Eternity RPC Board
03-14-2017, 08:15 PM
As Kalevi tucked into his supper, the place slowly filled with people: regular dinner-goers with no means to make their own meal, rabble off the streets come for their nightly drink, all-night patrons come for more than both...while the place was far from crowded, the dark seedy corners soon saw themselves filled with warm bodies, lit by the fires of kitchen and hearth. As the shadows grew long from the windows, the clamoring of crowds outside slowly grew long and distant with them as both merchant and traveler saw to finish their business and seek shelter before the onset of night.
The stench of rot and sin both pervaded everything, regardless.
From his perch in a corner, the sinne wanderer could see most of everything in the not-quite-crowded room. Beyond the wrecked furnishings a little ways away, several small groups, usually of two or three people, sat around the remains of various tables, partaking of both their meads and meals while also trying not to form too closely with others in their grouped isolation. Meanwhile, several at the bar, despite the modest accommodations, made merry with one another over the same swill (the menu seemed fairly limited here), obviously glad for the end of another long day. Here and there, individuals found their places to eat or drink, sit or stand. Talk, or remain in blessed, hard-sought isolation.
"A bit bland, maybe? Zhough, it does fill zhe hole in zhis one's stomach, but, ah, how it makes one miss zhe spices aff home, no?"
So much for hard-sought isolation, anyway. Words from the next patron over, a man in plain tabard and stockings rocked back on his chair and teetering on the verge of imbalance with his feet resting crossed on the table came most unwelcome as he studied the traveler, backwards and upside-down over the back of his seat. If you could call him a man; with fur-covered feline features, even Kalevi could recognize the man as Rashala, the race of cat-people native to the vast Lenssian deserts and jungles distant to even the farthest reaches of the sinne "empire." Truly, to sight one far up the Storslagen coast was rare, indeed, though you wouldn't know it by this one's relaxed native-like demeanor, his arms crossed comfortably over his chest while his tail tapped slowly on the floor.
Ears on a swivel, his words came as a wispy guttural purr as he leaned precariously closer and stretched a hand to his mouth as to protect a closely-guarded secret. "I have on good auzhority, zhe shicken is a littel more...foul than fowl."
The strange foreign man nodded and gave a light, mock "squeak" as he relaxed back into his previous posture.
The stench of rot and sin both pervaded everything, regardless.
From his perch in a corner, the sinne wanderer could see most of everything in the not-quite-crowded room. Beyond the wrecked furnishings a little ways away, several small groups, usually of two or three people, sat around the remains of various tables, partaking of both their meads and meals while also trying not to form too closely with others in their grouped isolation. Meanwhile, several at the bar, despite the modest accommodations, made merry with one another over the same swill (the menu seemed fairly limited here), obviously glad for the end of another long day. Here and there, individuals found their places to eat or drink, sit or stand. Talk, or remain in blessed, hard-sought isolation.
"A bit bland, maybe? Zhough, it does fill zhe hole in zhis one's stomach, but, ah, how it makes one miss zhe spices aff home, no?"
So much for hard-sought isolation, anyway. Words from the next patron over, a man in plain tabard and stockings rocked back on his chair and teetering on the verge of imbalance with his feet resting crossed on the table came most unwelcome as he studied the traveler, backwards and upside-down over the back of his seat. If you could call him a man; with fur-covered feline features, even Kalevi could recognize the man as Rashala, the race of cat-people native to the vast Lenssian deserts and jungles distant to even the farthest reaches of the sinne "empire." Truly, to sight one far up the Storslagen coast was rare, indeed, though you wouldn't know it by this one's relaxed native-like demeanor, his arms crossed comfortably over his chest while his tail tapped slowly on the floor.
Ears on a swivel, his words came as a wispy guttural purr as he leaned precariously closer and stretched a hand to his mouth as to protect a closely-guarded secret. "I have on good auzhority, zhe shicken is a littel more...foul than fowl."
The strange foreign man nodded and gave a light, mock "squeak" as he relaxed back into his previous posture.