Jul 11, 2021 10:39 pm
''...Arphaxad. It means Dragonbeard in dwarvish. And yes, I'm nae carrying anything else other than my pack and weapons.''
The Dragonborn finally finished the interview that the yellow-clad half-orc was doing. The man whose name was Mork seems to be the caravan master in this trip to a village. Then nodding his head and seemingly satisfied, he then moved to do the same to the other people gathered inside. Arphaxad left the group and walked further inside the dimly lit inn while surveying the different assortment of people from all races and all shapes that have gathered within. Most of them are busy doing something whether it be talking to each other, nursing a drink in the corner, or playing dice. He had been to many places such as this in varying appearance from the utterly squalid to the prohibitively luxurious. And each time he was fascinated by the different people engaging with one another: At how every race was so different and yet the same.
'Well you're nae going to see much of the world and meet anyone if you stand aroun' gawk every time you see a lot of people in one place t'was fer sure...''
His scaled lips formed into a wide grin as he remembered his father's words to him the very first time he took him to see the world. Stepfather, he reminded himself. Growing up as a Dragonborn in a dwarven hold was difficult but not entirely bad. His dwarven stepparents made sure that he was part of the clan and that he belonged and most if not all the clan members treated him as one of their own. Even if there was the occasional name-calling and teasing from the children and the suspicious and overtly hostile looks from some of the adults.
Then again his stepfather being the clan leader and who had the final say on his status of being one of the family didn't hurt as well...or his stepmother's coddling.
''My wee kobold...''
Arphaxad shrugged at the childish nickname and shook his head off of the memories. As fond of them as he is, he is here in this place for one thing: adventure...
And gold... so that's actually two things.
Yes, gold and adventure. Being careful not to bump into the patrons of the inn, the seven-foot-tall black scaled Dragonborn headed straight toward the bar where a haggard-looking bartender polishing a glass on his apron gives him a suspicious look. Unfazed with the sour disposition, he put one of his clawed hands on the counter, flashed a winning draconic grin and said,
''What in Clangeddin's beard would a man need t'do t'get a drink 'roun here?''
The Dragonborn finally finished the interview that the yellow-clad half-orc was doing. The man whose name was Mork seems to be the caravan master in this trip to a village. Then nodding his head and seemingly satisfied, he then moved to do the same to the other people gathered inside. Arphaxad left the group and walked further inside the dimly lit inn while surveying the different assortment of people from all races and all shapes that have gathered within. Most of them are busy doing something whether it be talking to each other, nursing a drink in the corner, or playing dice. He had been to many places such as this in varying appearance from the utterly squalid to the prohibitively luxurious. And each time he was fascinated by the different people engaging with one another: At how every race was so different and yet the same.
'Well you're nae going to see much of the world and meet anyone if you stand aroun' gawk every time you see a lot of people in one place t'was fer sure...''
His scaled lips formed into a wide grin as he remembered his father's words to him the very first time he took him to see the world. Stepfather, he reminded himself. Growing up as a Dragonborn in a dwarven hold was difficult but not entirely bad. His dwarven stepparents made sure that he was part of the clan and that he belonged and most if not all the clan members treated him as one of their own. Even if there was the occasional name-calling and teasing from the children and the suspicious and overtly hostile looks from some of the adults.
Then again his stepfather being the clan leader and who had the final say on his status of being one of the family didn't hurt as well...or his stepmother's coddling.
''My wee kobold...''
Arphaxad shrugged at the childish nickname and shook his head off of the memories. As fond of them as he is, he is here in this place for one thing: adventure...
And gold... so that's actually two things.
Yes, gold and adventure. Being careful not to bump into the patrons of the inn, the seven-foot-tall black scaled Dragonborn headed straight toward the bar where a haggard-looking bartender polishing a glass on his apron gives him a suspicious look. Unfazed with the sour disposition, he put one of his clawed hands on the counter, flashed a winning draconic grin and said,
''What in Clangeddin's beard would a man need t'do t'get a drink 'roun here?''
Last edited July 11, 2021 11:34 pm