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Post by DM Grizwald on Apr 27, 2023 20:57:55 GMT -5
*Over the last several months, orc-kin, no matter how little of tusk they show, are being spat on and are having night soil, rotten tomatoes and spoiled fruits thrown at them in the street. Skirmishes involving the individuals from these exchanges always seem to have the orc-kin behind bars or exiled from the city.
In recent days however, shops and inns in Arabel are straight up refusing service to any orc-kin. Suddenly forges grow cold, ales go sour and shops are locked up at their approach. The matter has even spread to the local Arabel Ale House and Elf Skull Inn to stop serving drinks to Purple Dragons in uniform.
Signs are placed upon shop doors and windowsills: No Orcs ALLOWED! - in crimson red.*
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Post by DM Grizwald on May 4, 2023 0:55:56 GMT -5
*Dale rings the bell indicating last call and serves the last few drinks to the customers at his signature Arabel Ale House. He shares a smile and a tale with the locals as they leave and takes his time, gathering empty tankards back to the kitchen for cleaning. This is his favorite part of the evening. A chance to breath in the quiet of his ale house and reflect on all the faces he's seen.
His hands wet with soapy water and moist rag, he scrubs all his dishes and mugs clean. Each have their proper place after a good cleaning and have to be ready for the next day. You'll never know who will show up.
A warm memory washes over him. There she is, Lady Lhal, giving him the keys to the last building standing in Arabel after the battle. This very one. He was so proud she picked him.
"Dale, my men fought hard for what is now yours" She tells him as she hands him the keys. "Have you any tankards left in that caravan of yours? Serve them ales on me, would you dear?" She asked of him.
Oh he couldn't wait to set up the barrels on the tables.
Upon closing for the night, he exits his tavern and sees the defacing of his sign. "No Orcs ALLOWED!." And just like that, he slips back into his memory of the first few that entered the ale house. Tales of their bravery and foolish mission were talked about all night. There were two human or perhaps half elf looking lads, an elf and a large half orc.
The memory of the half orc ingrained in his mind as he grabs his rags and water bucket and gets to work on the crimson paint.
"My place will always be open to those who seek to put up their feet and take shelter..." he murmurs to himself.
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Post by DM Grizwald on May 16, 2023 22:33:40 GMT -5
*As the bell tolls the final hours of the evening, a bard rises at the Elf Skull Inn. She is dressed a tight satin scarlet red dress. She gazes upon the crowd, sits at the piano and then starts to play her mournful song*
Hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm
Hmm-hmm-hmm
"Beware, beware the the lady of the Caravan city"
"Beware, " I heard them cry
Their words travelled upon breeze
And across where the graves of the sullen lie.
Those blood-soaked walls of Arabel
Where warriors fought and died
The Orcs and Goblins attacked and fell
Because she fought with honor and pride
Why this, why this, oh Lady of the Caravan City?
Why this? Did they forget your people's sacrifice?
Always the pride of your people's eyes
How could the crown forget out plight?
When the crown took sides it cut us deep
So our fair lady took up the Red
And with her we take this solemn leap
What else but to save a city's pride
And pray they hear her voice loud from the keep.
But the crown stands high on their ivory steps
Yet we have enemies 'pon the rise
And when he faced those savage foes
The crown will stand aside.
To this nation, with our last breath, we'll cry
"Beware the lady of the Caravan city"
I heard, I heard across the moosea ride
An old voice warning me
"Beware, beware the Lady of the Caravan city"
Beware.
*she lets the final chord echo through the Inn and rises calmly from her piano stool. She doesn't wave or nod to the crowd, leaving them to their evening and moving on with hers.*
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