Open Chronicles Urduk’s Grog House (Pirates)

[Roul]

The roar of the conversation in the tavern called Urduk’s Grog House held a steady undercurrent of violence weaving through drunken debauchery.

Roul stood near the door and eyed the dozens of sailors, exiles, and general knaves lining the benches and chairs of nearly every table. They all drank, gambled, and ate as if there would be no tomorrow.

Suddenly, a loud thumping drew everyone’s attention until the hubbub ceased and all eyes turned to the truly massive orc standing at the bar. His chest was as big as an ale keg and his arms looked as though he grappled Minotaurs for fun.

A sign hung by the bar, slightly askew. It said Urduk’s Rules:
1. Start a Fight and I’ll Finish it
2. No Weapons

By the door where Roul stood were racks of swords in belts and scabbards, axes, knives and other instruments of death.

“Reavers, you all know me,” said Urduk, of Urduk’s Grog House.

They thumped their tables. Someone let out a whoop.

“The Black Bay is free from every kingdom of Arethil, because of you, captains and crew. Drink and eat, the fortress foots the bill.”

Even louder thumping and raucous cheers.

Roul leaned over to the man beside him. He’d slitted pupils, long dark hair, and scales like a lizard growing from parts of his face.

“The Wardens just pay for their food?”

“Sometimes,” replied Xun in a low voice, “it makes the harbor fees go down easier.”

“And these are all pirates?”

Xun shrugged, picking up his own mug, “aren’t we all?” The lizard man raised his mug to the attention of the crowd and in a loud voice roared.

“A MERRY LIFE!”

The crowd roared back, “AND A SHORT ONE!”

 

[Quinton]

Spoiler: Music IC

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 ever met until that moment. Such was the great extent of the tavern.

“So I told the elf,” the halfling began with a pipe between his lips. “That’s not an orc, that’s—”

Suddenly a loud thumping cut Quinton off as a truly massive orc stole his attention. He looked up from the tabletop, listened to his host who broke his joke, but did so gleefully. I’m feeling a toast! Quinton thumped with the rest of them.

Drink and eat, they were beckoned if not commanded. “HUZZAH!” Quinton agreed with a drum, ecstatic if with a couple of pints already in him. Feeling the moment, the halfling lifted his mug to the attention of the crowd and in a loud voice roared.

“A—”

“A MERRY LIFE!”

“AND A SHORT ONE!”

“...”

Quinton sighed.

“That was my line…” He whispered to a patron on his side and drank. So much for his toast...though…was that a plate with chicken and toast and egg on it? He reckoned. This is my moment! THIS IS IT.

“Huzzah HUZZAH.”

Quinton cried as he sprung from his seat, skirting its legs across the liquor-stained floor, stood brandishing his cup as if it was a sword forged for war.

“TO THE EGG”

He said, gave it a sec, lifted the rim of his cup to his lips and guzzled bubbled ale heartily like a true pirate whose heart was born for sail and sea.

Roul

 

[Nyrial]

And leaned back quite comfortably in the corner spot of a large table: white braids, pale features, red painted lips and just enough of a smile. With both arms stretched out against the backrest behind her, she was seated with a large and cumbersome figure on either side. Burly and loud, they carried on with their voices and drinks, not so obviously paying her any mind.

Long nails gently down the arm of one of them, and then a curled hand to her chin.

Eyes on the door, and a glimmer.

"Well now," she whispered on a drawn breath.

She'd been to and fro a time or two, and in her time the winds rarely sent the same feather your way more than once. Such a time as this, she thought, came only so often.

...to the egg?

A canted head, a curious face, but her eyes held their gaze.

---

Roul | Quinton ​

 

[Roul]

Roul felt like drinking.

He came over to one of the tables hosting a halfling, two burly fellows, and a slender elf, and pulled up a chair.

“Why we cheering eggs?” He rasped, taking a long pull on his tankard as he waited for the answer. He drew the back of a hand across his mouth, wiping foam from his beard.

Quinton Nyrial

 

[Quinton]

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. "...Because eggs!"

Roul Nyrial

 

[Nyrial]

Nyrial tilted her head as Roul approached, pleased that he had chosen to do so.

As for Quinton's outburst, she offered him a sideways glance with a raised brow, managing to echo his proclamation to him with a whisper. To the egg?

Because eggs. ​

It was as good a reason as any, she supposed.

"Well, I'll cheer to the barkeep. He keeps good stock," she said as she took her mug in hand, and lifted it in greeting to Roul before taking a drink. "So, the Black Bay," she said to him with her drink lingering by her lip. A curious statement, not quite a question.

---

Roul | Quinton ​

 

[Roul]

"Sure, why not," Roul rasped with a shrug, lifting his mug.

"To the Black Bay."

He took a sip and leaned back in his chair, seemingly at ease.

"So, where you two from?"

 

[Quinton]

“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 there was one thing this halfling knew to do it was definitely drink. When it came to drinking he liked to think he had skills on toast despite how some of it spilled from his lip.

“TO THE BLACK BAY! YAY!"

At the question as to where he was from, Quinton offered a burp before his answer.

“Outside,” he nodded promptly and one would find no sarcasm in his eye. Quinton had since figured the best way to enter inside this tavern was to head into it from the outside. "You two?" He would listen to other persons' answers while shifting side to side in his seat to the sweet music.

Roul Nyrial

 

[Nyrial]

"Falwood," she said with a smile, then sipped her drink, "east side."

There was a lot more to it than that, and many years spent here and there. But, he hadn't asked for a life story.

She too sat back a little more comfortably yet again, giving another odd but endearing look to Quinton. They'd only just met, but she found she rather liked him, although found him to be strange. But then again, she found most people strange. She found herself strange.

Back to Roul, she inquired, "and you?"

---

Roul | Quinton ​