The Wobbly Goblet Playground Options

[King Coin]

Hello, players! Welcome to the Wobbly Goblet. This is the main thread and you should start here.


~~~

Aravi stopped and listened. A regular patter could be heard on the leaves of the trees around her. She stopped and looked up. A fat drop of water landed on her nose. She blinked and felt more drops land on her forehead and cheeks. The rain was cool; an involuntary shiver went down her back and into her tail. I hope there’s an inn soon. She saw a flash through the canopy of the Great Forest over her head. A rumble echoed off the mountains to the west. The rush of leaves overhead indicated a wind was coming up. Or a lot of rain. She could smell it on the air. She moved to the side of the road, hoping for some protection under the trees from the approaching storm.

***

The rain started coming down in earnest, lightning cracked in the sky. Wind howled through the trees, the eerie sound brought a mild, but persistent and irrational fear to Aravi’s mind. She was nearly running, looking for any place to weather the storm. The slick mud would have been too difficult for anyone but a Khajiit to run in.

A faint glow faded into sight as she ran. She made for it, well aware that this isn’t the normal territory for a will-o-the-wisp. Several buildings materialized in the gloom ahead of her. The soft glow was from a lamp near the road, lit by a welkynd stone. The windows of the largest building, a two story structure, were warmly lit from within. Aravi ran for it. A sign swung on hinges in the wind. She could barely read The Wobbly Goblet painted in a yellow, flowing script. She reached for the door and pushed. It was unlocked.

She shoved the door shut behind her by simply leaning back into it. She rested like that a moment while she caught her breath.

“Welcome to the Wobbly Goblet, young Khajiit.”

Aravi looked up and had to keep looking up. A friendly looking Altmer wielding a mop looked down at her. He had his golden hair made up in the traditional Altmer style, making him appear even taller than he was. “Hello,” she responded breathlessly as she tried to control her breathing. She was in a warmly lit room with polished hardwood floors and whitewashed walls. Regularly spaced support timbers broke up the uniform white walls in a pleasing pattern. A few people sat upon stools at a bar in the back. The rest of the room was taken up by long tables and a massive fireplace. She looked at his mop, and then looked to the polished hardwood floor she stood upon. Little puddles formed from the water dripping off of her armor and tail. Bits of mud clung to her feet.

Reading her expression, he said, “Do not worry, I expect as much when the weather turns foul. I am quite prepared to deal with it. Are you going to spend the night with us? I fear this storm will persist for some time yet.”

Aravi thought for a moment. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but she knew there wasn’t much light, if any, left in the day. And by the time this storm blew itself out… “Yes I think I will. Are you the proprietor?” Aravi moved to the side as he started attacking the little puddles that formed around her.

“Excellent, I’ll have Lleris take your pack up to one of our rooms. And no, I am not the proprietor, I’m Hethilion. I keep everything neat and clean, and maintain the excellent library on the second floor.”

Aravi heard the pride in his voice when he spoke of the library. She knew a Breton that would get along well with him. “Who do I speak to about settling my room then?”

Hethilion pointed to an orc woman standing near the bar talking with the bar tender. “That’s Bograk gra-Mugshak. She’s the owner.”

“Thank you.” She turned towards the bar.

“Ah, miss? I didn’t quite catch your name.”

She smiled. “I’m Aravi.”

***

When she was done speaking with Bograk, Aravi got some hot tea and stood by the fire. Her armor and fur were still soaking wet, she would have to change soon if she wanted to dry off. She looked around at the nearly empty room. Another Altmer was sitting at a barstool, fiddling with a lute, and talking to an armor clad Legionnaire. Her helmet sat on the bar counter and had the distinctive plume of a rider. An Argonian took his meal at the other end of the counter.

She almost missed the Khajiit leaning against the wall. His black fur helped him disappear into the shadows. He was big, almost as big as Kharjo and just as strong. He had his large ears decorated with several sets of earrings.

Aravi turned her attention back to the fire and watched the flames dance. She enjoyed the quiet, only the snapping of the fire and an occasional murmur from the bar could be heard. She had a feeling that it wouldn’t last, as storm like this was sure to drive other people inside as well.

This post has been edited by King Coin: Aug 24 2013, 04:12 PM

[Darkness Eternal]

Lycus Desselius mentally thanked the tavern’s patrons for staying up this night. He needed a place to rest, and the rain wasn’t exactly good for his armor and quiver of arrows. As he entered further he was greeted by a rush of hot air. He basked in the sudden warmth as he looked about his surroundings with an inspective and intense focus. The interior of the tavern was luxurious. The patrons sat on wooden chairs and stools in front of the bar. Candles and lanterns glowed atop the tables, while a lamp glowed from the ceiling. Sawdust covered the floor. Old barrels were stacked in the corners. A High Elf bard played a soothing tune with his lute, the group of women talked amongst themselves at the bar, and others were on their way to prepare his order.

Lycus headed toward the bar, shield and helmet in hand, stepping with a measured pace that failed to hide the loud clanking of his metal boots. There were open seats left, and he took one to the far side of the room near an armored figure. Quite truthfully he wasn’t in the mood to speak too much, but he was given no choice. He was hungry, and he didn’t want to cast suspicion to him by hiding as a craven criminal.

He set down his shield and set his helmet on the bar just below his face. He removed a sack of coin and set it on the table as well. A man came and gave him a bill, and Lycus murmured his order to the bartender.

“Grilled ham and mushrooms, and extra potatoes.”

He leaned back and looked around him, slightly frowning. His frown grew only deeper when he saw that he was seated next to a white-eyed Dunmer woman. Lycus remembered living in the Dunmer lands for three and a half years as a slave to the cruel dark elves. He recalled the vivid memories of wandering the lifeless wastes of Vvardenfel. Most of the areas he's been to were nothing but dirt and rock. It was an ugly, ravaged terrain: by all rights it should have been without life. And yet the lands teemed with desperate creatures and people scratching and clawing to carve out a meaningful existence for themselves. And though Lycus despised his life as a slave, he learned to accept it. His brutal childhood in Cyrodiil and savage upbringing in the ebony mines and saltrice plantations in Morrowind made him fight to survive had helped forge his desire for victory. Molded him from a slave who had nothing into a warrior.

But while the land and his brutal masters helped give him an advantage in life, the crimes and atrocities of the Dunmer could not go unpunished. Blood demanded blood. Those were the days were the oppressed took it upon themselves to become the oppressors. Where greed, vengeance and bloodlust triumphed over sympathy.

Those days, however, are long past, but the scars yet linger within the wounded. And Lycus was seated next to one of the Dunmer, a race who were one of his greatest problems time and time again. There were ashlanders, and native Dunmer and provincials. He could not tell who the woman beside him was, but couldn’t help but be darkly curious about it. He'd heard of the atrocities the Argonians commited against the Telvanni before the land itself was destroyed in due payment. While there were few Dunmers in the world, he knew some might belong to the Great Houses. And such, retribution would have to be swift.

“A long way from Ruhn(home), is it not?” Lycus said in an almost fluent Dunmeri. “Julan bal isra gah foyada. Va at mer kogo. Oegnithr, ven asta mora. Bete goris, nagrai ae anyai."(The land where ones rows life in the great fire river. The land where people are unbreakable. Bad change, coming to this forest. Strange creatures, dead and alive.”