Original Submissions by Delirium of type 'Logs'
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Brawl at the Post
Added on Feb 6, 2007Tempers flare at the Storms End erupting into entertainment for all.
Note: This log shows the use of the 'brawl' code in a RP'd scene. Warning - violence and strong language may offend some people.
[From the viewpoint of the slight, desert-hued half-elf]
The Storm's End Tavern [NESWU]
This building evidences the same architectural principles as the inner
wall and gate towers, but to a much lesser degree. Its horns and spiked
flanges have either been worn with time or were designed to a more subtle
appearance. Inside, veins of obsidian run along the ceiling and walls,
generating the impression of a cold, stony skin, black-blooded and evil.
A massive wooden bar, stained to a deep grey and lacquered to a mirror
shine, dominates the eastern half of the room. An image of an eclipsed
sun, the paint vivid and fresh, blazes along the front of the bar, the rays
reaching the full length of it. The walls appear to have been scrubbed
till they shine with the deep malevolence only limitless black can hold.
A stone stairway curls around itself, spiraling up through the veined
ceiling. To the north, an impressive archway leads the way to a
laughter-filled spice den.The stout, one-eyed man is sitting at a long, carved wooden bar.
The inked, scar-skinned half-elf is standing here.
The sanguine-mohawked half-elf is sitting at a rounded agafari table.
The tiny, brown-skinned dwarf is sitting at a long, carved wooden bar.
The tall, pierced woman is sitting at a long, carved wooden bar.
The ivory-maned, pallid-toned woman leans against the bar, surveying the
room.
The stocky, clean-shaven man is sitting at a long, carved wooden bar.
The darkly tanned innkeeper stands here, wiping his hands on his apron.
The muscular, blue-eyed man stands quietly beside the bar here.
A burly half-giant soldier with a flat nose stands hunched here.
Pushing against the bar with her sueded palm, the slight, desert-hued
half-elf studies the tavern.
The inked, scar-skinned half-elf makes his way over to the darkly
tanned innkeeper, with a deep nod to the stocky, clean-shaven man as
he approaches a long, carved wooden bar.
The tall, pierced woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"What do ya think halfie? Ya like 'em young and clumsy, or old
and experienced?"
The inked, scar-skinned half-elf gets a pile of allanaki coins from a
thin pouched belt.
A thin trail of odorless smoke trickles from the stocky, clean-shaven
man's mouth as he smokes a naked harlot spice pipe.
The stocky, clean-shaven man's expression becomes lighter.
The stout, one-eyed man snickers, shaking his head.
Very, very softly, curling a spiked hand firmly to her shoulder, you
say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
"I think I told you not to call me halfie."
You say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
"An' if you bring up that topic to me again.."
The inked, scar-skinned half-elf speaks to the darkly tanned innkeeper
for a moment, with a glance to you and a firm grip on his serrated
spike-hilted longknife.
The tiny, brown-skinned dwarf's tongue flicks across his lips as he
straightens slightly in his seat.
The tall, pierced woman looks up at you.
You feel barely restrained, sparked-off rage.
The darkly tanned innkeeper trades a glass flagon to the inked,
scar-skinned half-elf.
The darkly tanned innkeeper trades a glass flagon to the inked,
scar-skinned half-elf.
Her dark face tight with rage, the slight, desert-hued half-elf
appears to stop herself, words bitten back.
Putting her hand on your hand, the tall, pierced woman says to you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"I think you're a little confused."
The sanguine-mohawked half-elf rests her dull gaze briefly on a long,
carved wooden bar.
Snarling briefly, the slight, desert-hued half-elf snatches her hand
from the tall, pierced woman's touch.
You stalk up to the tall, pierced woman and reach down, grabbing for
her.
You grab the tall, pierced woman's shoulder roughly.
Through her teeth, you say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
"I don't LIKE you."
Making his way back to a rounded agafari table, the inked,
scar-skinned half-elf keeps an eye on a long, carved wooden bar.
The tall, pierced woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Well I -love- you."
The stout, one-eyed man peers over at the commotion.
Sitting on a seat, the inked, scar-skinned half-elf sits at a rounded
agafari table.
The sanguine-mohawked half-elf plants her hand on a rounded agafari
table, barely shifting her weight to her feet.
The stout, one-eyed man chuckles roughly.
With a firm nod, the inked, scar-skinned half-elf gives his glass
flagon to the sanguine-mohawked half-elf.
Her jaw muscles tense and voice even, shaking with restrained rage,
you say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
"You have no idea how stupid that was of you."
At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the tiny, brown-skinned
dwarf say in mirukkim, to himself:
"Not goilg to ninm rdih I'm ajjir hime."
You say, in sirihish:
"I'm going to pretend you never said it."
At a rounded agafari table, you overhear the inked, scar-skinned
half-elf say in sirihish:
"Weakes' stuff we go here."
The sanguine-mohawked half-elf tears her gaze from a long, carved
wooden bar, tentatively reaching for her glass flagon with her bony
fingers.
The stocky, clean-shaven man looks between the tall, pierced woman and
you, letting his naked harlot spice pipe hang out the corner of his
mouth.
Pushing your hand off her shoulder again, the tall, pierced woman says
to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"Ya see, what ya told me is that ya weren't gonna help save me
from some assrape if I called ya halfie again."
Releasing her grip on the tall, pierced woman's shoulder, slowly, the
slight, desert-hued half-elf slides a step back.
The tall, pierced woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I appreciate the thought, but I'm perfectly capable of savin'
myself."
The stout, one-eyed man arches a high brow.
You feel difficulty restraining her set-off emotions, memories of
Pendeh and intense emotional pain roaring through her.
The sanguine-mohawked half-elf turns her eyes helplessly back to a
long, carved wooden bar, her expression held close and tight.
With a broad smile, the tall, pierced woman asks you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"So why don't ya just keep on not savin' me from the molesters,
and I'll keep on sayin' whatever I damn please, alright?"
The darkly tanned innkeeper scratches his jaw, leaning one elbow down
on the bar as he watches you and the tall, pierced woman.
The slight, desert-hued half-elf closes one hand into a spiky fist
and lifts it to her forehead, taking a long, deep breath.
At a rounded agafari table, you overhear the sanguine-mohawked
half-elf say in sirihish, murmuring scratchily aside to the inked,
scar-skinned half-elf:
"This happen a lot?"
Her voice tremoring with held-back rage, you say to the tall, pierced
woman, in sirihish:
"You keep runnin' that mouth, sugar."
The inked, scar-skinned half-elf shakes his head, then takes a sip
from his glass flagon.
The inked, scar-skinned half-elf sips from his glass flagon.
Under his breath, the darkly tanned innkeeper says, in sirihish:
"Wouldn't risk it meself."
You think:
"Swear t'fuck.. I -try- to behave.."
The tall, pierced woman asks you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"And ya keep strokin' that chip on your shoulder.Ya might want
ta just ease it off, eh?Eh?"
At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stout, one-eyed man say
in sirihish:
"That's some shit if I've ever seen it."
At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stocky, clean-shaven
man say in northern-accented sirihish, looking down at his naked
harlot spice pipe:
"I got one puff of this left. One of you needs it."
You think:
"Some fucking cunt comes along.."
The sanguine-mohawked half-elf lifts her glass flagon cautiously to
her parched lips.
The sanguine-mohawked half-elf sips from her glass flagon.
The darkly tanned innkeeper whistles, shaking his head slightly.
Muffling a scream of rage in the back of her throat, the slight,
desert-hued half-elf jerks her fist back as if to strike, nostrils
flaring as she hangs it there.
At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stout, one-eyed man say
in sirihish:
"Hey Sid... know when you've gone too far."
The ivory-maned, pallid-toned woman walks north.
The tall, pierced woman inclines her head, her smile vanishing.
The tall, pierced woman stands up from a long, carved wooden bar.
Unflexing her hand and pointing at the tall, pierced woman, you say
to the stocky, clean-shaven man, in sirihish:
"That... CUNT.. better not say another.. word to me."
Staring at you, the tall, pierced woman says to you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"Look here, look here."
The tall, pierced woman takes a step closer to you.
The stout, one-eyed man shakes his head.
The sanguine-mohawked half-elf merely watches the tall, pierced woman
from beneath the shadowy brim of her dusty wide-rimmed leather hat.
The tall, pierced woman says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I'm sorry."
At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stout, one-eyed man say
in sirihish:
"She's done."
You grab a rough clay mug of ale and hurl it at the tall, pierced
woman's
head.
Clay shatters as the mug breaks into pieces on impact. Nice shot!
Roaring as she pounces for the tall, pierced woman, you shout in
sirihish:
"SORRY!"
The inked, scar-skinned half-elf looks up at the tall, pierced woman
from his seat at a rounded agafari table.
Swiping for her, you exclaim to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
"I'll show you fucking sorry, you 'tok faced bitch!"
You grab her by the shoulders and bring a knee up sharply into her
abdomen.
The tall, pierced woman groans loudly and doubles over.
The stocky, clean-shaven man grits his teeth.
The tall, pierced woman blinks in confusion, slowly putting a hand to
her bleeding brow.
At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stout, one-eyed man say
in sirihish, jerking his thumb over his shoulder:
"She got that tok faced bitch from me."
The tiny, brown-skinned dwarf knocks aside a bit of clay that settles
beside his spot at a long, carved wooden bar.
You exclaim to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
"You have no idea!None!No FUCKING idea what you're saying!"
The inked, scar-skinned half-elf sheathes a serrated spike-hilted
longknife.
The tall, pierced woman looks around in a daze, gaze slowly focusing on
you.
Advancing in a sparked-off, wild rage, you exclaim to the tall,
pierced woman, in sirihish:
"You ever had a mate, woman?!"
At a rounded agafari table, you overhear the sanguine-mohawked
half-elf say in sirihish, nearly whispering to the inked, scar-skinned
half-elf:
"Who that woman Sha is mauling?"
Grasping for the tall, pierced woman's collar, you shout in sirihish:
"Someone you loved more than life itself?!"
You step in close and drive an elbow into her ribs.
The tall, pierced woman grunts softly, swaying on her feet as she
struggles to breathe.
At a long, carved wooden bar, you overhear the stout, one-eyed man say
in sirihish:
"Oh great she's got her started on all the kanks on her back."
Her voice slurred, the tall, pierced woman says to you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"Ya... ya hit me."
Pushing up, the stocky, clean-shaven man says to you, in
northern-accented sirihish:
"Sergeant. You knocked 'er senseless. She probably can't even hear
you."
Jerking her face close to hers with her fist, you say to the tall,
pierced woman, in sirihish:
"I--"
Leaning over, the inked, scar-skinned half-elf whispers something to
the sanguine-mohawked half-elf.
You feel her blind rage abruptly snap out.
The tall, pierced woman wheezes, her face turning blue as she
struggles to breathe.
Abruptly calming, cool and distant as she jerks her collar again,
then shoves her away, you say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
"I warned you, bitch."
At a long, carved wooden bar, the stout, one-eyed man speaks, shrugging.
The stocky, clean-shaven man stands up from a long, carved wooden bar.
You think:
"Fuck.."
Leaning over herself, the sanguine-mohawked half-elf whispers
something to the inked, scar-skinned half-elf.
Spluttering blood, the tall, pierced woman suddenly lurches over and
seizes you.
Whirling, the slight, desert-hued half-elf faces the tall, pierced
woman.
Her eyes wild, the tall, pierced woman says to you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"No.Never.No one that would ever love me."
Nostrils flaring, you say to the tall, pierced woman, in sirihish:
"Get away from me."
You feel intense pain.
A bit of drool coming from her lips, the tall, pierced woman says to
you, in southern-accented sirihish:
"I didn't need that, I just wanted a baby."
The stout, one-eyed man watches from over his shoulder.
You feel another edgy burst of anger at the mention of children.
A mul, clad in the garb of the desert traveller and bearing a huge
hammer on his back, moves through the crowd.
Still holding onto you, the tall, pierced woman says to you, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"But I can't have that, cause they beat me so I could never have
that, just like you."
At a long, carved wooden bar, the stout, one-eyed man speaks, shaking his
head.
The tall, pierced woman collapses at your feet.
The tall, pierced woman sits down to rest.
Wordlessly, the slight, desert-hued half-elf stares down at the tall,
pierced woman.
You think:
"You expect me to feel pity for you, woman?"
You feel intense hatred.
Mumbling imperceptably, the tall, pierced woman says, in
southern-accented sirihish:
"Just like ya did now."
Unconsciously, the inked, scar-skinned half-elf's lips pull back in a
slight snarl as he watches you and the tall, pierced woman.
The stout, one-eyed man says to you, in bendune:
"Knocked the cunt right out of her, looks like."
Kicking her away from her and stalking off, you say to the tall,
pierced woman, in sirihish:
"Maybe you should work on keeping your fucking mouth shut."
The tiny, brown-skinned dwarf sucks air through his teeth, back
against the lip of a long, carved wooden bar.
The tall, pierced woman curls up into a fetal position as she is kicked.
Shoulders taut with anger as she heads for the door, you say, in
sirihish:
"I have no pity for you."
s (to the dark street)Note: This log shows the use of the 'brawl' code in a RP'd scene. Warning - violence and strong language may offend some people.
[From the viewpoint of the slight, desert-hued half-elf]
The Storm's End Tavern [NESWU]
This building evidences the same architectural principles as the inner
wall and...
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