#iraducouteau

[theleagueofdraven-blog]

Oh, yeah baby. Draven is totally down for some drinks with Ira right about now. I know you know how to have a good time. Ha, ha, ha! And Kat is going to have to deal with it! Can't have fun if ya can't make a mess.Hah!

[lostorjustwandering]

He stood silent for a moment, taking in his surroundings. "So it seems. My apologies. May I ask where either the bartender, or the owner is?" The wanderer wasn't planning on resting just yet, but was looking for a rest site for later.

[runescratch]

For Ira. :3 

Man I'm sorry this took me so long I'm such a slug, but I hope you like it!

[darkqueensylvanas]

A Hostile Reception. (closed)

Tirisfal Glades. A place not normally known for its joy, cheer, mirth, and overall level of happiness. Settlements here were first founded by the High Elves, many and many a year ago... Ignoring, of course, the rumors that something evil lurked below the soil. The whispers on the wind claimed that the ever-present mist that perpetually lingers a few inches above the ground was a result of that same evil bubbling through the dirt and rising into the air, ready to yank down all who walk on top of it.

If that's true, tonight must be a particularly evil night, for the ground is literally choked with fog and mist. None of it comes up higher than waist-high, though regardless, most of the villagers in Brill have sought refuge in their one and only place of mirth: The Gallow's End Tavern, which incidentally happens to have the worst name for any supposedly 'mirthful' establishment ever.

The rotten wooden sign bearing the pub's name creaks on its rusted chains in the wind, the whinnies and growls of various mounts tied to the post out front mixing with the creaks, and the sounds of voices and instruments from inside. Over the entire village, just in front of the pub, looms the statue of a woman with a bow... intimidating, dark, introspective. As if her presence, even in stone, is designed to ward away trespassers  Given how grim the outside village looks, all decayed and covered in fog, inside the tavern is a different story...

"Ease upon a'self, mon! Dere be no way ya can be takin' me! Bes' just ta buy me da next round, 'er ten, an' not waste ya time."

"Put your money where your mouth is, troll! After all, it's not hard to miss!", spits a brown-skinned orc in response to the cocky bluster of the blue-skinned troll. Both men are seated at a table, apparently about to engage in some vigorous arm-wrestling. The crowd that's gathered about includes misfits of all sorts, but is mostly Forsaken. Towards the bar, a rather well-dressed elf, with hair that could make Rapunzel blush, idly slaps a few gold coins down onto the counter.

"Ten on Lannosh. I'm feeling lucky tonight, Ember," quips the preening elf, before taking a moment to examine his nails.

"Ha!," coughs the undead bartender in response, the syllable sounding like it's coming from the ravaged lungs of a coal-miner filtered through a pit of gravel, with the barest hint of femininity behind it. The dead woman then takes a moment to cough, scraping a filthy-looking rag (the sight of which makes the elf wince) through an equally-filthy looking glass. "Yer never lucky, Tyl. 'sides, Jandali's the undefeated champion'a arm wrestlin' 'round 'ere. Yer on!"

[asktalon]

...Suppose one or two won't hurt. Especially if it's on the house. Maybe I'll have to come around here a little more often, and make this my main go-to bar.

Grats on taking Katarina's hand in marriage by the way, might be nice to see a new face roaming around the Du Couteau manor every now and then.