Pureauthor
13-01-2007, 03:30 PM
Tales from Carl’s Tavern
*~*~*~*~*
Prologue: Slaking One’s Thirst
*~*~*~*~*
The wooden doors were drawn open with only the slightest of creaking noises. The cloaked figure standing in the doorway hesitated for a moment before stepping in. Behind him, the wind gusted strongly, sending a spattering of raindrops through the doorway. A nearby patron let out a tiny snort of complaint and shifted in his seat, moving further away from the door.
The cloaked figure strode with long purposeful strides towards the till, where the bartender, an aged pandaren, stood wiping the table. Even as he strode, his eyes cast about the room. Certainly an eclectic mix – at one table sat a Tauren who was quite apparently ravenous – he was devouring several bowls full of food, and apparently not caring if anyone expressed disgust at his antics. Close to him rested a Paladin, sipping slowly from a mug. Crouched in a corner was a ghoul – noticeably larger than average – clutching something closely to the decayed remnants of his chest. A heavily bandaged warrior with a rather eye-catching shock of azure hair was just getting up from his table, bidding farewell to… well, he couldn’t tell what it was, but it looked rather like a deformed rabbit.
And on a slightly elevated platform, a man dressed rather similarly to himself strummed an aged harp softly, regaling several fascinated patrons with tales and fables of the world’s rich history.
Finally, he reached the table, just as the Pandaren turned towards the bard. “Hey, Rowan!” He called. “Try telling ‘em one of your howlers, eh?”
“Sorry ‘bout that.” The Pandaren turned back to his latest customer. “Damn, man, but you look a sight. The storm outside must be worse than I thought.”
As if to emphasize his point, thunder rumbled in the distance just as he finished speaking. The man shrugged slightly. “I’ve met worse.”
“Well, good on you. Now, what’ll it be?” Business was business, after all, and there was no sense in talking when one could get a sale.
“… The strongest stuff you’ve got.” The cloaked figure shook his head, a smile that spoke of past hurts appearing briefly on his visage. “There’s lots of things I want to forget… if only for a night.”
The Brewmaster, for that was what he was, turned away to prepare his drink while the figure dug around in his pockets for the necessary payment. A second later, both placed their respective offerings on the table and slid it across to their counterpart.
The figure downed the entire mug in a single long draught and slammed the now empty mug on the table. “Another.” He rasped.
“All right, but I feel I must inform you the establishment reserves the right to clock you across the head if you become rowdy after imbibing too much alcohol. Fair?” The Pandaren replied with a wry smile on his face. He let out a snort that might have been a chuckle and nodded his acquiescence.
“I can hold my liquor.”
Satisfied, the Pandaren refilled the mug, and the stranger resumed his drinking, though at a noticeably slower pace than before.
“…”
“What are you staring at me for?” The Brewmaster raised an eyebrow. “Ain’t never seen a Pandaren running a tavern before?”
“My apologies. I meant no disrespect.” He’s sharp, this one. Just like I thought. The stranger shifted under his cloak. “It’s just… There’s something in your eyes. It reminds me of… well, I can’t quite place it.”
“Is that so.” The way he phrased it made it abundantly clear it wasn’t a question.
The stranger hesitated, swirling what remained of his drink around in his mug. “Mind telling me about yourself?” He finally spoke up.
“Why? If you want some entertainment, Rowan’s always ready-“
“Parlor tricks, and some ballads of heroes long past aren’t exactly ‘entertainment’ in my book.” The stranger cut him off smoothly. “You’ll forgive me, but I’ve always been more interested in… stories. Of people.”
The Pandaren rolled his eyes and shook his head. “And what, pray tell, could I have to relate that would be of interest to one such as you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. What about your relation with him?” The stranger gestured towards a picture on the far side of the war. On it, a young human was shown, a confident smile on his face.
“Rather suspect that you would pick up such a detail.” The Brewmaster noted dryly.
“What can I say? I’m observant.” The cloaked man leaned back, spreading his arms in a nonchalant manner.
“All right, all right. It’s not like I got anything better to do anyway-“
“Wait.”
“Now what?”
“Before we begin,” The stranger took another long swallow, draining his mug of the last drops of ale. “Perhaps it might behoove both of us if I were informed of your name.”
“You’re a rude little snot, you know that?” The Pandaren remarked without any apparent ire. “All right, if you must know the name of the owner of this fine establishment…” He broke off and took a rather theatric bow.
“It’s Carl.”
*~*~*~*~*
*~*~*~*~*
Prologue: Slaking One’s Thirst
*~*~*~*~*
The wooden doors were drawn open with only the slightest of creaking noises. The cloaked figure standing in the doorway hesitated for a moment before stepping in. Behind him, the wind gusted strongly, sending a spattering of raindrops through the doorway. A nearby patron let out a tiny snort of complaint and shifted in his seat, moving further away from the door.
The cloaked figure strode with long purposeful strides towards the till, where the bartender, an aged pandaren, stood wiping the table. Even as he strode, his eyes cast about the room. Certainly an eclectic mix – at one table sat a Tauren who was quite apparently ravenous – he was devouring several bowls full of food, and apparently not caring if anyone expressed disgust at his antics. Close to him rested a Paladin, sipping slowly from a mug. Crouched in a corner was a ghoul – noticeably larger than average – clutching something closely to the decayed remnants of his chest. A heavily bandaged warrior with a rather eye-catching shock of azure hair was just getting up from his table, bidding farewell to… well, he couldn’t tell what it was, but it looked rather like a deformed rabbit.
And on a slightly elevated platform, a man dressed rather similarly to himself strummed an aged harp softly, regaling several fascinated patrons with tales and fables of the world’s rich history.
Finally, he reached the table, just as the Pandaren turned towards the bard. “Hey, Rowan!” He called. “Try telling ‘em one of your howlers, eh?”
“Sorry ‘bout that.” The Pandaren turned back to his latest customer. “Damn, man, but you look a sight. The storm outside must be worse than I thought.”
As if to emphasize his point, thunder rumbled in the distance just as he finished speaking. The man shrugged slightly. “I’ve met worse.”
“Well, good on you. Now, what’ll it be?” Business was business, after all, and there was no sense in talking when one could get a sale.
“… The strongest stuff you’ve got.” The cloaked figure shook his head, a smile that spoke of past hurts appearing briefly on his visage. “There’s lots of things I want to forget… if only for a night.”
The Brewmaster, for that was what he was, turned away to prepare his drink while the figure dug around in his pockets for the necessary payment. A second later, both placed their respective offerings on the table and slid it across to their counterpart.
The figure downed the entire mug in a single long draught and slammed the now empty mug on the table. “Another.” He rasped.
“All right, but I feel I must inform you the establishment reserves the right to clock you across the head if you become rowdy after imbibing too much alcohol. Fair?” The Pandaren replied with a wry smile on his face. He let out a snort that might have been a chuckle and nodded his acquiescence.
“I can hold my liquor.”
Satisfied, the Pandaren refilled the mug, and the stranger resumed his drinking, though at a noticeably slower pace than before.
“…”
“What are you staring at me for?” The Brewmaster raised an eyebrow. “Ain’t never seen a Pandaren running a tavern before?”
“My apologies. I meant no disrespect.” He’s sharp, this one. Just like I thought. The stranger shifted under his cloak. “It’s just… There’s something in your eyes. It reminds me of… well, I can’t quite place it.”
“Is that so.” The way he phrased it made it abundantly clear it wasn’t a question.
The stranger hesitated, swirling what remained of his drink around in his mug. “Mind telling me about yourself?” He finally spoke up.
“Why? If you want some entertainment, Rowan’s always ready-“
“Parlor tricks, and some ballads of heroes long past aren’t exactly ‘entertainment’ in my book.” The stranger cut him off smoothly. “You’ll forgive me, but I’ve always been more interested in… stories. Of people.”
The Pandaren rolled his eyes and shook his head. “And what, pray tell, could I have to relate that would be of interest to one such as you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. What about your relation with him?” The stranger gestured towards a picture on the far side of the war. On it, a young human was shown, a confident smile on his face.
“Rather suspect that you would pick up such a detail.” The Brewmaster noted dryly.
“What can I say? I’m observant.” The cloaked man leaned back, spreading his arms in a nonchalant manner.
“All right, all right. It’s not like I got anything better to do anyway-“
“Wait.”
“Now what?”
“Before we begin,” The stranger took another long swallow, draining his mug of the last drops of ale. “Perhaps it might behoove both of us if I were informed of your name.”
“You’re a rude little snot, you know that?” The Pandaren remarked without any apparent ire. “All right, if you must know the name of the owner of this fine establishment…” He broke off and took a rather theatric bow.
“It’s Carl.”
*~*~*~*~*