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Fantasy The Tavern at the Crossroads

WaxAndWane

Magic Eight Ball
On the hunt for a roleplay filled with thrilling adventures, and plenty world building. I'm willing to be a DM, or a fellow player. Fine with paragraph posts, to something as long as multiple paragraphs. Grand fan of darker, more brooding fantasy. Think of Darkest Dungeon, if you're aware of the game. Here's a little taste of my writing style below, that can also be used as a starter, if interested.

Here you find yourself arrived at the crossroad where it is rumored all fabled journey's begin. One may ponder if it was your tired legs that carried you here, or hope for reprieve from this raging storm. A covered stable outside that reeked of droppings housed a couple of mares with wagons of goods not too far off. Traders finding refuge - wise, as it was unfavorable to travel at night without a guard. Three steps led to the door of the establishment, above it a placard that swung on the chains it was attached to, challenging the gale the weather had to offer. Carved on it were words 'The Nowhere Inn." Passing the threshold, warmth of the billowing fireplace on the Eastern wall. It whelmed your sodden figure. At your left, a long bar ran before ending at a staircase that led to the upper levels. Behind it stood a man, or rather, a giant. Passing six foot, his shoulders broad, but belly large. Polishing a wooden mug with a stalwart gaze that told of horrors saw in wartime. Occupying tables were the owners of the wagons outside. Merchants, nothing of interest, they kept close to one another, chattering about politics, and economy. But on their lonesome sat those of interest.

At one table, a male - human. His appearance would fool one to believe he was older. Gruff, and unkempt. Rag-like clothing spoke to him being a vagabond, yet the blade he kept on his hip, and heater shield on his back told that there was more to him than panhandling.

Resting near the corner of the foyer was a another human. Or so to believe. With crimson hair, she too wore rags. A cloak, and tattered dress below. Lacking any shoes to speak of. As a result dirt coated her legs, ending just past her knee with runes.

Those with adventure in their mind, mayhaps you join them? Finding fame, and fortune, or rather heartache that shan't ever heal.
 
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