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[O] Help, Help! I'm Being Repressed!; Open, A small village near Calmonah
Topic Started: Mon Jun 15, 2015 4:37 pm (436 Views)
Hearne
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“Ah, sir! We've been looking for you!” The voice invaded Hearne's senses, forcing him to turn to investigate. It had come out of the mouth of a bespectacled weasel of a man, short and thin. A bushy eyebrow arched as the man ran to catch up with him, waving a bundle of papers in his general direction. Crossing his arms, Hearne clenched his jaw and huffed through flared nostrils.

“Sorry sir, I had to run to catch up when I saw you come in. It's only that you seem to be residing on lands that fall on our village's lands. A small matter of taxation, nothing to get too harried over I'm sure.” The man smiled in what he surely thought was an endearing way. The druid began pondering how much of the mans head would fit in his over-polished boots. Refusing to respond, His other eyebrow joined it's brother. Frowning, the little clerk cleared his throat and rifled through the several sheets of parchment. “On the other hand, there is the matter of your... business. The sale of drink and medicinals has recently been getting a bit of scrutiny, and we have to ask that you either cease to produce and sell or pay a reasonable percentage of your share, after a suitable amount of back-taxation... ah...” He looked up over his spectacles and into Hearne's eyes, now a dark golden brown. The little man paled, but was unable to look away.

Hearne grew a sadistic little smile and reached out, still staring down the little man. He gingerly plucked the sheaf from the clerk's grasp. Not looking away or blinking once, he carefully shredded the papers into squares, and then again into smaller pieces. Tossing half into the dirt, he offered the other pile to the man. The little man shakily reached out for them, cupping his hands to receive the shreds with a whimper. “Place them in your mouth.” The druid ordered, reinforcing his voice with the Alpha authority the great beasts had. The little man slowly stuffed the parchment in his mouth. “Chew.” He complied, a bit of drool dark with ink running down his chin. “Good. Now spit.” The clerk spit the mass of pulped parchment into Hearne's hand. The druid smiled, showing whorl-etched teeth, and promptly slapped the man across the fCe with the wet mass. With a short whine, the small tax man fell with the slap, passing out on the dirt road.

Wiping his hand on his robe, Hearne nodded and walked on. “Morning, Hearne.” The tavern owner waved as the druid approached with a cask under his arm. “Morning.” Hearne returned the smile, eyes gleaming a bright copper in the morning sunlight. They stood on the porch watching the little man a block down,stamping his foot and face flushed red as he shouted to a portly watchman, fixing his spectacles. “Send me a letter if they start giving you trouble for selling.” Hearne it hed at his beard, plucking a strand of vine from it's depths.

“Hell, by the end of this evening half the watch'll be in here with a mug, demanding some.” He tossed a small purse of gold pieces to the druid, who deposited it in a deep pocket and shrugged. “Be back later this week with another. Ah, dear.” Hearne said as the guard came ambling forward, hand on his sap and looking a little red in the face. “Be gentle, he's new. Some soldier's nephew from Taras.” The tavern owner sighed before hurrying the cask inside, firmly bolting the door.

“Excuse me sah.” The man drawled, looking down his nose very importantly at this robed vagrant. To be fair, it was a lot of nose to look down. “Tax collector claims you assaulted him and worked witchcraft on his mind. Is this true?” The druid glowered, crossing his arms again. “I do not pay taxes. Nor do I take kindly to small men hiding behind paper. Or behind large men.” The druid stepped forward, sticking a finger hard into the man's gut. The guard turned a color that couldn't be good for his blood pressure, Whipping out his sap and making to beging hitting this dirty old bearded vandal. “Assaulton an officer of the law!” The man shouted with a side of spittle and cocked his arm to hit the offender.
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Porto Bello
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Porto - or Limmy, as he was unfortunately known by the locals - was off to a bit of a late start this morning. It was the result of a rather difficult job that involved securing a pony for…well, the details weren’t important. Let’s just say he’d never be able to look at that stable the same way again. The stable master was a lot keener than he looked, and even failing to discern the identity of the thief wasn’t enough to deter him from causing more trouble than the job was worth. Still, gold was gold. But Porto had needed to put three towns and a river between him and his temporary employer (and that was after throwing the stubborn stable master off of his trail and onto that of a couple of highwaymen he knew were working a nearby road) before he could stop for the night.

So when he finally rolled out of bed, bathed, and shoved some food down his gullet - a huge plate of steamed wild mushrooms mixed with a variety of fresh berries, slow-roasted potato wedges, several sprigs of asparagus, and a flagon of mead to wash it all down - the sun had risen well over the horizon and any notion of dawn had long since evolved into day. A belch fit to peel cheap wallpaper rang out and nobody realized where it had come from until the gleam of gold caught the barkeep’s wandering eyes at a table in the far corner. By the time he saw the coins, though, the door was shutting behind the little fellow.

The first thing he saw as he walked outside was a relatively barren street. Not many people were out and about yet, which would have been strange had it not been for the nature of the town. Most people were out-of-sight of the main street until almost noon, tending to their homes and families and animals and gardens and what-not. The second thing he saw was some guy being hassled by a much larger guy - or maybe it was an optical illusion. The demeanor and stance of the man hassling what appeared to be a tax collector was certainly enough to make him seem taller. As soon as Porto realized what was going on, he grinned broadly and a gleam of mischief appeared in his violet-hued eyes. He strolled down a ways and perched himself atop a crate just outside the book shop; it was really more of a library, as most of the people that partook of it just returned the books when they were done, but people could buy the books if they wanted. Porto hadn’t partaken of the shop because he didn’t think the selection was anything to rave about, but it was a good place to sit and watch people meander through the town from.

Although people in this particular town didn’t know Porto all that well, they knew his reputation. If there was a barrel of anything honeyed or fruity to drink, he’d come in and start a tab until it was gone. He liked to gamble, too, though there wasn’t much of that going on in this town. Could he help it if he liked to enjoy himself? Certainly not! He wasn’t going to deny himself well-earned simple pleasures just because people might think less of him for it. But today, humor was his hedonism of choice rather than drink or dice or six-in-the-hole.

Of course, the local guards couldn’t just let something like that go. Oh, no…it wouldn’t be proper. They had to protect their town from EVIL MEN. Ha…yeah…but nobody liked tax collectors, anyway. So when the guard tried to beat the guy up just for touching him, Porto - being the mischievous little brat that he was - rolled his eyes, cocked an eyebrow, and decided to have a little fun.

Although the elixir he had in mind to use wasn’t necessarily supposed to be used in this manner, the Celestian Elixir of Regrowth was notoriously sticky and often required a bit of food to soak some of it up. Oh, the elixir still worked well enough, the food helped it go down better. But as sticky as it was, it was equally thick and would work very well indeed for tripping people up. Porto uncorked the bottle and splashed some onto the ground, which made the guard slip. He fell so hard on his rear end that it would most likely be red and smarting for days; however, this wasn’t the only problem. He ended up knocking himself out with his own weapon!

Porto almost fell over in his laughter and barely managed to hold onto the bottle. By the time his hands had stopped shaking enough for him to recork the bottle and put it away, tears were streaming down his face and his gut ached from having laughed so hard. Today was definitely going to be a good day, if this morning’s misadventures were any indication.
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Hearne
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Hearne had begun thinking of things to do to the unfortunate soul who seemed to think he would do away with this wrongdoer, when there was a patter of liquid and the man turned to look in mid-swing, losing his balance and falling on his rear. His sap whipped on it's leather thong, cracking the man on the brow. He looked dazed for a moment before Hearne backhanded him into oblivion.

Shaking his hand out with a small smile, the druid looked around for his unexpected ally before his gaze fell on the underweight child. Pursing his lips, the druid squatted down to look the young man in the eyes. "Well, ah..." He found himself at a loss for words. children were not his strong suit. His experience with the creatures had been at home, where every one was a growing amalgamation of Ivyn and Humanity, a spirit of nature and the hunt intertwined with the soul of a man. They rarely spoke, and were rarely so sticky and overweight as those he'd found in cities. As a matter of fact, this one looked like it could use a bit of food in it.

"Hello there." His tone seemed to be trying to adopt the soft crooning most used when speaking to children, but wasn't quite pulling it off. "Thank you for your... help. Probably shouldn't make a habit of aggrivating the local... 'law'." He sneered at the unconscious man. Pursing his lips in thoughtful malice, he unlaced and tugged off one of the man's boots and dipped a finger in the potion, swirling it in the dust and dirt. Mixing in a chalky powder from a pocket of his robe, he painted a quick rune on the boot's sole and set in on the floor. When he woke and tried to pick it up, it would quickly grow heavier and heavier until it couldn't be lifted.

A Scent tickled his nostrils. He brought his muddied finger to his nose and sniffed. "Ah, what is this?" He recognized a couple of smells, but it was mostly an odd concoction he was unfamiliar with. Likely something like the nobles in Taras kept asking him about, like those pastes to remove hair from your chest or some nonsense. If she really didn't want quite so much of it, she should've read the fine print more carefully on that fertility tincture.

Something else was standing out, now he was paying loser attention to his senses. He sniffed in the boy's direction. "Mead. and... Oh my." He straightened, clearing his throat. "You're not a human child. I'm sorry." He looked concerned, staring openly at this waif of a man standing in front of him.

The tavern door opened once again, owner peering out to regard the fallen oaf of a guard. "Oh good. He is..." the man trailed off. "alive, yeh." Hearne grunted, still looking down at the creature. The guard snored. "Oh good." the owner breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll send a runner for someone to come pick him up. Shouldn't be too-- Oh gods, it's you." the man was frowning down at the little man before Hearne.
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Porto Bello
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Porto nodded in response, not immediately realizing that the man thought him a child. Despite how many times people had mistaken him for one (and not just on this plane), he never really thought about it much and certainly didn’t think of himself as a child. When the guy realized it and stood, however, he snickered. He wasn’t sure what the guy had done with the guard’s boot but it didn’t matter; it was obviously some kind of runic spell. Whatever it was, the nature of it eluded Porto. As far as the “law” was concerned, this guy didn’t seem to have much respect for the guards; that was fine by Porto, who’d aggravated such people in the past simply by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was a rare opportunity when he got to openly mock them and get thanked for it.

He was to answer the guy’s question regarding the elixir he’d slicked the boardwalk with when a head popped out of the doorway of the inn that he’d just left a few moments before. When the head addressed him, it did so with irritation that made his grin return in full. He beamed at the head as though he’d accomplished something rather grand; the head simply glared harshly and vanished back into the inn. He couldn’t help but snicker at the brief incident.

“I dunno what the inn has to complain about,” he said, still smiling. “It’s not like I don’t pay for the barrel o’ booze I go through each visit.”

After a moment, he realized he hadn’t properly introduced himself. Well…he hadn’t introduced himself at all, rather.

“Porto Bello, by the way, and that would be a bit of my Celestian Elixir of Regrowth. Not fun, having to drink that stuff, but necessary if you’ve a severed limb. Oh, but everyone calls me Limmy - or brat, hooligan, or that flaming whatever-he-is - oh, pardon my language, miss. Sincerest apologies.”

He bowed deeply and earnestly as a woman walked by in the street, glaring at the source of the word “flaming”. It wasn’t a very nice word, he had to admit. Then again, neither were rotting; festering; boogering; bloody; snaking; rat-ridden; flea-bitten; or mongrel. He’d been called worse but those were some of his favorites. (What? He got a kick out of it. People actually thought they were accomplishing something by swearing every foul oath and hurling every loathsome insult they could think of at him when he irritated them enough to incur their wrath. It was actually quite hilarious sometimes, especially when they foamed at the mouth and made fools of themselves trying to catch or hurt him.)

“Anyway…” he continued, returning his attention to the soldier’s other irritant.
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Hearne
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Lifting an eyebrow, Hearne smirked as Bram glared at the little man and retreated. "Probably good for business, but I can't imagine it's easy on their stock." He mused, wondering at the type of thing this creature drank. Probably nothing too serious, given his size. Especially if he claimed to put away a barrel, but you never could tell. The small ones were always worth keeping a wary eye on. they always had something to prove.

"Why don't you come have a drink with me and tell me about yourself, Lemming. Like what exactly you are." He carried on, completely disregarding the polite ways of speaking with strangers in civilized areas. This village was fairly close to home, and he wasn't at ease with something unknown running around. his grove had been growing restless as of late, and you always had to watch what you fed the garden. It was getting particularly bloodthirsty lately, and they had a delicate palate.

He watched the woman walk by with a keen eye, studiously watching her movements. A small smirk graced the corner of his mouth. The woman saw his unpleasant smile and stared at him for a moment before nearly tripping over a stone. Attention jerked from his gaze, she hurried off. "Damn." he sighed. "It's been far too long since..."

He frowned and looked down at the small man, feeling uneasy about what he was saying around such a small personage. It didn't feel quite right after the chewing-out he'd been given by that healer in Aelcrest. Children's ears weren't meant for such crude language, it seemed. They must have been meant for things like twisting. the druid idly rubbed one of his ears, still watching the woman disappear into a small house a short ways away. "Damn." he said again.

With a dejected sigh, he opened the Tavern door and gestured inside. "Just delivered a fresh batch. He'll have to water it some, but I'm positive i got the dosage right. Mostly. Nobody's actually been knocked out yet."
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Porto Bello
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He had to laugh at that.

“Yeah, they keep having to buy more. The locals can only give ‘em so much.”

At the mention of sharing a drink with the man, he brightened. He also wiped the tears of laughter from his face, though. Apparently, the drink was strong enough to knock people out. If it had to be watered, it had to be as pure as the river water nearby; if that was the case, he should at least try a drop or two…maybe just a cup of it to get him started. Then again, the day was still early and he’d only just had breakfast - but he was quite certain that a drink or two wouldn’t hurt him any.

“Must be good stuff,” Limmy said, “and I’d be happy to!”

Porto had never been one to turn down an invitation to drink.

“Didn’t catch your name, though,” he continued.

He stepped inside the tavern and had a sudden sense of déjà vu. There was nothing for it, though. He knew it was only because he’d just come out of here not long ago. His belly was already digesting his breakfast but a little alcohol might just be the thing he needed to stave off any potential indigestion - not that indigestion had been a problem before. He’d once eaten an entire stock of corned beef hash and carrots, prompting the innkeeper to chase him out with a broomstick. He still chuckled about that one, as the innkeeper didn’t know before then that he’d also been charming the good man’s lovely young wife. He was too old for her, really, but Porto wasn’t one to talk about age (no matter how young he looked).

Bringing himself back to the present, he wondered what this drink was that the man had just had delivered. Couldn’t be grog; that stuff wasn’t fit to grease a goblin’s ears. Could it have been stout, perhaps? The Dwarves were certainly as well-known for their stout as for their weapons, armor, love of gems and underground places, and their bulbous figures (not to mention those noses! stars and moon, those noses! the thought made him almost giggle with delight at the very thought of them! he restrained himself, however). Given that fact, it would make sense that the Dwarves might have delivered it this far south only by way of trading with men of the north who’d carried it to a trading post. The local stuff wasn’t that strong, though it could do one in if one drank enough. The honeyed berry wine and cinnamon-spiced mead Porto preferred, though, were odd things here; the former ran out quickly when Limmy was around, and the latter wasn’t carried in this part of Imythess.

All of this thought about booze, of course, was making Porto thirsty.
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