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Walking into the Pig and Whistle tavern in Stormwind's Old Town is alot like walking into anyother tavern. As soon as you take your first step inside, all the smell of split beer and cigar smoke fill the nostrils. The sound of drunken laughing and breaking tables fills the ears.
These are things that Osman de Kalb knows of very well. He has come to this tavern every day for the past five years. Sometimes for work, sometimes for fun. Being a SI:7 agent he finds himself here for work more often than pleasure. Unfortunatly for Osman, today was work. His assignment was to meet up with an Alliance soldier. Further instructions would be provided upon contact. Osman sat in his usual seat and lit a cigar.
A young woman, small, dressed in linen and wool, is playing a rousing game of knucklebones with several of the bar's patrons. She's good at the game, but is not cheating. She's new to the bar, and looks barely old enough to be in it. If she notices Osman's entrance, she gives no sign, her attention is focused on the bones and the people she's playing against.
Just as Osman began to enjoy his cigar, four more men walked into the shaddy little tavern.
Three armed humans an a well dressed Human Warlock. The noise of laughter and conversation was changed into dead silence, Osman continued to smoke his cigar, even as the warlock spoke.
"I am Derrick Runesmiter, and this bar is now the property of my employer. Everyone out.
There was a murmer among the crowed. One of the patrons drunkenly staggers up to the warlock.
"Now come... I've been coming to this bar everyday for the last 20 years and there is no wa-"
He never got to finish his sentence. By the time anyone in the tavern figured out what was going on, the poor soul had been set ablaze. The screams of the wretch could be heard from outside and now a small crowed began to form outside the door.
"Anyone else with a comment?" said Derrick as he prepared another spell.
Osman sighed and put our his cigar, and slowly pulled a thowing knife from his sleeve. Whistling sharply, he got Derrick's attention and threw his knife. The knife struck his raised hand and he began to bleed. Osman used this moment of confusion to draw his rapier and pounced.
Hector walked lazily through the streets of Old Town, Stormwind. It was his night off and the cool air felt good through his red hair, which hung loosely to his shoulders. He had left his armor back at his house, in exchange for a pair of loose leather garments. Funny he thought. One of the only times his armor was not resting on his shoulders.
A scream.
Hector turned towards the noise. The Pig n' Whistle. Springing towards the tavern, Hector drew his short sword. The emblem of the king shinned intensely under the light of the moon. There was a small crowd standing outside the tavern.
Hector pushed a frail man out of his way. "Stormwind guard, make clear!" He shouted as he pushed his way through the crowd of people. He stood in the door just in time to see a blond man lunge towards a finely dressed gentleman.
He locked his legs and held up his sword, he was ready for whatever happened.
Last edited by Shadowsins; 23-04-2008 at 04:43 AM..
The young woman galvanizes into motion, upending the table she was gaming at, using it as a block as she grabs the corpse of the other patron and takes it behind the table with her.
Once there, she will attempt to resurrect the poor drunk sod, hoping it's not too late)
Osman's sword sings as it pierces the chest of Derrick Runesmiter. The other three humans draw there swords and charge Osman. Osman reacts quickly by kicking the lifeless corpse of Derrick into the group of them and draws his fighting knife. With both weapons in hand, he prepares for the onslaught.
The blond fighter landed on the robed man, his sword making a satisfying crunch as it broke through the mans rib cage. **** he thought, I don’t know whose side I’m on. A movement caught his eye as a young women dragged a burned corpse behind a table. The blond fighter had pulled out yet another weapon and looked ready to fight. Hector charged into the room, shouldering two of the 3 assailants. One flew into the bar while the other rolled into the upturned table. Htting it with a loud "clank"! He stood next to the blond man. “Im here to help” he muttered. He held his sword at the ready. He hoped he would not live to regret this.
Last edited by Shadowsins; 23-04-2008 at 07:52 PM..
Name: Tanion Silvercap
Race: Human
Age: 27
Class: Mage Adept
As the tavern degenerated further and further into chaos, only one figure remained unmoved, sitting comfortably in a shadowed corner, his face inscrutable as he swilled his ale.
Tanion had not reacted when the warlock had first made his grandiose entrance, save for a faint glint of his eyes in the shadows one would have thought he had not noticed.
But inside, he felt the cold grip of fear clutching at him.
Fear was a natural part of Tanion now, like his feeble magic, it was something that could not be helped… at least not yet. Fear had allowed him to survive. Fear of his own crippled body, of his inadequate magic.
Of men and mortals, fear did not compel his weakness, but of himself, he would always fear that he would be forever useless. Self knowledge can be a painful wisdom.
Not for an instant did Tanion consider confronting the warlock, his magic would not withstand the warlock for more than a few moments. Instead he quietly disappeared in his shadowy corner, his body still but his mind working furiously as he continued to swill his ale.
He had gotten quite adept at disappearing.
Fortunately, Tanion was ignored as the warlock was suddenly attacked by a bold warrior who rose up to challenge him, as if in answer to a prayer.
Finishing his ale, he put it down on the table, as an errant chair leg flew past him followed by a spray of splinters, and a man staggered past, holding his head. Tanion got up calmly, and quietly slipped out in the chaos, pushing through the gathering crowd.
With luck, not even the man who had served him his drink would remember him.
A young elf was wandering to the inn after her lessons, and sees a nefarious looking character with one hand exiting the Pig and Whistle. As she turns and looks, a snap cracks through the air.
"Finally," she says alout, "A chance to prove what I decided to learn is best for me!"
She roars as she shapeshifts into an enormous bear, and charges into the bar.
Inside, seeing what appears to be the patrons defending against a small group by the door, she quickly decides that her side was with the men and women of the bar. Seeing a girl that appears to her age, she charges over to help her.
"Thank you" Osman said in his slight southern drawl to the newcommer with the short sword. "Forgive me if I am not formal, I am kind of busy." After finishing that sentence. Osman began a hail of blows on the last standing opponent. His foe's fat longsword was simply too heavy to keep up with Osman's raiper. As they fought, the thug's sword slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. Almost immediatly, he attempted to draw a dagger. Osman sized the moment, and shoved his long knife into his opponent's chin, piercing his brain and stopping just short of the top of his head. Satisfied, Osman attempted to pull his knife out, only to find it stuck. "Oh crap" Osman thought, as the two other thugs began to stand up.
(OOC I hope I am not breaking any rules with the violence here)
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