Recent content by Quinton

Quinton lifted his hand back and pinched his chin at the question. What is a dance? There was suddenly some philosophy to this, as if she had just then prompted a night’s worth of discussion as to what made a dance a dance. What is dance? Never mind a dance. What makes the dance so dancey? For...

“Hear, hear! Drink for the barkeep!” Quinton gave two cheers for the barkeep. Honestly, if people didn’t understand why the eggs were worth toasting to then…well he probably didn’t either, to be honest, except it meant yet another reason to simply keep drinking? Then came a new toast and if...

She sure did have a curious way of speech to her. Truthfully, Quinton didn’t know how much of his own words she did or didn’t understand but it seemed to be enough for both so there was that much at least. He chewed on some mixed nuts, thinking about that and this as he listened. Halflings like...

Five faces? Quinton’s already raised brow quivered as if it might rise even higher. That sure is a number. For a giant child like her, such as she was or whatever, he had half-expected anywhere from one to one hundred, to be honest, but ‘five’ made the figure sound so…ominous. “Aye,” he...

Alliria, she answered, and that sounded swell enough of an answer to Quinton. Lots of folk from Alliria. But not from, she said, which made Quinton blink as he sipped his drink. Well, which is it, miss? Either she was from Alliria or she wasn’t from Alliria. Had to be one or the other, he...

Quinton still felt like drinking. He plopped back in his chair and dropped his tankard on the tabletop, taking a long pull as he answered, which just made him burp, so he promptly swallowed and took another turn. "We cheering eggs..!" He began. Licked his lips. Looked right, looked left...

She sat down. Somehow she was still taller than him sitting up with legs bent around the same waist. Suddenly aware that she might catch his eyes roving over her person as if he thought she was the meat and mead for him to eat and drink, Quinton quickly blinked. Oh, sure, he knew she was taller...

Quinton was having the time of his life in the middle of the tavern, having elected to leave the corners for those who liked to smoke pipes with hoods over their heads and all that nonsense. Instead, he was content eating and drinking and smoking with random patrons at a table whom he had never...

Quinton barely stifled a frown at this little character’s rebuttal of the gifted beef. Did it smell bad or something? The next moment the child pointed at the halfling’s ale. “Smells bad?” he repeated. “That there is every tavern’s certainty to keeping open and in business as long as people like...

Quinton tilted his head, baffled by this creature’s statement about children not drinking what he was drinking that moment. It wasn’t as if he was going to offer it to the kid! He definitely wasn’t surprised to find that this child cringed at the sight and scent of cabbage. Sliced, spiced and...

Quinton was taken aback for two reasons. The first reason was because of this giant girl rushing toward him. The second reason was because of her ear-splitting grin. Not ear-splitting as in the sense of it being loud except, in a sense, it's akin to synesthesia or something, but in the sense of...

In retrospect, the lack of (too) many patrons meant that the thief’s work was cut out for him. It was a lot easier to navigate between a sea of bodies, negotiate his way throughout a crowd, picking this pocket and pocketing the contents of that purse, without anyone even noticing of the...

In the village of Shroudshire, life was slow and simple, like the little strokes on a piano toward the eve of slumber, or the slumber of eve, or like night’s tide when the storm has gone away, or maybe like the gliding of a bow on the strings of a violin by a drunken patron who is yet as skilled...

“Bad luck bringin’ an ‘alflin’ aboard,” they said. “What’re ya, twelve? Eight?” They said. “Sod off, mate!” They said. Over and over again. Was it ‘cause he looked like a kid? A ruffian? Whatever the case, one ship after the other, one failure after the other—none would take him in. So…heck with...