Post by AXE RAVAGE on Dec 19, 2010 6:23:24 GMT -5
I'LL GRIND YOUR BONES TO MAKE MY BREAD
The Dancing Dead Man, a tavern located at the less popular area of the Rat’s Nest’s tunnels, was absurdly crowded tonight. Word had it that a crazed old man in his sixties hobbled in, limping with a broken bottle clenched tightly in one hand while shouting that a monster was on the loose in Ravageland. He was dismissed as a babbling drunk at first, but when he started shoving coins towards those who would listen to him, the crowd grew. “Twas tis tall,” he sat on the table, stretching his frail arms as high as he could reach, “And even taller!” He pointed towards the ceiling, prompting several pirates to guffaw loudly. “Oh you ain’t laughing when he comes after yous!”
Wild curls of dirty gray hair were pushed away in favour of drinking from a mug – on the house too, since he had attracted a number of customers –the severely diluted drink dribbled down his scraggly chin. He would have been a handsome man when he was in his twenties, though his once bright blue eyes had faded to a despairing shade from a life of too much hard work, and too little things to be happy about. With a quivering lip, he set down the mug and resumed with his tale. “I be older than many of yer young lads ‘ere…and I haven’t seen a sight like…” a dramatic pause, “Ta thing… I reckon dem folks in Ravageland would know ‘bout it. It takes away yer things when yer not lookin’… if yer lucky, yer live. If not…”
An ominous cloud settled over the audience.
The old man swung the mug as if he was appreciating fine wine. “I be happy to pay a hundred venny and more if any of yer young folks wanna check out ta monster… ‘eres a sketch of ‘im.” Pulling a rolled up piece of paper from his brown boot, he unravelled it to show a picture of a skinny giant with ash black hair falling over the shoulder and a knife in one hand. “Rumour has it he wanders round killin’ people… real easy to know ‘im… got an eye patch.”
With his ‘storytelling’ done, he slid off the table and settled on the bench instead. The crowd slowly dissipated, as most thought of his words as nothing but delusions of a senile old man. Shaking his head, he drunk greedily from the mug and rested his head against the table. If anybody approached the old man, he would show them the rough sketch and flash a couple of coins, along with more description of the supposed monster disturbing the peace at the fringes of Ravageland and Junkyard Downs.
Meanwhile, in Ravageland, the aforementioned ‘monster’ was scratching his belly with the tip of his little finger, having no idea that his innocent ambles to forage for food and shelter had somehow been twisted into horrific stories to attract bounty hunters and the like. Stretching, Axe stood up from the ground and started walking towards the edges of Ravageland. It was time for him to eat.
Wild curls of dirty gray hair were pushed away in favour of drinking from a mug – on the house too, since he had attracted a number of customers –the severely diluted drink dribbled down his scraggly chin. He would have been a handsome man when he was in his twenties, though his once bright blue eyes had faded to a despairing shade from a life of too much hard work, and too little things to be happy about. With a quivering lip, he set down the mug and resumed with his tale. “I be older than many of yer young lads ‘ere…and I haven’t seen a sight like…” a dramatic pause, “Ta thing… I reckon dem folks in Ravageland would know ‘bout it. It takes away yer things when yer not lookin’… if yer lucky, yer live. If not…”
An ominous cloud settled over the audience.
The old man swung the mug as if he was appreciating fine wine. “I be happy to pay a hundred venny and more if any of yer young folks wanna check out ta monster… ‘eres a sketch of ‘im.” Pulling a rolled up piece of paper from his brown boot, he unravelled it to show a picture of a skinny giant with ash black hair falling over the shoulder and a knife in one hand. “Rumour has it he wanders round killin’ people… real easy to know ‘im… got an eye patch.”
With his ‘storytelling’ done, he slid off the table and settled on the bench instead. The crowd slowly dissipated, as most thought of his words as nothing but delusions of a senile old man. Shaking his head, he drunk greedily from the mug and rested his head against the table. If anybody approached the old man, he would show them the rough sketch and flash a couple of coins, along with more description of the supposed monster disturbing the peace at the fringes of Ravageland and Junkyard Downs.
Meanwhile, in Ravageland, the aforementioned ‘monster’ was scratching his belly with the tip of his little finger, having no idea that his innocent ambles to forage for food and shelter had somehow been twisted into horrific stories to attract bounty hunters and the like. Stretching, Axe stood up from the ground and started walking towards the edges of Ravageland. It was time for him to eat.
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COMMENTS;;
Reviving another thread! I’ll be posting as Axe after YOU (whoever you are... the more the merrier!), giving some insight on where he is and what he is doing.
Just a heads up - basically, you can choose to work with somebody else to get the reward from the drunk old man, or work independently of each other. Hint: It would be wise to talk to the old man before going to Ravageland. [edited 4 March 2011]