Golden Lore

Requiem

Well-Known Member
Member
C̢̓ͤ͑̅ͪ̎͆͗́̑́͆͂͏͜h̵̢̎̊ͨ̍̀ͫ̉̒a̓̓́ͯͣͭ̎͡͝͡͏p͛͗̌̿̀ͨ̐͋ͬ̅͑ͨͩ͊͗͒͢͡͞ţ͂͌̂̾ͣ̒̽̈ͭ̑ͧ̋̀̕e̛ͣͯͩ̀̑̚͘r̢̈ͧ̍̄͑ͫ̅̀ͭ͐ͮ̿́̕͟ ̢̢̛̀̏ͩ͊ͬ̃ͬ͢͡5̸̴̷̍̿̈́̑̽ͪ̉̂
The rubble of the lab floated away above the Seat of Power. From a far window, the Emperor surveyed the damage, a bottle of wine in one hand, an empty glass in the other. His tie was loose, dangling from a slightly unbuttoned dress shirt. His gemstone cuff links were scuffed and scratched, resting on the now defunct remains of his desk chair.

In the far left corner of the room, Fortune clutched a freely bleeding wound. Standing over him was Sacha, a single arm stretching down onto the goblin's shoulder, hoping to help keep the wound sealed.

Breathing heavily near the remains of the emperor's desk sat Kanin. In his arms, breathing her last gasps, was Nyria, a spear of the purest ice covered in her blood. Kanin's pistol was pointed directly at the emperor's head, however much good it would do him.

The emperor took a sip of his wine, swished it in his mouth for a moment, and then spat it out onto the ground near him, the Clordin imported rug now stained permanently with yet another blotch of red. He smiled and continued to stare into the floating rubble of the secret lab hidden beneath a quaint bar in Poria. He hadn't expected the explosion to be so magnificent, but he certainly expected what he saw next.

Jumping from rubble to rubble, a rope wrapped around his waist, a tiny figure stared over dozens of miles into the eyes of the emperor. The two locked gazes, prepared for what was next.

Under Diarmuid's feet, a glowing, white glyph appeared. The halfling unslung the rope from around his waist, tying it about the floating rubble of his former place of employment, and then tied another end around his waist once more. He turned to face the woman, then nodded. He stared back towards the Seat of Power and felt a surge of energy take hold of his feet. The glyph flashed and propelled Diarmuid off of the rubble and into the air. The rope went taut and dragged the rubble with the halfling.

This was going to be one magical fucking missile.

The little creature's skin grew metallic, his arms instinctively moving over his eyes, as the speed he was now literally flying at would have torn him apart without his magic to save him. He and the rubble flew through the air and, at the last second, his and the emperor's eyes locking once again, cut the rope tying him to the rubble.

The missile collided with the emperor's window and

ERROR

LOADING RECORD
ERROR

RECORD FAILED TO LOAD

"Let's try something different."
 
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Requiem

Well-Known Member
Member
Chapter 1
The day of the treaty signing finally came. After decades at war with various countries, the war would finally be over. The Riordan Empire laid claim to all of the land on the planet and a true world government had been put into place.

"With this pen, we end the bloodshed." Emperor Riordan breathed deeply and signed the paper. "Please, Mr. President. Let's end this once and for all." He handed the pen to the President of the now forcefully annexed Mistlord Republic. With shaking claws, the lizardman took up the pen and scribbled what passed for a signature onto the paper.

The war was now over. The City of Poria was now the true center of the world.

(OOC: So a war lasting decades has finally ended with the Riordan Empire coming out on top. You are citizens of this empire and citizens of Poria itself, the city this game happens in. Make a short post responding to the treaty signing, whether your character watched it on TV, on the Internet, on Radio, wherever the hell. Hey, maybe you didn't even watch it, I don't control you.)
 

Tolvan

Campaign Killer
Member
Nyria reclined on the couch in her flat, sighing as she watched the peace signing on her TV. It wasn't that she was sad, just... apathetic. Most of her friends had been against the continuation of the war, and on the surface she had always agreed, but... At this point, Nyria was just relieved the war was over.

"Why does he even WANT to rule everything?" Nyria questioned, chuckling to herself at the rhetorical question. "What's the point of something like that?"

Nyria shook her head. It didn't matter to her what happened, anyway. She had a good enough life, and a job she enjoyed. Maybe she could go travelling one day - with the world united, she probably wouldn't need a passport, right? Maybe she could even find her tree, wherever it was. Regardless, for now, Nyria was rather content with her life.
 

Jeroth

Mach Ambassador
Moderator
“With this pen, we end the bloodshed.” Emperor Riordan breathed deeply and signed the paper. “Please, Mr. President. Let’s end this once and for all.”

Diarmuid was managed to witness the event on the pixelated screen of the bar’s TV while the bar erupted into cheers. A wide smile spread across his face. Patrons were hugging, cheering, dancing and singing. The war was filled with mixed opinions - some supported the effort while others found it disgusting. In this very moment of time, they weren’t thinking of the political effects of the event. They were thinking of the family and friends that would be returning home.


“Get me a lager!”
“Get me an ale!”
“Get everyone a round!”

He was caught off-guard by the event that he was overwhelmed with drink orders. “All right! All right! One at a time! I’m the only one here.” Diarmuid began to deal with the cheerful patrons of his bar. The sounds of cheering could still be heard in the streets as he began to mix drinks and serve beer. On the plus side, his tip jar would be overflowing.
 

Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
Unwinding in a dimly-lit corner of the Brigand's Barroom, which had been showing the treaty signing on a shitty old black-and-white TV, Kanin found it impossible to keep a grin off of his face. The bar was as crowded as usual - very, given that it served liquor cheaper than the East End's tap water, though usually of even worse quality - with a few of the patrons discussing the treaty and its implications, and many more ignoring it in favor of drowning their myriad sorrows or engaging in small talk to distract from them. Kanin's mirth came about not from any sense of patriotism or unification, but the Emperor's claim that the bloodshed was over - that, the killer suspected, was meant to imply that bloodshed in general was out of fashion. He knew better. As long as there were people, there would be people who wanted one another dead - those in high places, with much to lose or gain, in particular. With only one government to preside over so many interests, hitmen were about to become all the rage throughout the Empire, in Poria in particular - and that meant he was on the up-and-up.

Finishing the drink before him, and struck by unusual generosity, Kanin stood and made his way to the bar, setting a few very large bills down on the counter. "A drink for anyone who'd care for one - and the best whisky you've got for me, on the rocks. Fill the glass, and take whatever change is left for yourself." He said coolly, smiling at the bartender. He didn't announce as much, and anyone who knew him would catch on as to why - people get suspicious when a murderer pays for their drinks. Sliding his own off of the counter the instant it was placed, Kanin raised it to his lips and took a sip, gently sighing as the spirit slid down his throat and warmed both his belly and blood. He returned to his seat, unfastened the top button of his shirt, and set in to relax a while, placidly observing the bar's other customers. Today was a damn fine day from where Kanin was sitting, and it was to be enjoyed as such.
 

coolpool2

Savage AF
The Original Gangster
The only source of light in the cluttered room are two computer monitors. In the center of the room a blue blob sits dressed in a white hoodie. Several books lay open around the slime, their pages periodically being flipped as it browsed various websites. “The war’s finally over.” Sacha thinks to itself. “At least the economy might be seeing some improvements.” Sacha skims over reports about the peace treaty. The war never mattered much to Sacha, people will always find an excuse to kill people. Such a waste too, so many resources that could have gone to science. So many bodies left only for the scavengers, or rotting under the sun.

The slime closes the page to move on to more engaging activities. Blue appendages extend from its body, putting the romance novels and adventure stories on the shelves. Those would have to be read another time. Sacha lets out a sigh as it realizes it has to bear the suspense of not knowing if Mister Thursday would confess his love, or kill his mortal enemy in cold blood.

An old book is laid on the desk. It looks old enough to belong in a museum. It is thick, but not enough to be cumbersome, with a sigil on the cover. With a tap, it flips open, turning itself to whatever page is needed. Ah, the wonder of magic. “It’s so convenient being able to ctrl-f through books.” The slime glances at the clock and opens its notes on the computer. There was science to be done.
 
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Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
Kanin didn't have long to enjoy the solitude. A a whiskey glass from out of sight was slammed down on the end of his table, and pushed forward. A little goblin in a faded brown leather jacket had jumped into the booth across from him, and climbed nimbly along. He was seated at the far corner by the time his drink had stopped sliding, coming to a stop just in front of him.

It had not been a good day for Fortune Poi. Thanks to the treaty signing, many of the city's usual assorted pedestrian population was confined indoors, either taking time out to watch history in the making or just outright celebrating. This meant that he hadn't been able to lose his all-too-common police tail in the crowd, as usual, and had been forced to resort to switching clothes with one of his henchmen in the nightclub and then splitting up his crew. Scraper had taken Fortune's khakis and overcoat and the pair of muscular orcs that Fortune generally used as a security detail, and as such had drawn away the fake plumber's van that had been following them all morning. Nobody had bothered to follow him and the drow, Soap, who was now grinning evilly and cleaning his nails with a switchblade across the room. What a showboat.

"D'ya know me?" Said Fortune. Normally a pointless question, when addressing a telepath, but that was what Soap was for. Fortune didn't like showboats, and nobody at all really liked drow in general, but people like Soap had tremendous value in the shady corners of Poria's underworld. How well-connected was the hitman, really? How clever? Enough to guess at the identity of this extremely ordinary-looking, unshaven goblin in front of him? That would be good to know up front. Perhaps right now he was trying to read Fortune's mind to find out, but that wouldn't work - not with Soap here. The little drow's ability to block the magical abilities of an individual he focused on had made it worth dragging him around all day, and even putting up with all of that leering and swaggering and other nonsense he occupied his time with while he was at it.
 
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Requiem

Well-Known Member
Member
The Brigand's Barroom was alive. It was the only way to describe the atmosphere of the place. Sawdust on the ground absorbed the spilled alcohol and vomit of celebratory drinking like a succubus to the most potent energies of her victims. The bar itself seemed to throb with the power of the people as they realized, for one shining moment, world peace had been achieved. Even to the lowlifes and scum of Poria's lower southeast side, the idea of a world government held power and promise, an incoming change for them and their city. The implications of "peace" becoming official had not yet fully hit them and for some, it never would.

In a corner of the bar, a young woman rested quietly and, strangely enough, without bother. It would be hard for anyone to place her race. Was she human or aasimar? Maybe something in between? Perhaps a younger elf of some sort. Whatever she was, she was out of place. Her clothes were not expensive, but they didn't yet have the stink of hard living or hard drinking. Somehow, she avoided notice. Grey clothes, black, dyed hair and an old flip phone that served her well. It was easy for her to blend into the crowd.

With a free drink in front of her sitting untouched, she flipped open her phone. She typed a rather brief text message and sent it.

"Come to the bar. You're missing the action."

In a moment, every patron in the bar with a phone felt the familiar, or, for the more lonely people, unfamiliar feeling of vibrations and ringtones. They had all received the same text message sent from the same, unknown number.

Breathing deeply, the young woman cleared her mind of all thoughts, meditating away any thought that might attract unwanted attention, physical or magical. She became an invisible, unnoticeable dip in the atmosphere. She would be found when she wanted to be found and she would have who she wanted to have here in the bar with her.

- - -
Sacha and Nyria, in two entirely separate apartments, received the same sudden urge to check their phones within the same instance. When they did, there was only one item showing on their display: "Come to the bar. You're missing the action."

Whether they wanted to or not, the two would both feel the inexorable tug to grab a warm jacket, leave their homes, and step out into the wintry afternoon towards a bar that both of them had almost certainly never heard of.

As they did so, making their way at a steady pace towards the bar, it was clear that they were not the only ones feeling the sudden urge to get drunk in one of the seediest dives in the city. They and dozens of other people like them felt compelled to join the festivities and get to one place in particular: The Brigand's Barroom.

(OOC: I won't always do these ooc things at the end of posts, so bear with me. Players already currently in the bar, just play off of what's happening. Play off of one another, maybe get creative and insert yourself somewhere if need be. The woman in the bar has, for all intents and purposes, equipped her plot armor for a post or two, so she can't even be noticed, though perhaps her inability to be noticed might come off as strange. Have fun reacting to that and the text from her.

And to the two not in the bar, you have two posts to get to the bar. You can do it in one if you like, but I don't mind doing a little back and forth, that's fine with me. I won't always do these big posts covering the actions of every character, I don't mind doing individual posts as well, but as I said, we're going to be slightly railroading this game, hopefully only in ways that feel natural and organic, at least to some extent.)
 
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Jeroth

Mach Ambassador
Moderator
“A drink for everyone who’d care for one - and the best whisky for me, on the rocks. Fill the glass, and take whatever change is left for yourself.”

Diarmuid managed a quick glance up at Kanin. Kanin had been a regular patron of his at the Brigand’s Ballroom and was luckily well-behaved. Being a bartender, Diarmuid heard all of the stories and the myths. His green eyes tore away from his patron, reaching a small hand up to the bar and pulling the cash towards him. His eyes widening before pocketing it and grabbing a stepladder to reach the good bottle of whisky in the center cabinet.

“Where’s my drink?! Where’s my beer!?”

The voices grew louder as he turned around - finally able to look his patrons in the eye instead of them looking down at him.

“GIVE ME A SECOND! ALL RIGHT?”

He grabbed a pristine glass from underneath of the bar and placed it in front of the assassin. Grabbing a handful of ice cubes, he placed them inside before pouring the whiskey.

Glug glug. Crack pop. Glug glug.

The rich whisky flowed from the bottle as it crashed against the ice. The ice weakening and shattering underneath of the warm whisky that filled the glass. Sealing the bottle, he rushed up the stepladder, placing the whisky away before filling up glasses of beer for the patrons.

“Thank ye.” He went to thank Kanin, only to realize that he disappeared behind the crowd of drunks.

Ring. Ring. Rin-Ring.

The jingling bell harkened the oncoming wave of patrons that began to flow into the bar at a supernatural rate. The more patrons meant more chances for a fight. The more patrons meant more tips. Diarmuid’s lips curled into a wide smile as he thought to himself: Tonight is going to be a good night.
 

coolpool2

Savage AF
The Original Gangster
Sacha jumps in surprise as its phone rings, its hand almost breaking the magic circle drawn on the desk. It takes a moment for it to realize the sound came from its phone. “That’s weird…” Looking at the phone, Sacha sees a message to come to a bar. For some reason Sacha cannot stop thinking about going to a bar. Sacha puts away the doll in front of it, and downs the rest of its tea. The golemancy experiment could wait. Grabbing a green hat off of the rack, Sacha exits the soundproof home and locks up. A walk might help it come up with new ideas.

Sacha doesn’t mind the cold as it walks through the streets inconspicuously. There isn’t much on its mind. Work as a librarian is still enjoyable, and it got to help out with experiments often. Sacha walks without a care when a thought pops up in its head. “Where am I going?” It is not like it to just stop testing so suddenly. Sacha stops in front of a building it had never seen before, the Brigand’s Barroom. With a little hesitation Sacha enters the bar. It hasn’t gone drinking in some time, so it might as well enjoy itself. Tonight’s going to be a long night.
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
Fortune, who didn't carry a personal device, frowned slightly when he felt the burner phone buzz suddenly in his pocket. Everyone who knew that number, knew damn well better than to use it just to send him routine updates, and he doubted that they'd be sending him good news. Had Tomakaiei managed to mess with his latest shipment after all? He flipped the screen open, under the table, to find out.

Ah, just some idiot who'd put in the wrong number before sending. Good. He flipped it shut right away and looked back to the elf, other hand reaching out for his drink.
 

Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
Kanin had been, much to his frustration, unsuccessfully attempting to look into the goblin's mind when a vibration in his jacket alerted him to a text message. He held a finger up for a moment, then pulled out his phone and checked it; he had been expecting word from a client, and wouldn't have been surprised to hear from his mother given the auspicious occasion. Given that he was already at his bar of choice, and didn't recognize the number besides, he quickly sent a reply to let the sender know of their mistake. Sorry, you have the wrong number. It was a waste of his time, but he wasn't miserly in that regard - and it gave him a few more seconds to think through who the goblin in front of him could be. Ordinary-looking, yes (at least, by the standards of a goblin in East Poria)... but he not only knew who Kanin was and had the stones to approach him, but had one of the blocker bastards with him. If he had hoped not to be recognized, that was a mistake - the elf paid close attention to those in Poria with such abilities, and by extension those who paid them. Given that he was familiar with Soap, had seen the drow come in, and kept close enough watch on the sneak to know him employer, his mystery was solved. He grinned, then answered.

"I do, Fortune, and anyone clever enough to get into your position has to know me. Hopefully clever enough not to interrupt my leisure for nothing, too. What do you want?" He demanded, his grin having already dulled to a smug smirk of certainty and his amber eyes now regarding the feared and respected crime boss with a look most would reserve for especially persistent and irritating insects. He raised his hand to down another quarter of his whisky, raised an eyebrow, and waited impatiently for a response, hoping the goblin would get to talking a bit more quickly and a bit more frankly, and then be kind enough to fuck off and leave him in the same peace the rest of the world was supposed to be enjoying.
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
Fortune said nothing, but leaned back against the booth as he picked up his glass and took a drink - the signal for Soap to drop the blocking effect on Kanin. Thoughts were much faster than words in general, and Fortune's thoughts in particular were a lot faster than most. A brief glimpse into the goblin's mind told Kanin something like this:

The job was too delicate to afford any screw-ups. He'd heard that Vikona was a reformed nutjob, now a genuine pro, but if it turned out that he was still a loose cannon after all then it was time to move on. Cocky, confrontational; unprofessional manner and tone. First impressions: Not good. Last thing he needed here was another strutting showoff like Soap.

The mark was George Tomakaiei, one of the three main Duende bosses operating in Poria. Fortune was slightly disappointed to find that Vikona hadn't been well-connected enough to guess as much, but admittedly would have been surprised if he had.

The gist of the matter was that just over a week ago, one of Fortune's mules had been gunned down by police during a routine traffic stop. This was significant because A) Fortune's drivers were under strict instructions never to carry weapons or resist arrest while making deliveries, and B) police and media reports had made no mention of the several kilos of miragebud that the mule's vehicle should have been carrying. Of course, it hardly took a genius to recognize it as a job right away.

PPD had conducted their inquiries, and found the two goblin officers who'd done the shooting to be cleared of any wrongdoing, but Fortune's people had conducted their own inquiries in tandem. They'd ended up questioning a great deal more people a great deal more persuasively than Internal Affairs had, often receiving answers to questions that they hadn't even started asking yet. Among other things, what turned up was that the two policemen involved in the incident were most likely working for Tomakaiei. This was all but confirmed for Fortune when the Duende rep had approached him offering a merger the other night, selling it as a natural extension of the current, uneasy cease-fire that they'd held over the last three years. Among other things, he'd stressed how the family's connections would be extremely helpful for making all of Fortune's "po-leess problemss" simply disappear.

Fortune had declined, of course. He had no interest in becoming another one of those Duende boot-lickers, replacing the non-goblin half of his staff just to keep all-goblin as they liked, or even taking insults and ignoring slights from old-news trash like Tomakaiei, too stupid to know that they should have quit the game years ago. Tomakaiei had to die, and swiftly. The message had to be sent out to the other bosses, and all of his other rivals, that anyone trying to interfere with his operations would be dealt with very, very harshly.

At the same time, neither side wanted an outright war. If it was discovered that one of Fortune's usual people had done the job, or if the triggerman somehow screwed up and gave it away, the other bosses would have no choice but to retaliate, or their whole organization would stand to lose face. But otherwise, if at all possible, they'd be sure to find an easier target to pin it on, punish him accordingly, and then move on as usual while privately blaming their former partner for getting in over his head with a rival syndicate.

...and that's where Kanin Vikona came in. There were a number of hitmen in or around Poria, at his reported skill level, that Fortune hadn't hired before. Fewer of them were free agents, however, and Vikona alone had the added perk of having gone up against the Duende before. The upper limit on what Fortune was willing to pay, Kanin could see, was almost four times what he'd usually take in for a standard job, but the goblin had no interest in bartering. Particularly after his first impression of the elf's behavior, he fully intended to move on to other candidates immediately before even considering a higher offer.

Also, the whiskey tasted foul. The stuff in his pocket flask was much, much better.
 
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Tolvan

Campaign Killer
Member
Nyria grabbed her jacket from its hook on the wall, putting it on and walking out of the apartment within a minute. Around her, the bustle of the city seemed even more prominent than usual, likely because of the excitement surrounding the treaty signing. Strangely enough, there seemed to be a slight trend in the same direction Nyria herself was going-wait, where WAS she going? Nyria glanced around, puzzled. Somehow, she knew exactly where she was heading, but not why. She had never been there before, and had no reason to go now, so why was she still walking that way? Eventually, Nyria put those thoughts aside, deciding that a drink might be a nice way to celebrate after all. Having placated her worries, Nyria walked into the bar at last.
 

Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
Kanin took a few seconds to decode the torrent of thoughts that flowed through Fortune's mind with his own lightning-quick mind. He frowned a little at the notion that he was unprofessional, since Fortune had caught him at a time he had been hoping not to be professional at, but didn't bother voicing the complaint. The goblin wouldn't listen, and would probably only think worse of him for it. Oh, well - there was nothing to help that but going forward a bit more politely. He smiled at the goblin, and his disdain in his gaze softened into something more impassive, both of which could easily be blamed on the whisky.

His response came not from his mouth, but was projected directly into the goblin's mind, all the better to avoid eavesdroppers. "The only whisky worth getting here's their best. Now, I'll take your job - for the price you've got in mind. You know the one. Just give me a few more details. When do you need this done by? You want any information I can find on or around the target? Any other secondary objectives? You care about collateral? You want collateral? Anyone who sees me'll have to die, but the same's true of anyone else you hire who wants to stay in town and alive. Difference is I'm a lot better at not being seen," for a few moments (though with a substantial expenditure of energy) Kanin and his drink disappeared from Fortune's sight, "and not being caught. Could probably make the ones who survive forget all about it, if you'd rather - maybe even implicate someone else."

Still peering into his new employer's mind, Kanin gulped down the last of his whisky and returned to the bar, setting the glass down and asking for a second such. It was quite a bit for an elf to drink, and he knew for a fact that he'd be feeling the second quite fiercely within half an hour if he downed it anywhere near as quickly - but that was the future. The instant he got his second beverage he returned to the table, using the opportunity to shoot Soap a glare far sharper than the switch the drow was toying with - one which threatened a sudden and violent end were he to make any further use of his abilities on Kanin - along the way before seating himself again. He chose that moment to start looking into the drow's thoughts as well, as unobtrusively as possible, to make sure he both got the message and had the sense to heed it.
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
Because Fortune was a professional, his eyes didn't narrow at having someone else's thought projected into his head, but despite himself he couldn't help but find it creepy. Still, this was an efficient way to conduct business, and it seemed that his first impression had been just that - a single impression. Perhaps the elf would be a good pick after all. Anyway, he caught Soap's eye and jerked a thumb towards the door, signaling the drow to scout the exit and keep watch while he finished up. He forced down another swallow of the whiskey with every appearance of casual enjoyment.

Swishing the foul liquid around, he thought about the details of the job. He wanted it done within seven days, with a five percent bonus to payment if it was wrapped up within four. Whether or not there was some collateral was largely irrelevant, so long as the extra bodies weren't cops, innocent civilians, or any other particularly important criminal figures besides the mark himself. Any extra information or goods that he could obtain from Tomakaiei would be rewarded appropriately, but they were targets of opportunity. If something extra came along with no extra trouble, fine. Otherwise, eliminating the mark was the only priority.

However, what was important was that this shouldn't look like an accident. It should end up being very clear to Goldleaf and Bo Sky that their partner had been assassinated, but there should be no obvious leads as to who was behind it. The idea was that anyone with sufficiently high status to know what Tomakaiei had been up to recently would be able to guess that Fortune was responsible, which was how he wanted it. Even if they had some doubts, they'd think more than twice before any of them stepped out of line with him again. To that end, there should be no framing anybody else for this job. Fortune had no doubt that the bosses would end up picking a sacrifice themselves, when it came down to a choice between that and attacking him on incomplete evidence.

Aloud, he said: "I d'no what y'mean, misster. Jusst havin' a drink. Name'ss Miless, ssee. People call me Smiless." Like most goblins, and street goblins especially, his East-Poria street dialect was flavored with that little extra hiss that was so common in the speech of any creature whose mouth was full of fangs. He smiled widely now, showing them off.
 
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Tirin

God-Emperor of Tealkind
Moderator
"Good, good. Consider it done, then - in the next few days, unless I get something that's more pressing. Give me that phone's number on the way out, unless you'd rather meet me here again; I suspect that you'd know when the job's done either way. Now, sorry about the roughness I'm about to subject you to, but I'm not known to be the type to appreciate strangers bugging me when I'm enjoying myself. You've been through a hell of a lot worse, anyway." Kanin continued, still speaking telepathically. He took another swig of his whisky before gently setting it down, and any trace of mirth on his features soured into a look of disgust and annoyance with the goblin sitting before him.

The killer reached across the table to jerk Fortune forward by the collar of his jacket, striking his chest against the edge of the surface quite painfully (of course, nothing excruciating, particularly for anyone unfortunate enough to grow up on the streets of Poria). "They won't be calling you Smiles if you lose half your fucking teeth, will they?! You wanna keep that sweet little nickname of yours, get out of my fucking sight, vermin." He snarled, pulling "Miles" from his chair and onto the floor with a second sharp tug. Assuming that Fortune wouldn't want to cause any more of a scene, Kanin relaxed a little - while still eyeing the goblin threateningly - and reached into his pocket to retrieve and quickly swallow a light-blue pill, washing it down with still more of the liquor in his glass.
 

Jeroth

Mach Ambassador
Moderator
“Beer!” “Ale!” “Vodka!”

Diarmuid’s mind was struggling to match the large influx of orders to each respective patron at the bar. It was akin to a game of mental jenga with the tower becoming more precarious as a new order came in. His green eyes staring past the frothy golden liquid filled the empty glass. The influx of new patrons hadn’t helped him at all as he delicately placed the frothy tipped beverage in front of an older, heavy-set patron. His small hand smacking against the bar to collect the bills.

An intimidating, yet familiar presence found itself at the corner of the bar. Those cold, amber eyes that lingered with that pristine glass.

That balancing act of orders collapsed as he scampered up that step stool and brought out that the bottle of Grand Old Waltz. Clutching the bottle close, he made his way to Kanin’s glass, pouring it into his drink before sealing it. Instead of placing the bottle back into the cabinet, he left it underneath the bar near where Kanin usually approached. There was no need for him to scamper back and forth.

“All right! So who need what?”

“Vodka-Cranberry.” “Jager Bomb!”

More drink orders… He began to prepare the cocktail shaker for the vodka cranberry while pouring out the red bull and Jagermeister for the other patron. Those tiny hands pulled the cash towards himself before pocketing it.

Toiling at the bar, Diarmuid managed to fulfill most of the orders and earned himself a lull in orders. Taking a deep breath, he began to fuss with his pompadour, making certain that it still looked nice in one of the glass panels at the bar. Once that was done, his green eyes looked up at the patrons who seemed content, whether it be chatting about the peace treaty or their daily lives. The more curious sight was of a dryad and a slime - something that he had maybe only seen one of. The two of them seemed a bit lost as they looked around the bar

“Oi! You two! What do you want?” The halfling’s pompadour would be the first thing that the two would notice as his fierce green eyes peeked from the counter.
 

Easy

Right Honorable Justice
Member
...or, possibly, they'd notice the sudden violence in a corner booth, where an average, working-class looking goblin yelped as a much larger, grim-looking elf pulled him into a table, and was thrown aside to scamper away, whimpering, on the floor. The remaining half of his drink had splashed out of its glass in the process, for which he privately thanked any gods sleazy enough to potentially be listening as he made for the exit. Under normal circumstances, he'd have made sure that it splashed all over his assailant and then fucking lit him on fire for something like that, but anybody who couldn't handle getting slapped around and insulted a little for the sake of good business didn't deserve to be anything more than a common thug. Like Soap.

The idiot drow, of course, had seen what occurred from the doorway, and had already begun to grin and reach into his pocket when Fortune hit the ground, delighting at the opportunity to one-up the arrogant elf in a public display of pride and toughness. Any mind reader in the room would have no problem clearly seeing his desire to answer the attack on his boss with immediate, targeted murder, with open options on wanton murder if that didn't feel like quite enough. On the other hand, Soap didn't have to be a mind reader at all to understand the implications of the quick, sharp glare and near-imperceptible shake of the head that Fortune gave him before returning to his injured loser routine. Even Soap wasn't that stupid. He let go of the gun, and went back to keeping watch on the outside.
 

coolpool2

Savage AF
The Original Gangster
The slime stared at the goblin for a moment before turning to the bartender. Sacha does a quick mental check that it took its wallet. “Beer please.” It walks closer with its arms in its pockets. Sacha scanned the room, it had rarely seen a bar so busy. Which was odd considering it wasn’t the classiest place around. Sacha usually drank alone, or went to a different bar. One where it wasn’t too loud and the beer was good. While waiting for its drink, Sacha looked around for an empty seat, preferably alone. It just hoped that the beer here was alright.
 
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