Place to converse "in character."

Grolsch slams the door open with a huge grin on his face.

"BEER! PUT SOME IN ME!"

He sits at a table near the bar and away from the fireplace.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:45, Tue 07 Dec 2010.

Rhakar kicked in the door, sending splinters of wood in every direction.  This was the only way he ever entered the Garrulous, and nobody knew whether this was because he like breaking things or because he had simply never learned how to use a doorknob.  As usual, he slapped a handfull of silver onto the table to pay for the smashed door and his regular mug of milk.  He had long ago learned that he was incapable of drinking alcohol without throwing punches, and that his punches tended to end lives.

Paserri followed silently behind, drinking only from a waterskin at her waist and eyeing every inhabitant of the pub as if they might try to poison said waterskin.

Walking in through the broken door after Rhakar and Passerri, Oskyx pauses in the doorway as though the orcs had broken down the door and entered first to draw attention to his own entrance.  His pale skin and hair look quite like a dark cloud that blocks the sun in the door's backlight.  Grinning and looking around at the tavern, Oskyx enters and approaches one of the tables at the far wall.  As he passes one of the waitresses, he calls out to her, "Wench, I need bloody steak and I need strong wine.  Bring them to me and be rewarded."  Sitting at his chosen table, he puts his feet up on a nearby chair and sneers at his fellow patrons.

Grolsch sees Rhakar and his sister walk in. Other orcs! Excellent!

Grolsch waves them over to sit next to him. He usually avoided company, but it had been so long since he's had a conversation in orcish.

The door had only barely been propped back into place before it blew in in a cloud of splinters under the weight of a piping voice from the other side.

Habbin skipped in, whistling a jaunty little tune, ignoring the sharp splinters he trod upon in his bare little feet, and looked curiously about the room full of large folk.

Oskyx watches the halfling prance into the pub after his show of power.  Snickering, he calls out, "Anyone think he's compensating for something?"  Taking a swig of his recently delivered wine, he continued waiting for his meat to be cut and delivered.

"No."  Paserri replied, taking a seat with Grolsch and her brother.  "Just crazy as a sack full of weasels."  As much as she hated to admit it, she had a grudging respect for the little madman.  Sure, he was small and weak, and that was inexcusable.  But his tactics were unpredictable and often unfair, and that was something she would like to see more of in the world.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:23, Mon 13 Dec 2010.

Hopping up on a chair that was far too tall for him, Habbin swung his bare feet back and forth beneath him like a small child.

"I've never been a gladiator before," he said in his clear, piping voice, glancing about eagerly.  "So I watched how people came in, to see how it was done," he said solemnly.  He wasn't able to do it by sheer force, of course, so he had had to rely on elegance instead.

"If I'm compensating for something, at my size, and they're so much bigger," he said to the much closer to his size Goblin, nodding toward the Orcs, "does that mean that they were compensating that much more?" he asked innocently.

"Oh, he's compensating for something...just nothing physical." Oskyx replied gleefully.  Once the waitress delivered his steak, Oskyx sniffed at it approvingly and tossed several silver to the table for the waitress.

Having finished his steak, Oskyx stands on his table, a drbble of blood from his steak still on his chin.  Gesturing at the other gladiators with a pointing finger, Oskyx speaks loudly with a nasal voise.  "I dare any of you fools to meet me in the arena!  Show me your courage and your strength!  Or, hide like the cowards you are."  Reaching down to the table, he picks up his glass and drinks a large swallow of his wine.

The silent warrior moves up to the bar and takes a seat, ordering a shot of strong drink. He's had a hard few weeks since he came into the arena, having come to the realization that the fighters he's lost to haven't been real warriors, but cowardly wimps who relied on gimmicks to gain victory instead of strength of skill at arms. As he swallows the liquid, he can't taste it, not having a tongue to taste it with, but the burn feels familiar enough.

Habbin giggled, and swung his feet a little more vigorously.

"I'm not brave OR strong, but I'LL do it!  You're a much better size than these big, clumsy things," he said cheerfully, heedless of the big, clumsy things within arms reach.

Having concluded his duels, and looking forward to the dragon hunt, Oskyx settles into a chair at his favorite table and orders yet another bloody steak.  Tipping the waitress heavily, he eats it with relish.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:37, Sat 22 Jan 2011.

Stepping in, the narrow grey elf, a newcomer to the arena, walks over.
"Pardon, but aren't you Oskyx the White?"

Raising an eyebrow at the unusual man who had approached him in the pub, the pale goblin replied, "Who's asking?"

Bowing gracefully, the grey elf tosses the hood of his cloak back. "Nines Vandarel. I have watched you fight."