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Short Stuff [o]
Topic Started: Tue Jun 9, 2015 9:29 pm (4,359 Views)
Porto Bello
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“What a weird job.”

Indeed, spying upon a woman for her husband while simultaneously spying upon said husband for his wife was not his usual job. As old as the couple was, maybe they were just bored; neither of them could remember much more than their own names, however, which had made the job even weirder. But coin was coin, and the old couple had been LOADED with it. Not only that, they’d been quite generous. The way they were, if they were still alive in a week or three, he’d probably be able to get the same job for just as much pay. He might even be able to milk them for more coin than he’d gotten this time! But for now, he just wanted to have a few drinks and relax.

Limmy's clothes were rather simplistic as he strolled along the boardwalk running the length of Kellen's main street. Dusk was close at hand, though the sun had not yet lit upon the horizon, and a pale orange glow was just beginning to settle across the town; it gave Limmy's knee-length boots, his gauntlet-like gloves, his belt and pouches, and his tunic and doublet an almost reddish tinge despite the varying gray hues of the garb. He was clearly a road-worn traveler, his face only clean because he'd washed it in the river on the way to Kellen; but he had an almost roguish look despite his child-like features and apparent care-free innocence. Half of a sprig of asparagus dangled loosely from the left end of his mouth, much like the stalks of wheat that were often idly chewed by farmers; the sprig would be munched on at the sprite's leisure - usually when his teeth accidentally snapped it - and he tended to bite down just a little when he was focusing on something in particular. At the moment, interested though he was in finding the Green Gryphon and having a few drinks (as well as a meal) before retiring for the evening, he wasn't really focusing on much of anything - that is, he wasn't until he happened to look down the road a ways. His brows furrowed in mild consternation as he chewed the stalk a bit.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the path to the inn was blocked. Eyeing the crowd curiously, he wondered at first whether he should just find a way to sneak around them. But alas, there was no way around. The street was completely flooded with people trying to get a good look at something that the sprite unfortunately could not see. He sighed and resigned himself to ogling as well. He managed to slip between a few pairs of legs before he found himself trapped amid the throng. He couldn’t get through the legs anymore, nor could he manage to get around them. He certainly couldn’t go over them; there was no room for him to get into the air!

He started to get frustrated after a few minutes of trying in vain to either get to the inn or get a good look at whatever it was that had everybody so excited. Finally, after being accidentally pushed to the ground several times and having his feet stomped on more times than he could count (or cared enough to, at any rate), he verbally vented his frustration loud enough that the people around him were apparently somewhat disturbed by it.

“Grrrr…TROLL TEATS!” he exclaimed loudly.

”QUIET, you!” said one guy angrily, clearly not wanting to hear such language in such a tone.

The small, sprite-like fellow was probably thought by the man nary more than a child. The man quickly resumed his ignorance of the sprite while the sprite began to grumble. He crossed his arms over his chest, now thoroughly aggravated. He had half a mind to clear the way with his magic but that probably just would have made the problem worse. He wasn’t exactly known for his good fortune, after all.

“Rotting, festering, snarling troll teats,” he muttered under his breath.
Edited by Porto Bello, Mon Jun 15, 2015 8:15 pm.
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Hearne
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Hearne leaned back in his seat, tipping his drinking horn up to drain the last of the beer from it's polished depths. Setting the drink down, he shook his head and wiped foam from his beard. Roars of laughter came from one corner of the great room, drawing his gaze. A shirtless man with a good deal of muscle, softened by a greater deal of fat, was tossing rude comments at passersby. His two friends were s[removed]ing, egging him on and getting the man riled.

The waitress dropped off another round of beers, deftly dodging an overbalanced grab for her backside on her retreat. After a couple minutes of catcalling, the innkeeper finally stepped out from the back room and into the mostly empty room.

"Rojer!" The innkeep shouted across the room. Hearne waved down the waitress. She came by with a relieved smile, glad to be helping a patron who seemed to have any semblance of propriety and wasn't dribbling a head of foam from the ears. "Appreciate another drink. Something from the good stock." He caught her eyes and winked. She gave him a winning smile and scooped up his horn, ducking into the back.

"Ye been here three hours and done nothing but drink yourself off yer arse. Ain't you got anything better to do?" The innkeep shouted. The drunk man brushed this off, laughing and disregarding the man entirely, going back to making unintentionally loud comments regarding the servaing maid. She returned after a moment, ears a bright pink. She'd heard the man. It was hard not to.

"Thank you much, Darlin. Here." He handed the five coppers for the drinks and a full two silvers on top of that. She gasped a little, but quickly tucked the coins away and bent down to give him a peck on the cheek. He gave her a pinch, and she didn't duck away, swatting his hand away playfully. "Dirty old man." She teased, happily moving off. The drunk, Rojer, seemed to take note of their exchange. Hearne turned his attention back to the man at the scraping of chairs. Rojer was standing, swaying a little, face flushed with drink and anger.

"Hey!" He shouted, showing off his brilliant grasp of vocabulary. He stumbled by one of his friends, shoving off attempts to pull him back to his seat. The large man advanced on Hearne and the serving maid, swiping to grab her arm and missing before succeeding on the second try. She objected, trying to pull free. Hearne's face darkened as he stood, his instincts snarling at this intruder into his territory. Predatory instincts urged him to take care of this young challenger.

"Let go." He ordered, injecting a measure of primal command as he stared into the man's eyes. Unnerved, the man's grip loosened enough for the girl to squirm free. The man snatched at her as she ran off. Hearne intercepted the hand with his right, left hand concealed in a long sleeve. He threw the hand to the side. "I don't think anyone wants you in here anymore." The man sneered, seeming to gather together his old bullheadedness. "Don't think ye know who yer talking ter, old man. Can' come in here, throwin coin around and stealing other people's girls." The serving maid spat on the boards. "Ain't nobody your girl around here, Rojer." "Ye'll shut yer mouth if ye know what's good for y-- oof!" Rojer doubled over when a fist hit him in the gut. Before he could react, Hearne had grabbed a handful of his abundant chest hair and started advancing, forcing the drunk to backpedal as he was pushed out the ajar door and onto the boardwalk. Flushing with fury, the man scrambled to his feet and stormed toward Hearne.

The much older man lowered his head and stepped toward Rojer. Muscles seemed to swell, his movements suddenly much surer and carrying a great strength. Rojer got ready to block an incoming attack.

And Hearne kicked him directly in the groin.

Hard.

Rojer went up to his toes and a little off, to the pained surprise of every man in sight. The drunk whimpered and fell to his knees, clutching his jewels and setting his forehead against the ground, eyes rolling. The man's two friend ran out of the Inn behind them. Hearne spun around, jerking a hand and snarling a guttural growl. The wood of the Inn's porch suddenly warped, dropping one of the men's feet down into the porch. the boards suddenly split and tendrils of wood wrapped themselves up to grab his arms and legs, pinning him in place. His second friend scooped up a bucket and charged at Hearne, lifting it over his head to smash on the druid.

Hearne locked eyes with the man and turned on his predatory nature, pulling the scrawny bar patron in. "Stop." The man froze, lowering the bucket. "Kneel down." The man nodded, open mouthed, and went down on both knees. Hearne squatted down to eye level. "This is some very nice grass, isn't it?" The man nodded automatically. "I think so, too. Lots of horses around here seem to like it. Must taste pretty good." The man nodded, frowning. "Be a good little horse." The man nodded, going down to hands and knees and took a mouthful of the grass in his teeth, pulling it up and beginning to chew. Hearne took the bucket from his hand and laughed, advancing up the steps and depositing the bucket over the trapped man's head. The serving maid was grinning from ear to ear, holding out his drinking horn. "Ah! I almost forgot. spirits bless your heart." He took the horn and toasted the watching crowd, taking a hearty drink.

"Not bad. Don't even have to chew." He winked and the girl laughed. He took the drunk's shirt from her other hand and pecked her on the cheek as he turned to leave, tossing it on the prone drunk, still clutching and giving a quiet, unconscious moan now and again.
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Porto Bello
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The crowd that had piled out into the street to watch the commotion had apparently been joined by the townsfolk outside the tavern. Some of them followed the prior patrons in as whatever was going on came to an end, jeering and laughing as they passed by something lying in the street. Seeing at last that an opportunity had presented itself, Porto started trying to weave his way through the sea of legs once more. He apparently touched the wrong one, however, as the man who’d shouted at him earlier put an open palm against his forehead and shoved him to the ground. He shook his head, clearing his vision quickly, and looked up just in time to see a boot coming his way.

Unfortunately, the only way some people knew to deal with children was to give them a severe beating. Sadly, Porto was not a child - he hadn’t been for a very long time - but that gave him a bit of an advantage in this situation. For once, his height was advantageous as well. (Actually, it had proven spectacularly advantageous in the past, but he wished he was a lot taller regardless.) He rolled out of the way just fast enough that the man didn’t have time to react when he snapped back with his own foot. That foot slammed into the back of the man’s knee, buckling it, and then came around to smash the man’s nose. He fell backward to the ground, and the crowd began to divide. Two friends came to help the older “gentleman” to his feet.

As Limmy stood once more, the older man snarled.

“Filthy little brat!” he declared loudly. ”Time to teach you not to bother grown men!”

If there was one thing that Limmy was truly good at with regard to combat, it was getting out of the way. He didn’t have time to cast a single spell, unfortunately, as the man and his two friends began to try to catch the “brat” the way a group of inexperienced farmers might try to grapple with a wild pig. Limmy rolled out of the way of more than a few attempts to grab him before he found himself amid some broken planks from the boardwalk in front of the inn.

“Huh,” he said aloud.

Imagine that…

He flashed a quick grin before picking up one of the broken sticks (for that’s all it was now - a splintered stick) and slammed it into the man’s knee. The howl he let out was fit to make a coyote jealous, and Limmy didn’t stop there. He landed two more blows, one into each of the stomachs of the as-yet-unwounded friends, and then promptly gave them both headaches. Then he was rolling out of the way again only to slam the stick into the back of the man’s other knee. The stick was too badly damaged now to be of any further use, unfortunately.

But when the man started to pull a whip from his belt, Limmy knew this was about to get real serious real fast. What was worse was that other people were about to start joining in. All they saw was some tiny kid beating up on an apparently venerable old man and his two friends, who - from the noise the crowd was making - happened to be his grandsons. Well…this day couldn’t possibly get any worse.
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Hearne
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Hearne enjoyed the last of his drink, looking out at his three victims. The man who had been eating grass was looking increasingly confused and the drunk was beginning to rouse. As he tied his horn to his belt, both men gained enough of their faculties to run and hobble off, one spitting cod and the other clutching his stones. They left their other friend shouting into the bucket, held fast by the porch. Taking pity, Hearne released his hold on the porch, allowing the man to scrabble up and away, leaving the bucket before the planks straightened themselves out.

Turning to the crowd, he noted their shifting attention. An older man and his two kin were trading blows with a very short, aggressive...
"Oh, hells." Hearne growled, stalking forward. People got out of his way rather hurriedly and he was on the trio before they realized it. Extending his covered arm, a snakelike vine shot forward and wrapped around one young man. Hearne gestured to the side, throwing him to the ground. Tossing a handful of seeds at the older man's feet, he poured energy into them. they sprouted and rooted immediately, quickly growing up the man's legs and body.

The third looked ready to attack the newcomer, but Hearne shook his covered hand free, showing it to be made of wood and vines. Long claws grew from each fingertip, one in particular lengthening to a distressing point, edge looking razor sharp. Hearne pointed it at the boy's throat, driving him back and down to his back. "Stay there." he growled. The boy glared, but put his palms up. A couple of meters away, the snakelike vine was baring a maw at the other grandson.

Inhaling sharply and sighing deeply, Hearne turned to the young man on the ground, extending his free hand. "Ought to start picking on people your own size, little giant." He grinned, baring teeth etched with whorls and runes, coppery eyes glittering.
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Porto Bello
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It seemed that the druid and the sprite-like fellow were fated to come together. This wasn’t the first time the Aasimar had met the druid, and it hadn’t exactly been a fun-filled excursion the last time, either. Still, Limmy grinned as he took the druid’s hand and got to his feet. The old man had managed to force Limmy into a stumble, which had unfortunately landed him on his rump, but now he was on the winning side of things once more. (Actually, he usually was on the winning side of things; he just wasn’t that adept at physical combat and hadn’t had time to bust out his real weapons. It probably wouldn’t have been a very fair fight anyway, had that happened. Oh, well.)

“Yeah,” he said to Hearne, “but then I wouldn’t have any fun.”

That was true enough. He couldn’t deny that there was a certain hilarity and sense of adventure to his misadventures. He did seem to get himself into a spot of trouble more often than not, unfortunately. Oh, well. At least he usually managed to get himself out. He certainly wasn’t going to complain about the druid stepping in to give him a hand, though…or, well…a root...or a vine…or a…um…branch? Well, give him a bit of aid, anyway.

“Nice evening, eh, Hearne?” he said, chuckling. “Just rolled in and was lookin’ for the Green Gryphon, but it looks like the Green Gryphon found me instead.”

Yeah…that was the problem with trouble. It always managed to find him even when he was going out of his way to avoid it. Then again, he usually wasn’t doing much of that. But he never managed to find trouble on his own; trouble found him instead. That’s always the way it was, always the way it had been, and probably always the way it would be. All he could do was enjoy the ride, he supposed.
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Hearne
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"I'd say it's a great pleasure to see you again, but I'm an honest man." Hearne teased. The snakelike limb retracted beneath his robe, entering a knot in his forearm. The claw retracted and he shook out the sleeve of his robe. Pulling a wrinkled cloth glove from a pocket, he slapped it out and tugged it over the limb. Flexing the fingers in unnatural ways inside the glove, he didn't notice the old man until he got a good crack across his left side with the belt.

"Gah!" He snarled, more out of surprise than actual pain. The hard vines grew further up the old man's torso, creeping up to lock his arm in place. Jerking the belt out of the man's hand with nearly enough force to dislocate the arm, Hearne Glared him in the eye and slapped the belt across one of his grandsons' faces as the young man got up. The young man yelped and held the quickly-darkening welt, checking for blood. Shaking the belt in font of the old man's face, he met his eyes. "I'm keeping this."

Mutturing darkly, he tied the belt loosely around his own waist, sitting atop two others. "Gryphon'll do that." He returned to a smile, crisis averted for now. "What're you doing in Kellen, anyhow? Get chased out of everywhere else and had to come running to this backwater?" He glared at the three men in turn, giving one of the grandsons a wide eyed glare when he look like he was getting ideas. The boy swiftly changed his mind, setting to freeing his grandfather.
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Porto Bello
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“Ha!”

At least Hearne had a sense of humor. It was amazing how many people Limmy met that didn’t. This old man and his pair of grandsons were examples of that precise lack. He hadn’t even really done anything wrong in Kellen - yet.

Give it time, he thought to himself with a small smile.

Fortunately, he wasn’t a wanted man - unless you considered people who wanted to hire him. He didn’t. Actually, he had a lot of clients that weren’t repeats simply because they didn’t necessarily need him for much. He only had a few clients that could almost be called regulars but they were mostly idiots who happened to get themselves into even more trouble than Limmy often did. He wasn’t that great at getting himself out of trouble but he certainly had a knack for getting everyone else out of it. He grinned when Hearne asked about why he was in Kellen.

“Not yet,” he said mischievously. “Nah, I just finished somethin’ up on t’other side o’ the river and figured Kellen wasn’t dry yet.”

He certainly did love his drink. Kellen also had a local wheel here sometimes, though, and he liked to place bets on where the spinner would stop. He didn’t always win but he’d gotten himself several free drinks in the past. He also won a few coins every now and again, although that was quite a bit rarer. But the main attraction was the cinnamon-spiced mead, one of his favorite drinks. He didn’t know where it came from, exactly, but he loved the stuff. Might as well indulge himself when could, right? Even someone four hundred years and more could appreciate that nobody lived forever, so it was only right that people enjoyed themselves while they could.

“You must’ve put up quite a stir yourself, though,” he said with that mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Had the crowd riled up rather nicely.”
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