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]

The heavy Imperial noticed some of the patrons turned to him for a time, and then back to their meals and conversation with disinterest but one of them kept her eyes on him for a moment before turning around quickly. Like a dog or a wolf, Lycus could sense fear. He could smell it just as plainly as he could smell the rain or the food. It was almost palpable. But though he sensed something else in this girl, he felt as if he knew her from somewhere but he couldn’t remember. Like a man trying to recall a distant dream . . . he turned to her and was about to speak when -

“Yes, my lord!”

Lycus looked straight at the boy who responded to his beckon. This must be the one who polishes armor . . .

"I'm no lord." Lycus said.

He was the height of a man but had quite a boyish face and a youthful look to him. Lycus analyzed the fellow from his head to his toe and snorted a chuckle. "You’re the boy who polishes armor?"

Before the Lleris could respond, Lycus handed the Dunmer his gauntlets and told him to follow. "There is mud, blood and grime all over it. I want it polished and cleaned as if it were new." He said as he stopped at the foot of a flight of stairs leading to the floors above.

The front door opened and the entrance admitted another person inside. Lycus turned just in time to see a brute of a man, much like himself, enter the room. He was cloaked, and had his white hair as most men of his kind had. Wild and unkempt. No time for self-pampering. He had the look of a warrior about him, that much was clear. The warhammer slung on his back was evidence that this man could be dangerous, and the reflected sparks dancing about the edge told Lycus it was enchanted. Though most of Lycus' allies were men of that kind, he also had many enemies of that kind too.

The Imperial turned to the boy and climbed the stairs as the new song from the bard sounded off in the distance. "Do your job well, greyskin. This armor means a lot to me, and so does this helmet." Lycus said as he handed the boy(who's held the gauntlets in one hand) the snarling wolf helm with the closed visor. "If I find a scratch that was never there before . . . I'll break both of your hands."

The tone of voice Lycus had was not playful, and had a thick venom to it that suggested he wasn't joking, though Lycus enjoyed scaring Dunmers, especially the young ones who don't deserve a sword in their stomachs. Lleris looked simple enough, and with the way the High Elf cleaned the floor and the Nord woman prepared the meals, Lycus did not doubt he would do his job. If not, then perhaps a good scolding would be in order.

The Imperial headed up the stairs, and turned and stopped. Away from the view of the others, but still in sight of the Dunmer he began to remove parts of his armor. He unstrapped the buckles and took apart his bracers, his shoulder pauldrons and breastplate and grieves. He was left with a simple sweaty and stained shirt and his undergarment, though he wasn't embarrassed. The only things in his hands now were his two swords, and his dagger which he around his waist with one of his belts.

"After you've finished, stop by one of the rooms and leave the armor there. You'll know which one it is. I'll leave a marking at the door." Lycus explained, and climbed the steps into the halls above. Surely he was aware he did not pay for any of the rooms, nor did he need to. He would just share one.


****

Vera closed the door after the Altmer lit the fire for her. She inhaled deeply, and let out a satisfied sigh. She was alone for the moment, but not for too long. Vera took her time and measured up her surroundings. The bed was large, the tub was massive and the chamber was cozy enough to suit her needs. There was even a small mirror on the side.

She began to undress. Her old, tattered cloth lay across the foot of the bath. Though she thought it brown, it had been stained a thousand times into a muddy yellow. Her boots, black and muddy, were thrown to the side. Her skin was just as dirty, but bearing evidence of scars of past battles. Over her back, and above her shoulder, and just above her collarbone too. Both sustained in Tamriel and in Oblivion.

She walked up to her satchel and pulled out a stone statuette of the Daedric Huntsman, and brought it at the front of the mirror near the corner of the room. She collected a few candles from the room and set them near the miniature shrine. She bowed her head, and from her pockets recovered a thick piece of human skin that she took from one of her contracts a day earlier.

“Accept this offering, Father of us all, Sport of those who are not our ancestors. For the thrill was real, and my arrow was true. The prey has been slain in the hunt for the glory of the Huntsman. Let his blood and skin please your eyes, and in return, you grant me my blessings for the days to come.”

Vera opened her eyes, and in a sudden flash the skin began to burn and sizzle, though none of the candles touched it. And then, it crumbled and the remaining ashes scattered about the air. A smile slowly cracked from the corner of her lips, for she knew He was pleased.

After she murmured her prayers, she slid into the water. The bath was hot and relaxing, and every ache in her body seemed to slowly dissipate with each passing minute. Though it would return as quick as it left. As a Lycanthropy, she was prone to feeling every pain and ache in her body that she initially never knew she had. Such is the frustration, she thought as she settled in the tub.

The Imperial began washing her hair, scrubbing her scalp with her fingers and then smoothing out the tangles with a comb she picked up from the table. Then she began washing herself thoroughly; from her face to her breasts to her belly to soft curve of her buttocks. The water took on a slightly darker color as all the mud and uncleanness of her body seeped into the bath. She had half a mind to summon the High Elf again, but decided against it.

The door suddenly flung open, and Vera whirled her head to see the Imperial man. He was barefoot and wearing his undergarment and a simple lower-class shirt. He still had his customary long black hair and neatly trimmed black beard. His sable locks fell to the sides of his face an over his shoulders, and slightly down the back. He entered the room, and closed the door behind him and set his weapons aside.

“Where is your armor?”

“I gave it to the man downstairs to polish it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’d trust a man with your armor?”

He shrugged. “I’d polish it myself if I were not so tired.”

"You're blessed to have a lioness at your side doing the work, otherwise you'd be a lost man," Vera addressed him.

"That's why I married you." He said.

“The water is fine,” Vera replied as she closed her eyes, and set her head back. “I just got in. Join me.”

“I hope you didn’t blacken it.” Lycus answered her. He pulled the bottom of his shirt away and lifted it over his head, and tossed it to the side so that it joined with Vera’ dirty clothing.

She opened her eyes and regarded him with mild interest. “I’ll blacken your eye if you don’t hurry it up.”

The man smiled. “You missed me.”

Vera returned a grin. “Of course I did.”

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: May 21 2013, 07:36 PM