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Post by Tony One on Oct 19, 2010 6:40:26 GMT -8
Before you lies The Pinching Wench Inn.
It is a three story building, compact with stairs criss-crossing the outside of the brick building.
The wooden entrance is non-descript and shut against the cold. Why is it always so bloody cold here?
Inside, the common area seems too large. Almost as if it couldn't possibly fit inside the building you gazed upon as you approached the Inn.
At this moment there are a few scattered travelers in various states of lucidity hunched over meals and drinks.
The lone employee you can spy is the haggard woman tending the bar. She's wiping the wooden counter half-heartedly as she glances up at you briefly.
Looking around you see plenty of tables and benches, a few shadowy areas away from the warm fire-place, an area behind the bar that you assume is the kitchen, a bare wooden stair case that leads up to the rooms on the second floor, and a hatch in the flooring next to the bar.
In the distance, somewhere through the door behind the bar, you can hear the faint sound of a woman or girl's voice as she sings. You can tell that the singer has a fair amount of talent, even at the distance you hear it from.
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Post by Tony One on Oct 19, 2010 8:12:08 GMT -8
Timott Tryvelle
"I've been holed up in this rat infested glorified barn for... well, I can't seem to remember how long."
He continued complaining to the haggard bar maid as she continued to show absolutely no sign whatsoever that she was paying any attention.
An untouched flagon of "Pinching Wench Stout" sat in front of him on the bar. From time to time he would lift it to his lips, but anyone paying attention would notice he didn't draw from the flagon when he did so.
The bar maid glanced up at him again, avoiding eye contact. He was a short man. He perched upon the high bar stool with his feet either set against the bottom rung or dangling above the ground.
He had the delicate features and feminine look of an elf about him, though he was certainly human. His hair was long and curly, falling about his shoulders and back in ringlets.
She stifled her amusement at his clothing, all silks and ornate tassels. At the Pinching Wench, they didn't usually get "pretty" men like Timott, and they never got wealthy customers who stayed for any longer than it took to realize this wasn't an upscale establishment.
From time to time the guards would eye him, but only while scanning the room.
Other than the constant stream of complaints that came from Timott's mouth, he was an ideal customer. He paid well and kept to himself.
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