The Inn

ClassiestRobin

ClassiestRobin

Junior Member
Hello and welcome to The Inn! I am new to this site and haven't been on rp forums in a while so I'm trying to start a very open rp.


Basically the story will be centered around an Inn. You can be any species and act any way (as Long as you aren't a troll).


Rules


-No spam


-Please try to not post suuppperrr long posts


-Please don't post sentence long posts ether


-Please be active!


-Death is allowed as long as you get my permission and the person you are killings permission.


-Please be kind


-No god modeing


Other than that have fun!!<3 
Clair sits at the bar in the Inn. Her hood is slightly pulled up, but not enough to hide her face. She has shoulder length black hair and dark brown almost black eyes. She is short enough for her feet not to touch the floor while sitting on the tall bar stool, but she isn't a midget ether. Her hands cup the drink she is drinking. She seems spaced out.
 
Ian slipped from the alleyway that led to the road, sheathing the bloodied dagger back into his belt. He looked to his left and right, seeing if anyone had observed his emergence, but as there were no cries for his head or women screaming at the mere sight of him, he figured he was safe for now.


Walking down the road, he had to avoid the stares in his direction, keeping his gaze on the ground. There were going to be stares, he knew there were always going to be stares at his dark scarred face, so he took it all with a grain of salt, but still pulled the hood of his cloak over his stark-white hair and pointed ears.


After a few moments, the whispering started. The whispering of the common folk, speaking in low voices that they think he could not hear. Speaking of his Dark Elven lineage, of the eyepatch he wore on his face, even of his distinct bluish hue of skin he wore.


Finally unable to take it anymore, Ian lifted his head and saw an Inn, quickly slipping into the hovel, closing his exposed eye in gratitude for the silence as he pressed his back to the door. An awkward cough brought Ian back to the present, forcing him to acknowledge the Innkeep, yet still keeping the hood over his face.


Taking measured steps towards the bar, the Dark Elf pressed a gold coin onto the counter.


"I'll take a room for the night," feeling a sudden groan of hunger, he added, "and the house stew with an ale."


Releasing the coin from his finger, Ian looked to his side, noticing a small person on a stool, staring blankly into space. A small smirk crept onto the corner of his mouth, wondering how much the creature must have drank already.
 
Ghuregun grinned without reason, sitting on his bar stool and looking around drunkenly. He was shorter than the hooded person sitting next to him, as he usually was. Dwarves don't tend to hang around at sultry pubs such as these. He threw another gold piece onto the counter, and his mug was filled to the top, foam and all. He managed to pick it up after a few tries, and proceeded to chug it down in one go. He noticed another hooded figure sit down.


Hoods for sale must be the cause.





Another wave of nausea struck, and he fell off his bar stool, mug shattering on the wooden floorboards. The bartender didn't seem to notice however, as he was busy tending to another part of the bar. He quickly tried to stumble away before anyone noticed, but falling flat on his face after slipping on spilled ale.
 
Clair heard the normally still door of the Inn open. It was the closet thing this town had to a Tavern, and the men here we unable to hold their drink. So she and maybe 2 other men were usually the only one at the Inn. She continued to stare into space pretending she hadn't notice the door.


She had had three mugs full and had yet to feel the tingly feeling of the ale.


"Can I have glass please?" She asked the bar keep in a quiet voice trying not to draw attention to her
 
Ian was just about to sit down when an incredibly foul odor entered his nose. His eye shooting open, he backed away from the bar quickly, almost tipping the stool over in the process. He grabbed his nose and looked at where the source of the smell was coming from, landing on a dwarf. A scowl crossed his face, anger flashing in his eye as he realized what the creature was.


Knowing that it wasn't best to cause a scene, Ian backed away from the bar, but not before the oaf of a Dwarf fell the floor, fidgeting and falling again. At that point, the Elven man could do naught but laugh at him, pointing and holding his stomach in mirth.
 
Clair jumped hearing the Dwarf fall. She let out a sigh figuring it was a probably a drunkards accident. Dwarfs were so short to the ground that a little tumble wouldn't hurt them anyways. She brushed her hair back letting her hood fall.


The bar keep walked up to her handing her a mug of ale. She reached into her pocket and handed him the money she had. Clair was nearly blind and could only see shadows. She was a local in the town and no one took advantage of her for that. The man counted out the tender she owed him and then handed her back her change.


"Thank you" She whispered taking a long sip of her mug.
 
Ghuregun stood up, trying to comb the ale out of his long, red beard. At that point, he noticed the hooded figure laughing. What else to do when you're drunk as a goblin than laugh merrily? So he laughed along with him, walking over and clapping him on the back. But he was so short, he was clapping the back of his knees. After he was done that, earning stares from many people, he hopped back up onto his bar stool. He reached into his back pocket and, finding nothing where there should be coins, asked for another drink anyway. He couldn't pay, but what did he care? That was a problem for later, and he was sure the Innkeep would give them to him for free. He cleared his throat and raised his mug to the ceiling. He took a deep breath and bellowed out a loud Dwarvish tune.
 
As the Dwarf touched Ian, he felt the revulsion of being in contact with what he thought to be an incredibly unclean creature. His hand traveled down to the small dagger held at his belt, fingering the gilding of the handle to his blade as he played with the idea of ending the creature right then and there.


Ian's eye quickly darted at the Dwarf and back to the small humanoid at the bar, his mind full of possibilities, but finally decided against it. The day was not yet over and if the filthy creature made the mistake again, he could always rectify the mistake then.


Walking back to the bar, he planted himself a seat away from the creature he saw to be a female. He could never tell the age of the other races, as they always grew so quickly, but he figured this one to probably be in her adolescent years.


He was taken out of his thoughts as the barkeep brought his meal to the table, with a large hunk of bread to accompany it. Dipping the wooden utensil into the thick broth, Ian identified it to be some kind of lamb stew. The smell was intoxicating, even to him, and after eating a mouthful he decided to be divine, he took a long draft of the ale that was brought after.


Sighing, Ian pulled back the hood of his cloak, revealing his Elven nature and scarred face. There were few enough people at the Inn, so if he needed to teach a few people a lesson should they comment on his features, it wouldn't be difficult.


But finally, after internally debating for too long, the Dark Elf stood up and walked the space to the female near him, leaving his food at his stool. Standing near her, he spoke with a thick accent and said, "Pardon me, Miss, er, girl? Are you human? Halfling perhaps?"
 
Clair sat wondering what all the commotion was about. There were whispers darting through the Inn and she couldn't pick up on just one. Her hearing was usually very good, it seemed to be the sense that replaced her sight. She guessed because she was starting to get the warm tingly feeling of the ale it was hampered.


She felt the man beside her and turned her head. She didn't need to, but she had been taught it was polite to look at the person speaking to you.


"Human." She answered quietly "Why do I look like a Halfling?"


She asked this because she couldn't tell. Her vision quickly got worse after birth, so the only memories of her face she had were when she was just a girl. She didn't know what she looked like now.
 
For a moment Ian narrowed his uncovered eye as he looked at the human girl's unfocused eyes. Though they were facing in the direction of his body, it seemed that they were unfocused, almost glazed. Perhaps she was a seer? Looking into his soul right at that very moment, seeing the darkness and internal fighting that raged within him his entire life.


"Your hood, it covers your head. It's the only way I can tell Halflings apart from you humans - mostly the ears. And you're short, so it confused me." Ian was oblivious to his own bluntness, how he spoke of things that might be considered rude or best left unsaid. "Why do you look at me in the way that you do? It feels . . wrong."
 
Clair attempted to focus her eyes toward the voice. She could roughly see is shadow, but the Inn was dimly lit. Judging by his voice he seemed tough with a little innocence. He seemed to have lived a hard life.


She pulled her hood down so he could see she was in fact human. A red blush slowly brightened her cheeks as he brought up the way she was looking.


"I don't look at you at all." She replied "I am blind. If I may ask what is your species?"


Her eyes fell to the ground not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable.
 
Seeing the human remove her hood, Ian was finally able to see her full features, figuring that she might have been attractive by her own species' standards, but she had not the woman's attributes that he so desired in his preferred sex. Though, to him, all of the second species seemed young to the Elvin.


He could see her face become slightly red when he asked about her sight, vaguely realizing that he had asked a personal question of her. Perhaps her unseeing eyes were something she was embarrassed of.


When she asked his species, Ian tensed for just a moment, for when the question was posed to him, it was usually an accusation and less of a question, but remembering the girl's eyesight was not there, he realized quickly that she was only curious.


"It is unfortunate that you cannot see, for I am Elvin, of the Dunmer clan." Ian knew that someone who wasn't familiar with his species wouldn't understand the idiosyncrasy of a Dunmer, but decided it didn't bear explaining to the despondent blind girl.


After speaking he bowed respectfully, as was his custom, but stopped mid-way as he remembered yet again that it was fruitless to do so in front of her. "Erm, I just bowed, so you know."
 
"Oh! I've met only one elf before." She said intrigued.


She learned that elves had distinct facial features. Their faces were longer and they had pointed ears. From what the previous elf let her feel they were a beautiful species. She had learned to see people with her hands. If she touched someone's face she could get an accurate picture of them. It also told her their personality, whether they were of good intentions or not.


Clair was as the locals called her a prophet of sorts. She spoke directly to the Demi-goddess Adriena. Adriena had taken Clairs sight as a child in exchange for her life. When she was born she was very sickly. The local doctors said she only had a year to live. Adriena had seen this and made the deal with her mother.


As Clair grew Adriena became more intrigued by her. She began to contact Clair and slowly teacher her magic. This is were she got her ability to see with her hands.


"Oh thank you." She said "I am Clair of the .. well here"


She got up and did a curtsey. Then lazy sat back down.
 
Ghuregun noticed two creatures of whom he'd never seen before, exchange pleasantries as if this was a diplomatic meeting of some sort.


"Oi! You two! This isn't a Council, it's a grand time for reminiscing of old adventures with buddies by yer side!"


He hopped off his barstool, and walked over brashly.


He glared at the two, jumped backwards in surprise when looking at the little human thing.


"The eyes ... they scare me," he said in what he thought was a quiet tone, but due to the fact he was drunker than a viking after a glorious battle, he practically yelled it them. He glanced back at the tall one, and a recognizing spark glazed over his eyes.


"I'm an Elf too! Well, not the magical willy nilly type like the lot of you are; I'm a Deep-Elf."


He puffed out his chest in admiration.


"Some around call me a Dwemer, but most men call me a Dwarf. Silly names, as I am an Elf. Although, I am much more distinct, as we are a technologically proficient race." He chuckled bemusedly.


"I don't think your spells could do a thing against a Centurion. I oughta bring one to town one day. Might earn back my gold from those fellers," he said angrily, looking over his shoulder at a group of men playing a gambling game invented by them, hoping to reel in idiots with gold.


"Anyway, name's Ghuregun," he said, holding out his hand, once again a grin taking place on his face. "What's your two's?" he asked, completely oblivious to the fact that he just rudely interrupted a conversation.
 
There were words right on the tip of Ian's tongue, and he had even drawn a breath to speak them, but whatever he was going to say disappeared from his mind as the stinky Dwarf started to open his stinky mouth and spout his stinky words. Taking quick steps, he reached downwards and grabbed the short man by his shirt, wrenching him up, but not quite off of the ground.


Leaning in, Ian put his face so close to the other's at it was if he was going to kiss him.


"I do not like you, Dwarf. I do not like your clothes, I do not like the way you talk, and I certainly do not like your scraggly and stinky beard. Go away."


(Sorry if this seems mean, I'm just trying to get some drama going.)
 
"Aye, get yer bloody hands off me cloak. It's genuine bearskin, this is." He struggled to get off the Elf's strong hands. He flailed his arms, trying to imbalance himself and fall off. After a few attempts, he gave up and instead raised his fists. It was odd sight, a small man trying to fight as the larger one held him up. The intoxication took over his body, and he tried to throw a lame punch at the Elf. He missed by a lot.


"Come on, fight back, ye coward! I'll knock that cloak off you!" He raised his fists to his face, into a messy defensive position.
 
Clairs eyes fell to the floor with the dwarfs comment. She wondered if it were better to make eye contact or not. Her mother sometime suggested that she close her eyes when about, but she'd feel silly doing that.


"My name is Clai-" She began


Clair quickly stood up as she saw what seemed to become a bar fight in front of her. She looked down at the drawf and up at the elf. This was a very unfair fight.


"What's wrong with you?" She asked toward the elf


"This man is a fourth your size and drunk off his arse and you find it appropriate to single him out? This is a cowards battle!"


She let her hand rest on the drawfs shoulder. She was short herself so she didn't have to bend much to touch him.
 
Honestly, Ian wasn't prepared for someone to come to the stinky Dwarf's aid. He usually got the message across when he told someone he didn't like them, though he would more often than not use his blade to emphasize the point.


Removing his hands from the creature roughly, he took a step back, his eye focusing on the girl for a moment before acting again. Reaching to his head, he also removed the cowl that covered his head, revealing the colorless hair atop his head that was drawn into a tight ponytail. His scarred face was clear in the dim light now, revealing his covered eye as well, hidden under three straps of leather crossing over his face that held the patch in place.


"He insulted my kind, he is no elf. I demand rectification."


After saying this, a dagger appeared in Ian's hand as if it was always there, the five-inch blade gleaming in the dim candlelight, which was as bright as the sun to the Elf's own eyes.


"Or prove that you are, indeed, Elvin. I would like to see if you have our same anatomy on the inside, despite your obvious lack of Elf features on the outside."


A wicked smile spread across Ian's face as he let what he had implied sink in. Hopefully the short man would take the hint and realize that he was in actual danger now, despite his incredible inebriation.
 
He was dropped back to where his feet could be firmly placed in the ground. He brushed his bearskin cloak down his chest off of Dunmer filth.


"Aye, it's a fight you want, don't ye? Well, just because us Deep-Elves have developed a affinity for technology, doesn't mean we can't still fight in battle!"


Another Dwemer was sitting in a nearby booth. He had a steel axe with a fine, sharply cut blade. Lying beside it was a hard iron shield, with studs around the middle. In the middle there was a picture of the Dwemer Clan he belonged to, but Ghuregun didn't mind. He picked up both without the other Dwarf noticing.


"I'll be outside, waiting for your scrawny dagger to engage combat with me, in order to leave the other patrons of this fine Inn undisturbed."


He backed out of the Inn, eyes glaring at the Dark Elf.
 
((My bad didnt read all the way))


Clair let out a sigh and brushed her hair out of her face. What was with men always looking for a fight? She knew this fight was none of her business but she couldn't help feel interested. A dwarfs versus an elf? Who would win? It almost sounded like the beginning of a bad joke.


"So what are you going to do?" She asked the elf not looking at him
 
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((I feel left out the loop now, lol.))


Ian watched the Dwarf who introduced himself as Ghuregun walk over to another passed out member of his race and take the weapons. Even though the weapons were nice, perhaps even a little intimidating, he watched passively as his opponent walked out of the Inn to wait for his challenger.


For a moment, the Dark Elf narrowed his uncovered eye, wondering what a supposed proud member of the Dwarven race was doing without weapons or armor.


The thought passing out if his head, Ian turned towards Clair and said, "This won't take but a moment."


Walking to the door that his challenger had left through, the Elf placed his hand on the handle, ready to fight the battle, but paused as he grasped it, an idea already forming in his head.


Casually, Ian grabbed a chair from a table and propped the back against the handle, leaning it in such a way to prevent the door from swinging inward and opening, thus locking the Inn from the inside.


"That is what I am going to do." Strolling back to his meal, he started to eat the cold stew, tearing off hunks of bread to sop up the liquid.


He invested himself in eating now, considering the human he had previously talked to an annoyance, seeing as she had been the first to speak against him. It did not seem like she would have made good conversation anyways, being blind and all.


Suddenly remembering that she could not see, he said, "Oh yes, just so you know, I threw my dagger out the door and pierced his throat."
 
((Edit to fit the story shouldn't have assumed lol sorry :P ))


"You closed the door?" She asked confused.


That seemed like a cowardly move from such a 'mighty elf' in her opinion. Just locking the poor guy out? She made her way to the door as she heard his last comment.


"You did what?! What is wrong with you?!" she yelled.


Clair was at the door and struggling getting it open not being able to see how to move the chair. When she figured it out she ran to the drawf. She knelt beside him. Noticing that the elf had lied about the dagger
 
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