black-haired man rummages around in your filthy dark, hooded cloak's pockets.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man puts his pile of allanaki coins into his pouched, brown hide belt.
>get knife cloak
You get your clumsy wooden knife from your filthy dark, hooded cloak.
It is very light.
>give knife marin
You give your clumsy wooden knife to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man.
At your table, the tall, scarlet-haired woman says in sirihish, glancing from you to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Oh...So you're.."
>get torch belt
You get your unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch from your pouched belt.
It is very light.
The tall, scarlet-haired woman trails off and nods to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man.
>talk (holding ~torch in front of ~marin) Dat's all I got.
At your table, you say in sirihish, holding your unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch infront of the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Dat's all I got."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Alright, Zan."
>give torch marin
You give your unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man gives you his unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man stands up from a sturdy old bar.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Up on the Roof."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man walks up.
>stand
You stand up from a sturdy old bar.
>up
On a Rooftop [D]
This plain red-clay brick roof is really no more than a burned out
second floor of what was once a taller building. Bits of charred remains
are obvious amongst the scattered debris and shards of rock strewn all over
the general area. Despite being hemmed in on three-sides by two story
buildings, the rooftop gives a clear view down into the alleyway below. A
jagged hole in the southeast corner has two bone spikes driven into the
clay, from which a rope-ladder trails downwards.
An empty chipped, red-clay mug has been left here.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man is standing here.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Stand still."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man brandishes his clumsy wooden knife.
>emote sighs, head held downwards with a sigh.
The short, black-haired man sighs, head held downwards with a sigh.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man asks you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Tell me. How much does this hurt?"
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man stabs you very hard on your head.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man swiftly dodges your hit.
You hit the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man, barely grazing his foot.
Your attack on the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man is absorbed by a bloodied padded, grey-veined black tunic.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man swiftly dodges your hit.
>disengage
You stop attacking the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man!
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man stops fighting you.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man stops using his bloodied clumsy wooden knife.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man gives you his bloodied clumsy wooden knife.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Don't fuckin' do that."
>sit (holding his bleeding head)
Holding his bleeding head, you sit down.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"You're lucky I missed your eye."
>emote rubs at his bleeding eyebrow, wincing deeply.
The short, black-haired man rubs at his bleeding eyebrow, wincing deeply.
Exhaling slowly, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"I trusted you, Zan. I even gave you products to fence, to make a profit on."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"You lost some being mugged. You lost some to a whore."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"The next time, I'm going to have to break one of your hands."
>tell marin (hand held against his forehead, blood speeing through his fingers) Uhhh...ah...I...just fuck up bad lots.
Hand held against his forehead, blood seeping through his fingers, you say to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Uhhh...ah...I...just fuck up bad lots."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man nods at you.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man licks his dried lips.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man asks you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"What the fuck am I to do with you, Zan?"
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"You're not producing."
>shout (with an angry, squaky squeal) I don't know!
With an angry, squeaky squeal, you shout in sirihish:
"I don't know!"
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Shut up. Please."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Go get the rest of what you owe me, Zan."
>stand
You stand up.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"We've been looking out for you, and it's not paying."
>em grunts and nods.
The short, black-haired man grunts and nods.
>tell marin It will.
You say to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man, in sirihish:
"It will."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man nods at you.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Good."
>emote grits his teeth and walks towards the stairway.
The short, black-haired man grits his teeth and walks towards the stairway.
>d (with a determined look on his dirty face)
A myriad of grinning skulls, each painted with bright colors laid
over the pallid bone, stare down from the broad wooden shelf that lines this
spacious room at eye level. Splashes of blue, green and red cover the clay
brick walls in an enthusiastic but inexpert abstract mural, some spatters of
the same paint dotted across the red tiled floor. The room is filled with
clamor: the clink and clatter of dishes and drinks, instruments being tuned,
scraps of song, and a general constant roar of conversation. A small wooden
stage sits along the northern wall, two ragged velvet curtains framing it,
looped back with blue-dyed ropes. A wide archway leads out onto the dusty
street, while a smaller one to the west provides a glimpse of a smaller,
quieter chamber.
A wall here is designated as a message board.
The wiry, bald man is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.
The light-skinned young man is sitting at a boxy wooden bar.
A lean, grey-eyed bard leans against the stage.
A lean, spike-haired elf drums softly in the corner.
A tall, amber-eyed woman polishes glasses behind the boxy wooden bar.
The husky, weatherworn dwarf is here, seated at a large table, drinking ale.
The huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room cThe huge, sun-bronzed man surveys the room casually from a table here.
The bald, muscular woman slouches at a large table, drinking ale.
The small, dark-haired man sits at a table in the back, staring into his drink.
The solemn, club-footed man limps slowly along here.
>sit round (grabbing a chair)
Grabbing a chair, you sit at a round, blue-painted table.
>l self
Close-cut, oily black hair sticks out in jagged lengths from this short,
skinny man's head. His dark bushy brows hang over hazel colored eyes, a
small nose centered in his dark skinned, youthful features. His round ears
stick out near the long sable sideburns that trail down his angular cheeks,
developing into a scraggly black beard across his narrow chin, marked by
patches of short stubble. His neck crawls down to his narrow shoulders and
his wiry arms are slim, with little visible muscle. His legs are similar;
slight and bony, like the rest of his lean body.
The figure in a filthy dark, hooded cloak is in excellent condition.
>contact marin
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man with the Way.
>psi Got an update on m'situation, boss.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Got an update on m'situation, boss."
>psi Y'spoken wit' Gin yet? Maybe y'speakin' wit' Corin right now?
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Y'spoken wit' Gin yet? Maybe y'speakin' wit' Corin right now?"
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Do you have my coin?"
>psi A whore stole it from me. Workin' on gettin' it back, boss.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"A whore stole it from me. Workin' on gettin' it back, boss."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"What's her name?"
>psi Miranda.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Miranda."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Good luck with that. She might stab you in the back."
You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
>psi What's dat mean?
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"What's dat mean?"
The light-skinned young man raises the hood of a dusty hooded, sleeveless white sandcloth cloak.
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless white sandcloth cloak stands up from a boxy wooden bar.
>think Quit bein' fuckin' subtle.
You think:
"Quit bein' fuckin' subtle."
The tall figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless white sandcloth cloak walks north.
>cease
You suffer from use of the Way.
You dissolve the psychic link.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"I'm saying that Miranda is a whore, who's a templar's aide, and likes to stab people."
>contact marin
You suffer from use of the Way.
You contact the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man with the Way.
>psi So how y'suggest I get y'coins back from'er, boss?
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"So how y'suggest I get y'coins back from'er, boss?"
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"How'd she steal from you?"
>psi Left m'clothes in'er main room after we fucked while I's gettin' a drink, come back'n m'belt was a lot lighter.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Left m'clothes in'er main room after we fucked while I's gettin' a drink, come back'n m'belt was a lot lighter."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"How much did she charge for the fuck?"
>psi Nothin'. Hence why I's call it stealin' from me.
You suffer from use of the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Nothin'. Hence why I's call it stealin' from me."
The wiry, bald man stands up from a boxy wooden bar.
The wiry, bald man walks west.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Get your idiot ass to the Folley."
>stand
You stand up from a round, blue-painted table.
>n
[Travelling to the Folley Tavern to meet with Marin]
A Cramped, Dingy Bar [EWU]
Were it not for the sheer overpowering vileness of the air outside,
this small and tightly-cramped room would scarcely seem a breath of
freshness at all. Thick, acrid smoke intermingles with the smell of
unwashed bodies, vomit, cheap booze, and ancient decay in the limited
confines of this room, creating a unique amalgam of foulness that even the
rough sensibilities of a dwarf would quail at. The walls of the room are
short and the roof is relatively low, giving one an acute claustrophobic
feeling that mirrors the feel of the surrounding alleyways with merciless
precision. A few crates are stacked here and there in a seemingly haphazard
array. Whatever their intended purpose, it appears as though patrons have
begun using them as seats in lieu of squatting on the ale-damp floor. The
center of the room draws your attention once your eyes have adjusted to the
change in lighting and reveals a strange stoneworked depression, roughly
three cords deep and ten cords across. Broken stonework sculptures surround
the edges of the depression in a seeming mockery of a gleeful dance.
Several battered crates with a thick slab of pure obsidian draped across
them seem to serve as a makeshift bar in a corner of the room. An equally
battered wooden door is situated just behind it.
Just beside the bar, a loosely hanging rope ladder disappears up into a
jagged hole in the ceiling of the room.
A ladder-backed bone chair sits here.
A ladder-backed bone chair is here standing idly near the wall.
A message board is propped up against a wall.
A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
The slim, dusky man is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
The tall, scarlet-haired woman is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
The lithe, dark-haired man is sitting at a sturdy old bar.
The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
The long-haired, scar faced man stands by the bar, arms over his chest.
The thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
The tall and thick male wearing a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap is standing here.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man shakes his head a bit, looking to you.
>emote walks towards ~bar with a nod to ~marin
The short, black-haired man walks towards a sturdy old bar with a nod to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man.
>sit bar
You sit at a sturdy old bar.
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Zan. You need a new name."
At your table, the tall, scarlet-haired woman says in sirihish, nodding down to you:
"'Ey Zan."
>nod corin
You nod to her.
At your table, the slim, dusky man says in rinthi-accented sirihish, nodding to you:
"'ello Zan."
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish, glancing to the lithe, dark-haired man:
"Got an idea for a new name for Zan, Vel?"
>talk (eyes rolling with a grin) Idiot fucktard face?
At your table, you say in sirihish, eyes rolling with a grin:
"Idiot fucktard face?"
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Fucktard. That's quite a good one."
At your table, the lithe, dark-haired man says in sirihish, looking to you:
"Damn don't know if I can beat that."
The slim, dusky man smirks at you.
The tall, scarlet-haired woman rubs her chin thoughtfully while regarding you before cracking a faint grin.
>talk (pulling a shot-glass off ~bar) I can nick a bagga coins like it weren't m'business...now...-HOLDIN'- onto dem coins...dat's m'problem.
At your table, you say in sirihish, pulling a shot-glass off a sturdy old bar:
"I can nick a bagga coins like it weren't m'business...now...-HOLDIN'- onto dem coins...dat's m'problem."
>keyword shot bar
On a sturdy old bar:
1.shot - a shot-glass
2.shot - a shot-glass
3.shot - a shot-glass
4.shot - a shot-glass
5.shot - a shot-glass
6.shot - a shot-glass
>get 6.shot bar
You get your shot-glass from a sturdy old bar.
It is very light, and full.
>drink shot (with a grunt)
With a grunt, you drink the whisky.
>put shot bar
You put your shot-glass onto a sturdy old bar.
>emote smacks his lips together with a quenching grunt.
The short, black-haired man smacks his lips together with a quenching grunt.
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Where's my hundred, then?"
>get coins belt
The belt does not contain 'coins'.
>get coins pouch
The pouch does not contain 'coins'.
>get coins cloak
You get your pile of allanaki coins from your filthy dark, hooded cloak.
There were 55 coins.
It is very light.
You are carrying:
55 obsidian pieces
You give the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man 55 coins.
At your table, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"What the fuck is this?"
>emote rummages around %cloak pockets.
The short, black-haired man rummages around in your filthy dark, hooded cloak's pockets.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man puts his pile of allanaki coins into his pouched, brown hide belt.
>get knife cloak
You get your clumsy wooden knife from your filthy dark, hooded cloak.
It is very light.
>give knife marin
You give your clumsy wooden knife to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man.
At your table, the tall, scarlet-haired woman says in sirihish, glancing from you to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Oh...So you're.."
>get torch belt
You get your unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch from your pouched belt.
It is very light.
The tall, scarlet-haired woman trails off and nods to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man.
>talk (holding ~torch in front of ~marin) Dat's all I got.
At your table, you say in sirihish, holding your unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch infront of the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man:
"Dat's all I got."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Alright, Zan."
>give torch marin
You give your unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man gives you his unlit simple, leather-wrapped bone torch.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man stands up from a sturdy old bar.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Up on the Roof."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man walks up.
>stand
You stand up from a sturdy old bar.
>up
On a Rooftop [D]
This plain red-clay brick roof is really no more than a burned out
second floor of what was once a taller building. Bits of charred remains
are obvious amongst the scattered debris and shards of rock strewn all over
the general area. Despite being hemmed in on three-sides by two story
buildings, the rooftop gives a clear view down into the alleyway below. A
jagged hole in the southeast corner has two bone spikes driven into the
clay, from which a rope-ladder trails downwards.
An empty chipped, red-clay mug has been left here.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man is standing here.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Stand still."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man brandishes his clumsy wooden knife.
>emote sighs, head held downwards with a sigh.
The short, black-haired man sighs, head held downwards with a sigh.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man asks you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Tell me. How much does this hurt?"
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man stabs you very hard on your head.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man swiftly dodges your hit.
You hit the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man, barely grazing his foot.
Your attack on the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man is absorbed by a bloodied padded, grey-veined black tunic.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man swiftly dodges your hit.
>disengage
You stop attacking the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man!
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man stops fighting you.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man stops using his bloodied clumsy wooden knife.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man gives you his bloodied clumsy wooden knife.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Don't fuckin' do that."
>sit (holding his bleeding head)
Holding his bleeding head, you sit down.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"You're lucky I missed your eye."
>emote rubs at his bleeding eyebrow, wincing deeply.
The short, black-haired man rubs at his bleeding eyebrow, wincing deeply.
Exhaling slowly, the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"I trusted you, Zan. I even gave you products to fence, to make a profit on."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"You lost some being mugged. You lost some to a whore."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"The next time, I'm going to have to break one of your hands."
>tell marin (hand held against his forehead, blood speeing through his fingers) Uhhh...ah...I...just fuck up bad lots.
Hand held against his forehead, blood seeping through his fingers, you say to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man, in sirihish:
"Uhhh...ah...I...just fuck up bad lots."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man nods at you.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man licks his dried lips.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man asks you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"What the fuck am I to do with you, Zan?"
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"You're not producing."
>shout (with an angry, squaky squeal) I don't know!
With an angry, squeaky squeal, you shout in sirihish:
"I don't know!"
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Shut up. Please."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Go get the rest of what you owe me, Zan."
>stand
You stand up.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"We've been looking out for you, and it's not paying."
>em grunts and nods.
The short, black-haired man grunts and nods.
>tell marin It will.
You say to the nappy-haired, olive-skinned man, in sirihish:
"It will."
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man nods at you.
The nappy-haired, olive-skinned man says to you, in rinthi-accented sirihish:
"Good."
>emote grits his teeth and walks towards the stairway.
The short, black-haired man grits his teeth and walks towards the stairway.
>d (with a determined look on his dirty face)