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Post by Socatoa on Dec 7, 2006 20:18:18 GMT -5
* Socatoa walks into the tavern and sits on a stool by the bar. She pulls a flagon out of her belt pocket. She unscrews the lid and takes a deep, long sip of her ale. She sits and waits to see if anyone comes along.*
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Post by Tritan on Dec 8, 2006 15:40:17 GMT -5
*Tritan was proud. He had founded his own stronghold after leaving the Clan of the Torrent, his Mother Clan. Sure, it had taken some hard work, but there he was, already with a growing garrison, and good ones to boot. The otter hoped that his fort would become strong enough to rebel against vermin, or even spar against other sites. He had gained experience during his stay at the Guardians of Mossflower and enjoyed it a lot. He had been in a sparring tournament, which had sharpened his senses and emboldened his position. He had also fought a variety of vermin, incorporating stance and technique to his own vast repertoire of tactics. He was a good fighter, but nevertheless inexperienced. He was looking for tough, battleworn beasts who had stared death in the face to expand his meagre selection of members. To celebrate the completion of his fort, he was drinking a tankard of raspberry ale in the Tavern.
*The otter sat there, on a rough maple axe-carved chair, his three-quarter full tankard laid in front of him, tapping his paws on the table, humming a tuneless sound. He had chosen to sit in the far, dark corner of the Tavern, lest anyone surprised him, for it was bad form for a beast of his rank to be seen roving the grounds at this hour. He sipped again from his tankard and looked around the room, lit with a single low-burning oil-lamp. It was good to be alone.
*Suddenly, he saw Socatoa, the second to join his fort and possibly his second-in command, enter the room. He was curious to see her come in at this time. He didn’t really know her, and judged she was quite capable. She was a healer, an occupation generally not chosen by those entering a fort. It was as needed as all of the others, though. He watched as she made her way to a stool and pulled a flagon out of her belt. Why did she bother coming here if she had a drink already? He also wondered what was in that flagon if she had come here to drink it? He reclined lazily against his chair and closed his eyes. So many questions.
*Just then it occurred to him that she was waiting for some form of company to present itself, and he decided he would be it. He got up, his chair raking along the rock floor and his tankard left, forgotten, on the table. He was wearing a simple black toga, useful for camouflage but also very comfortable and warm on chilly nights, which made a soft rustling noise as it swept over the ground below.. *
‘Ey, Soca, wot’s up, ye ‘avin’ a good sip o’ drink?
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Post by Socatoa on Dec 8, 2006 17:38:33 GMT -5
* Socatoa sat on her stool, thinking of her past. Of her brother, Rocataw. Of her parents. Her parents had been killed by a group of vermin, led by the infamous ferret ,Crozo the Vile. She was young at the time, her brother only three years older. She had seen the deranged killer slice her mother's throat, and stab her father in the heart. She had picked up her father's blade and swung it at the fox, but she only cut off his right paw. Rockataw and Soca ran away hiding in the dense forest. It was then Socatoa swore she would never again use a sword or manner of blade as a weapon. She began training with her brother, using the staff. They roamed about, stopping, only for small periods of time, and Soca began to grow tired of this.
*Socatoa remembered her tears as she said goodbye to Rock. She didn't want to go, but she felt an odd pull. She had roamed about, from Salamandastron to the former Loamhedge, until she had come across Tritan and his stronghold. She felt a connection to the place, so she entered.
* As tears began to well in her eyes, Triton appeared. Quickly wiping her eyes, she turned to face him.*
Aye mate. Mine's probably a bit stronger than yours though... My own brew.
* She slightly smiled and held out her flask.* 'Ave a sip mate?
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Post by Omorro on Dec 12, 2006 17:59:19 GMT -5
**The table in the corner of the tavern was a nice place, yes, but not exactly the best for a social beast. True, it offered a considerable amount of mystery, hiding in the shadows like that, but what good was a nice bit of intrigue if no one noticed you? His cloak swept around him as Omorro rose, quietly stalking to the bar where he plunked down his long-empty tankard.
With a sharp, meaningful glance, Omorro signaled to the bartender his desire for a refill and turned his dark eyes to the two otters, both strangely illuminated in the flickering candlelight. He offered his usual roguish smile. Both beats he recognized and knew by name, but if he'd ever really spoken to then he couldn't be sure. The ferret held out a paw and addressed the two of them.**
I don't believe we've met before...
*He introduced himself as Omorro and waited for one to reply.*
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Post by Socatoa on Dec 13, 2006 16:59:25 GMT -5
*Socatoa cast the ferret a disdainful look, and did not return the paw shake. Ever since Crozo killed her parents, she hated ferrets with a fiery passion. Her eyes averted from the ferret and back to her flask. Small beads of sweat trickled down her forehead as her mind started to again return to the past. She snapped out of it and took a deep, thirst-quenching drink.*
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Lars and Evil Sunfire
Left Paw
Warrior / Ranger
I am the son of the White Knight. I am the lost one. Fear my cry.
Posts: 302
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Post by Lars and Evil Sunfire on Dec 13, 2006 17:39:24 GMT -5
**The door banged open loudly. In the half-light, a tall, shadowed figure stood. Helmeted head turning to cover the whole room with his gaze, Lars Hell-Toungue Silversword slowly steped into the tavern. The one place he was drawn to after taking a stien of ale from the bar was Tritan's table.**
You mind if I sit here?
**Though he had never met the otter before, he felt like he had known him for a long time. He hoped his voice sounded something like his father's, though in physical appearence, he was almost the exact same only without scars and he had black eyes. instead of blue/grey.**
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Post by Tritan on Dec 13, 2006 17:44:28 GMT -5
OOC: Arg.. No time for a decent post...
*Tritan was glad to see his Left Paw participate in the Clan. He had only met him briefly. The otter waved him over to his table, but when the figure stepped out of the gloom, it was as if Tritan was struck by lightning.*
Raiden? I...I thought you were dead! They told me you died!
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Post by Socatoa on Dec 13, 2006 17:47:54 GMT -5
* Socatoa looked up from her ale and glanced at Lars, unknowing about him or any Raiden.*
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Lars and Evil Sunfire
Left Paw
Warrior / Ranger
I am the son of the White Knight. I am the lost one. Fear my cry.
Posts: 302
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Post by Lars and Evil Sunfire on Dec 13, 2006 17:50:12 GMT -5
He is. He sold his life for Redwall. So.. You know of my father? Care to tell me about him? I've heard all the tales, but every beast who has ever known him that I've heard of are missing or dead. Except you. You knew him, and fought him. Was he really as strong as the stories said?
**Taking a seat at the table, politely Lars removed the full face helm that had been the hallmark of the legend his father had been.**
OOC: No offence ment, Lars is just after info on his dad. Only knew him for three years the poor lad..
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Post by Tsarmina and Gingevere on Feb 18, 2007 18:40:04 GMT -5
**Tsarmina walks into the room and grabs a flask of October Ale. She sits down on the far end of the bar.**
Ugh. This seems like a doom-and-gloom room. I wonder why..
**Turning to the other beasts, she introduced herself with a sad tone of a voice.**
Hello, meats..I mean mates.My name is Tsarmina Killclaw of the Jadeblood Clan. I find it rather weird to be talking to you mateys. Anything wrong here?
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Post by Tritan on Feb 22, 2007 9:23:53 GMT -5
*Tritan was still dumbstruck by the lifelike copy of his acquaintance, minus the scars. He had known Raiden, that was for sure. But Lars had a different tone to his voice. Perhaps less... arrogant.*
He is. He sold his life for Redwall. So.. You know of my father? Care to tell me about him? I've heard all the tales, but every beast who has ever known him that I've heard of are missing or dead. Except you. You knew him, and fought him. Was he really as strong as the stories said?
*Tritan nodded dumbly, trying to take that information in. So he was dead. He smirked as the memories of Raiden flowed through his mind. *
Aye, I knew yore father. Not very well, I'm afraid, but I did fight him. He was strong for a fieldmouse. A little thingyy, though. I know no stories of him, and I'm sure you heard right from everyone who told you about him.
*Dismissing the matter, he retrieved his tankard and waved vaguely to Omorro. He took a sip and relished the cool liquid as he thought of the recent events. The fort would turn out well.*
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