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WanderingQM (ID: !!HG9TZVX0c7H)
Post-Apoc Fantasy Wanderer Quest 2017-04-24 10:19:26 Post No. 1397327
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Post-Apoc Fantasy Wanderer Quest 2017-04-24 10:19:26 Post No. 1397327
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Post-Apoc Fantasy Wanderer Quest
WanderingQM (ID: !!HG9TZVX0c7H)
2017-04-24 10:19:26
Post No. 1397327
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Battered buildings stand in a row, glowing in the afternoon sun, and the narrow streets stink of cigar leaves and alcohol. There are a few stragglers out and about - either locals, trouble makers or those who can't afford a bed, making the suicidal departure into the dusk.
You walk carefully, boots slick with mud, eyeing each building as you pass. Near the end of the row is a two story place, still mostly in one shape, where two heavy bruisers sit lazily by the door - one smokes while the other counts out some grimy cards onto the table between them.
The building is brick and timber, large sections of the front and side wall patched up with planks of wood over the years. That being said, it's the most sturdy looking structure in the small wayside stopover. The loudest, too. From within comes the sound of chatter, both casual and argumentative, and the very light ding of music. As you approach the front porch the smell of some kind of meat mixes with the almost unfamiliar scent of baking bread.
As you take one foot from the mud onto the bottom step of the establishment a grunt comes from one of the heavy seat men by the door. One continues to smoke, his droopy eyes starting at you blankly. The other, though, stops what he's doing and rises to his feet. There is no mistaking the heavy axe hanging from his belt, nor the dark bladed dagger resting on the table.
The standing man steps forward, holding a grimy hand up toward you, and leans against the railing of the small porch.
"Hold up righ' there, my friend. What's your business comin' down this way?" He does not hide the appraising look he gives the rapier by your belt, nor the eyebrow raise that comes from the sight of the pistol strapped to your chest.
> My business is but my own. We're all friends here.
> Move aside or you'll regret it, 'friend'.
> I'm only after a warm meal and a cold drink.
> I'm meeting a friend inside, just running a bit late.
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>>1397327
>I'm meeting a friend inside, just running a bit late.
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>>1397327
>Move aside or you'll regret it, 'friend'.
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>>1397327
>Move aside or you'll regret it, 'friend'.
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>>1397355
>>1397365
"Move aside or you'll regret it, 'friend'." You take a second step up onto the porch, hands still well in the clear of your rapier. The large man is taken aback by that, standing up straight and staring at your approach, slack jawed. He's an ugly looking thing, an odd mixture of flab and muscle. His bald head is slick with sweat and dirt and covered in seemingly nonsensical tattooed lines and patterns.
"Now, s'no need to be rude." A chubby hand rests on the handle of the axe hanging low under his coat as the gap between the two of you closes significantly. At this point his colleague - still with a limp roll-up cigarette in his mouth - has risen to his feet. He hasn't taken any steps to arm himself, of course, but instead is merely trying to comprehend the scene unfolding.
"We's doin' our job here, keeping odd folk out. And you..." He glances down at the pistol again. "... you certainly an odd type. One of them gone wandered in off the road, is ya? What's yer name, then?"
> Bron
> Jacob
> Aron
> Tarien
> None of your business
> Write in
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>>1397404
> Aron
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>>1397404
>'Ronald MacDonald, now get the fuck out my way'
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>>1397404
>> Jacob
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>>1397464
changing from aron to Jacob, it is name good enough
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>>1397449
Seconding this one
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>>1397449
This is the one
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>>1397404
Thirded
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>>1397449
Yes
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>>1397449
looks like we're going with this one
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