(OOC: Celius, please only put wuotation marks around actual words being spoken by the character.)
The guard guffawed at the reply Celius gave.
"I doubt ye could take on an unarmed halfling from the looks of ye. Just and legal? Indeed!"
Both guards laughed as if Celius had made the funniest of jokes.
"So, Celius Lowlan, where do you come from and what's yer business."
Hafne: The Wooden Gates
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Celius
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Guest
As written identification was a rarity in the loose configuration of "citizens" that made up Hafne, Celius found the guards making way for him to enter.
"At least yer not a bloody Duke's man. Still, off-islander, might find yerself unwelcome in Hafne about now. Mind yer manners."
The younger guard offered one last piece of advice.
"You may want to keep to the Dalliant Sword Inn. It should be a rowdy night and you'll not want to be crossing any Clansmen."
"At least yer not a bloody Duke's man. Still, off-islander, might find yerself unwelcome in Hafne about now. Mind yer manners."
The younger guard offered one last piece of advice.
"You may want to keep to the Dalliant Sword Inn. It should be a rowdy night and you'll not want to be crossing any Clansmen."
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Celius
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Guest
OOC Note
Celius: You can't post in a thread that is dated from before the current time stamp/Synch event. If you need help with this I'll be happy to explain it further in PM. Also, (Yes, I realize this doesn't exactly make sense:)) the Dalliant Sword thread you posted in was not actually a Dalliant Sword thread (I've changed the title to avoid future confusion).
I have deleted that post and copied your original post into the Dalliant Sword thread for Samheen 18th.
Celius: You can't post in a thread that is dated from before the current time stamp/Synch event. If you need help with this I'll be happy to explain it further in PM. Also, (Yes, I realize this doesn't exactly make sense:)) the Dalliant Sword thread you posted in was not actually a Dalliant Sword thread (I've changed the title to avoid future confusion).
I have deleted that post and copied your original post into the Dalliant Sword thread for Samheen 18th.
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Naaba
Naaba returns from Healer's Training
"Greetings and well met Master Guardsman I'm Naaba a healer and so-to-be sailor I hope looking for work at the greatest port in the Isles." Nabba is dressed in a practical outfit her hair braided eight times and looking nice. In her hands is a Sailor's Duffle Bag of fine leather. She doesn't look like an ordinary woman clearly...Nabba awaits a reply pleasantly. By her accent and dress she's from the city that is hard to miss.
occ: While I have your attention I need to switch my Herb Lore skill to DORT she was approved before I could make the change.
occ: While I have your attention I need to switch my Herb Lore skill to DORT she was approved before I could make the change.
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Guest
Samheen 19, Morningtide
The guardsmen at the gate seemed of two sorts: one bunch was huddled together and looked agitated. They gave a suspicious stare to everyone who approached. The others seemed in unusually good spirits, eager for melee in which they would soon be engaging. And of course the sheer number of guards was a sign that something was wrong. Two to five was normal but there were a score of the uniformed men at the gate on this morn.
At Naaba's approach, one of the angrier ones stepped forward to meet her.
"Aye, then ye'd better be over at the Harbormaster 'n' not interrupting the security here at the gates then."
He waved her casually in the direction of the harbor before going back to grumble at his comrades.
(OOC: Please continue here. I've fixed the skill. Please note that we don't have any special "Sailor's Duffel Bag". A sack is a sack, and a sack is what they would be using.
)
The guardsmen at the gate seemed of two sorts: one bunch was huddled together and looked agitated. They gave a suspicious stare to everyone who approached. The others seemed in unusually good spirits, eager for melee in which they would soon be engaging. And of course the sheer number of guards was a sign that something was wrong. Two to five was normal but there were a score of the uniformed men at the gate on this morn.
At Naaba's approach, one of the angrier ones stepped forward to meet her.
"Aye, then ye'd better be over at the Harbormaster 'n' not interrupting the security here at the gates then."
He waved her casually in the direction of the harbor before going back to grumble at his comrades.
(OOC: Please continue here. I've fixed the skill. Please note that we don't have any special "Sailor's Duffel Bag". A sack is a sack, and a sack is what they would be using.
)-
Nefhatine
Samheen 20th
Nefhatine staggers towards the gate, nearly tripping with each step. She desperately clings onto a skillet filled with Islay whiskey, stopping once or twice to take a precarious swig with the end result of having more whiskey on her clothes than in her mouth. A foul smell of rotten fish, stale sweat, and alcohol blankets her in a thick shield quite distinct from the otherwise malodorous stench of the city.
Nefhatine has plenty of time to consider her surroundings on her voyage to the city gates. The fammilar smells of cooking fish and smoke remind her of home, although the negative aspect of the fish elicits no response -- she's practically wearing the smell. Some things are not quite the same as in her home in Kislovan, mainly the predominance of dwarves. There also isn't much smell of that foul elf smell. I swear they have a smell, just like all the other things people say have smells!, she manages to think.
It takes her awhile, but Nefhatine arrives within comfortable seeing distance, keeping in mind her current condition, of the guards. She sees the depiction of the ass and is reminded of a joke she overheard in the shoreside taverns, and laughs out loud. Her eyes saccade to the guards' weapons, and she immediately seems to regain her composure.
"Sorry about the mess and all, but I've still got my sea legs, and perhaps had one too many flasks... no, skillets! of your fine, delicious whiskey. Now, I don't feel too good so if you could kindly help me to an inn, I'll come back after I wake up and we do this over again."
Nefhatine staggers towards the gate, nearly tripping with each step. She desperately clings onto a skillet filled with Islay whiskey, stopping once or twice to take a precarious swig with the end result of having more whiskey on her clothes than in her mouth. A foul smell of rotten fish, stale sweat, and alcohol blankets her in a thick shield quite distinct from the otherwise malodorous stench of the city.
Nefhatine has plenty of time to consider her surroundings on her voyage to the city gates. The fammilar smells of cooking fish and smoke remind her of home, although the negative aspect of the fish elicits no response -- she's practically wearing the smell. Some things are not quite the same as in her home in Kislovan, mainly the predominance of dwarves. There also isn't much smell of that foul elf smell. I swear they have a smell, just like all the other things people say have smells!, she manages to think.
It takes her awhile, but Nefhatine arrives within comfortable seeing distance, keeping in mind her current condition, of the guards. She sees the depiction of the ass and is reminded of a joke she overheard in the shoreside taverns, and laughs out loud. Her eyes saccade to the guards' weapons, and she immediately seems to regain her composure.
"Sorry about the mess and all, but I've still got my sea legs, and perhaps had one too many flasks... no, skillets! of your fine, delicious whiskey. Now, I don't feel too good so if you could kindly help me to an inn, I'll come back after I wake up and we do this over again."
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Guest
The guards were more alert this morning, and there was a large troop of clansmen practicing with their weapons just inside the gates. The normal flow of merchants and craftsmen seemed to have trickled almost to a stop. Overall, a very sober atmosphere presided at the Hafne Gates.
The guard on gate duty wrinkled his nose at the approach of what appeared to be a particularly drunken and unkempt fishwife. He peered closely at her and made a few scratches of writing on a wooden chit.
"Er... sailor? Do ye have yer papers? I can't just let you through no matter how drunk ye are."
An older guard nearby laughed.
"Papers! In 'er condition? I wouldna bet on it, Mac. Just get 'er name, port of origin and intended business. She can check back with us come Morningtide - once the booze wears off."
The younger guard started to protest.
"But Carr, she might be a spy!"
"Nae. Fancy Dort will nae be sendin' anythin' so homely."
The oldster turned to address Nefhatine with a stern, commanding voice.
"Sailor! State yer name, most recent orders, port of origin and length of stay intended."
The guard on gate duty wrinkled his nose at the approach of what appeared to be a particularly drunken and unkempt fishwife. He peered closely at her and made a few scratches of writing on a wooden chit.
"Er... sailor? Do ye have yer papers? I can't just let you through no matter how drunk ye are."
An older guard nearby laughed.
"Papers! In 'er condition? I wouldna bet on it, Mac. Just get 'er name, port of origin and intended business. She can check back with us come Morningtide - once the booze wears off."
The younger guard started to protest.
"But Carr, she might be a spy!"
"Nae. Fancy Dort will nae be sendin' anythin' so homely."
The oldster turned to address Nefhatine with a stern, commanding voice.
"Sailor! State yer name, most recent orders, port of origin and length of stay intended."
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Nefhatine
Attempting another sip from her skillet, Nefhatine waited for the guards to make their reply. A sharp chill rose up her spine on the mention of papers, but quickly dissipated with the laughing guard's remark. Taking another sip, her mind began to wander amongst the bantering of the guards. She thought she heard talk of a spy, but surely that could not be. "More likely they're just admiring my spyglass.", she thought, "Wait... how did they know I have a spyglass? I left it in my pack!"
A loud, stern voice suddenly erupted, snapping her out of such musings. "Name's Nefhatine.", she stated, "Our ship took sail from Kislovan, and that's where I'm from. Most recent order was to get inside the cargo hold, but I was a passenger, not a crew member. I'm headed towards the nearest inn, and plan to stay in Hafne for at least a week."
Nefhatine begins to take another sip from her skillet and step past the guards, but stops to examine the clansmen training on the other side of the gate. "Why're there dwarves swinging weapons and whatnot in front of the gate where I need to walk? How is anyone supposed to get past them without having steel pierce their thigh?", grumbles Nefhatine half to herself.
A loud, stern voice suddenly erupted, snapping her out of such musings. "Name's Nefhatine.", she stated, "Our ship took sail from Kislovan, and that's where I'm from. Most recent order was to get inside the cargo hold, but I was a passenger, not a crew member. I'm headed towards the nearest inn, and plan to stay in Hafne for at least a week."
Nefhatine begins to take another sip from her skillet and step past the guards, but stops to examine the clansmen training on the other side of the gate. "Why're there dwarves swinging weapons and whatnot in front of the gate where I need to walk? How is anyone supposed to get past them without having steel pierce their thigh?", grumbles Nefhatine half to herself.
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Guest
Nefhatine
"Well, lass, it may be a while before you find a ship out. There's a war goin' on here. Not many captains are willing to risk pirates, storms and being mistaken for warships."
"As fer dwarves... I'd watch me manners around the Clansfolk here. The dwarves 're honorable folk, but no man wants to be mistaken fer one. And if ye cannot see the clear path across, perhaps you'd best find a bed to sleep it off before you do anythin' else. Best try the Dalliant Sword" He pointed in the direction fo a run-down looking Inn.
(OOC: Feel free to post in the Sword )
"Well, lass, it may be a while before you find a ship out. There's a war goin' on here. Not many captains are willing to risk pirates, storms and being mistaken for warships."
"As fer dwarves... I'd watch me manners around the Clansfolk here. The dwarves 're honorable folk, but no man wants to be mistaken fer one. And if ye cannot see the clear path across, perhaps you'd best find a bed to sleep it off before you do anythin' else. Best try the Dalliant Sword" He pointed in the direction fo a run-down looking Inn.
(OOC: Feel free to post in the Sword
)