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Thread: Drinking. Magic. All in a day's work. [Red & Maybe Magdan]

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    Member

    EXP: 2,370, Level: 2
    Level completed: 13%, EXP required for next Level: 2,630
    Level completed: 13%,
    EXP required for next Level: 2,630



    GP
    195
    AP
    11
    Name
    Jacques
    Location
    Corone

    Drinking. Magic. All in a day's work. [Red & Maybe Magdan]

    The clomp of boots on the cobbles. The gentle sigh of the wind whistling through the eaves of the stalls lining the street. The rattle of the “bone-cart,” full of its charred corpses. The dull shouting of people claiming that they saw the offending mage just around the corner. The scream of women as somebody puts up a wanted poster for some serial murderer.

    “I’m fairly sure most cities don’t have these issues.” Jacques muttered to himself as he fumbled with the lock on the door of The Bounding Tankard. The rusty iron mass clanged against the rivets in the door, making Jacques grit his teeth.I need to get one of those new keyed security spells. So much easier. He grunted as the key ground in the lock, and the contraption clicked open. He pushed open the door, tossing the lock in the bucket on the window sill. The familiar sound of the bucket sliding on the wood was nice, almost comforting. He breathed in deeply, smiling at the smell of charred wood that permeated the establishment.

    It’s funny, the world might be ending, and people still come to drink. Especially with a necromancer milling about, supposedly killing people and raising them as mindless servants.

    That wasn’t the case, of course.


    “You kill and raise one cat, and they’re after you like flies after sugar!” A voice muttered, followed by a string of expletives. Jacques chuckled at the the sight of the man. He couldn’t be more than 20, and was sitting at the counter, flipping through a heavy spellbook. The pages, from what Jacques could see, were covered in spidery text. The yellowed parchment and thick leather binding, coated in protective runes, seemed eerily similar to his own spellbook.

    “You can’t hide in my bar forever, Jeremy. Just turn yourself in! It’s not like they can do much for a first offense.” Jacques replied, rolling his eyes. He shrugged and dipped behind the bar, pulling up a bottle of spring water, pouring himself a glass.

    Jeremy glared back.

    Jacques sipped his water, looking at the man. No, he was no man, he was a boy. Barely a necromancer. The raising was shoddy at best. He glanced up at the clock.

    An hour till opening.

    A glint of light off a pair of beautifully designed glass bottles caught Jacques’ eye. The subtle geometric patterns, a faint silver inlay, the slightest hint of rosiness in the glass’ colour. John’s whisky. He smiled. It was about that time of month.
    Last edited by Itinerant; 10-08-2018 at 01:05 PM.
    "By the gods, fear it, Laurence..."
    -Master Willem

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