Azrael/Iris
Administrator
A drunk monk who hates social events and worms
Posts: 933
Sexuality: Yes
Relationship: Single
Played By: Your mother
|
Post by Azrael/Iris on Aug 1, 2021 15:13:13 GMT -6
Night had fallen upon the land of Hyrule. Most businesses have closed up shop for the day and the younglings have all been laid to rest.
The streets were quiet save for the occasional guard on patrol or stray cat prowling.
A hooded figure passed under the moonlight and back into the shadows, moving swiftly and silently as to not disturb the silence of the night.
“It’s been too long since I’ve been back in Hyrule.” the figure thought as he stepped back into the moonlight.
Under that light you could make out the figure’s clothing. He wore a dark brown hooded robe that opened at the front. Black tunic with the Sheikah symbol sewn with silver thread and on the sleeves was the same silver thread sewn into the short sleeves with the royal crest of the Hylian Royal Family sewn onto the sleeves facing outward, he wore simple black pants and wore simple red sandals and he wore black fingerless gloves and his forearms were wrapped in linen wrapping.
Underneath the hood you could see he had the red eyes of the Sheikah clan and his skin was tanned, a scar ran over his right eye and his long black and silver hair was hanging loosely. A sword belt hung at his waist with a gold and emerald sword scabbard attached with a gold hilt adorned by rubies laid in it.
The stranger breathed in and exhaled. The night was silent.
“Best way to get up to date on everything… the tavern.” He muttered to himself as he darted back into the shadows and quickly walked through the streets until he came upon a lively tavern within the Castle Square.
The name of this establishment was shown on a sign that hung outside.
In the lantern light, the stranger could read that it said ‘The Rolling Goron’.
“Azrael…” a voice whispered in the wind behind the stranger.
The stranger turned to see who had called his name.
No one was there.
Azrael’s eyes narrowed slightly as he turned back towards the tavern and entered.
Azrael was met with the sounds of a lively evening. Cheers and laughter were all around as mugs clinked and the bard played on.
Azrael made his way past the lively fun towards the bar where he took a seat on an empty bar stool and raised his hand to get the bartender’s attention.
A goron walked over and looked over Azrael for a moment and said “What can I get for ya?”
“Just a pint of your mead.” Azrael said as he dropped a blue rupee on the bar.
The goron nodded and took the blue rupee before turning around to fill a mug of Hylian Mead. Once the mug was full, the goron placed the drink in front of Azrael who nodded in thanks before picking it up and taking a sip.
|
|
|
Post by Faro/Blade on Aug 11, 2021 22:57:13 GMT -6
A few years older but only a few weeks slower, an agile figure bounded her way up to the top window of a large house in Castle Town's most opulent district. Even the bright lights on the streets frequented by the city's most well-to-do residents did little to illuminate the black plates covering her body. With unnatural quietness, she opened the latch of the window and gently rolled through. Scanning the room, she quickly came across her prey; a rather large wooden box on the vanity. Knowing no one was home, the thief hummed a small tune to herself as she gently opened the box. The glint of jewels flashed in her eyes as she spotted her prize.
"Dun dadada duuun." A smile split her lips as the tune flowed from her throat, nimble fingers picking up the circlet inlaid with diamonds and other precious stones. She stashed the item in a pouch at her side. "Honestly, Chandrea, that was too easy." Her voice was quiet and her tone innocent. "You're absolutely right Chandrea, but what's done is done and what's sold tonight won't need to be returned tomorrow."
Chandrea paced the room almost aimlessly now that her objective was in hand, spotting a bag on the side table with a very familiar glyph. Opening it revealed a purple rupee that was quickly removed and pocketed in a separate pouch. Satisfied with the value she'd pilfered, the thief soundlessly made her way to the window and departed from the room. Hanging on only for a moment to close the window she'd left open, Chandrea made her way around, truly wandering as she looked for a spot to spend her ill-gotten gains. A bit of commotion caught her ear as she entered the square, and her eyes followed it to what seemed to be a bar dubbed the "Rolling Goron". Her teammates didn't care much for alcohol, but already she felt her new violet friend digging a hole in her pouch. Gears in her mind turned as she shifted to a casual stance, wrist on her hip, weight shifting to the side.
She needed to find a fence, preferably before people started asking where she was, but it was a long day and what better way was there to cap off such a perfectly-executed plan?
"Maybe just one." She made her way into the bar and bellied up, ordering a pint of ale. Scanning the bar patrons over the suds of her drink, the man in brown caught her eye. Did she know him? Did he know her? Was she supposed to know him even though she probably didn't? There was something to him, something she couldn't place. Her teammates had mentioned it before. Think, Chandrea, think.
|
|
|
Post by Mike/Rolaka on Aug 23, 2021 1:09:34 GMT -6
"Okay. 1-2-3, heave!" Rolaka and his goron colleague hefted the large vat of mead with their combined might. The heavy aluminum vat contained more booze than Rolaka had ever seen, he could only speculate how much mead was inside. Were it not for the large door on the backside of the bar, the vat never would have entered the building. The vat was transported to the bar by a sturdy carriage pulled by four horses, which was parked in the alleyway behind the bar.
Rolaka's muscles, which were impressive even by goron standards, were put to the test by the cantankerous container. The liquid sloshed and swayed as they hauled it in, and the balance was never truly centered. But, with perseverance, Rolaka and his partner placed the vat in its designated spot. Rolaka breathed a sigh of relief and shifted his weight back towards the wall to relax. Except, it was not a wall, it was a stack of empty wooden crates.
The manager of The Rolling Goron intended to commend his brothers on a job well-done. Instead, he came out to see the many crates broken and strewn about the backroom. One particular goron was looking rather guilty, "ROLAKA!" Shouted the manager. "You pick that up right now!"
Rolaka groaned and buried his face in his palm. "I'll get it cleaned up," he said with great disdain. As Rolaka went to work picking up the mess, his co-worker let out a hearty chuckle at the clumsiness of his companion. This did not go unnoticed by the plaintive pit-fighter. "Could you remind me why we're even here? I mean you and I, brother. Two of the strongest fighters on Death Mountain... hauling alcohol? Hylian alcohol at that?"
"It's all part of our mission to strengthen our bond with the rest of Hyrule, brother," the co-worker replied. "We've been up on the mountain too long. Many in the kingdom still believe us to be slow-witted and unrefined... like you! Hahahaha!"
As Rolaka re-stacked the crates and tossed away the broken ones, the manager chimed in, "The Rolling Goron is crucial to that mission, Rolaka. It's the goron's first major contribution to Hylian society in a long time. While we still serve puny pints and glasses, we pride ourselves on sheer supply! We don't just serve by the pint, we serve by the gallon! The Rolling Goron is your one-stop party-til-you-drop drinking establishment."
"Brother, don't tell me you rehearsed that little sales pitch?" Rolaka said, unamused.
"Every night for a year," the manager replied with a grin. Rolaka let out a disappointed sigh as he put the final crate back into place. "Now, you two are to be rewarded by the chieftain when you get back, but since it's already dark, how about my brothers take a load off tonight and head back in the morning? You can try anything you want, I got mead, brandy, ale, porter..."
As the manager rambled on, Rolaka's thirst mounted and his patience dwindled. Surely, the manager would know who Rolaka is? This business-minded brother would have to know what Rolaka's preferred drink was?... No?
Oh to hell with this, Rolaka thought. The frustrated fighter barged into the main room of the tavern, the door slammed against the wall and left a dent in the plaster. With a voice that could halt a Death Mountain eruption, Rolaka bellowed, "What's a brother gotta do to get some milk around here?!"
|
|
Kadina
Administrator
If you're bored then you're boring.
Posts: 379
Played By: MOjO
|
Post by Kadina on Oct 7, 2021 19:09:47 GMT -6
The Rolling Goron had swiftly become the hottest spot in town, but it was the slowness of week nights that its regular flamenco guitarist enjoyed it the most. There was a sleepiness in the air that hit by the tenth hour. A lazy, hazy atmosphere that welcomed you in like a comforting blanket-fort fever dream filled with the promise of stars you'd see after a round or two of their goron-sized serving of mead. It was a place that seemed to tuck you into the nostalgic and safe feeling of being a child again. Cared for like a babe, yet rocked with the drowsy dizziness of sweet, sweet libations. While the bar maid argued with a stingy drunk and a fool gambled his last rupee away in a shady corner, the stage lights washed the performance area with a cascade of colorful hues. Slouched against the wing on a stool, the guitarist's tanned leather fingers covered in tribal tattoos danced nimbly across the strings with a sense of older playfulness - plucky but soft... worn... tired. Interestingly, there was an appreciativeness in each strum. Rich with wisdom. Hopeful yet content. The musician's face was shaded from the lights by a floppy wide-brimmed leather hat decorated with a single large trill feather and a string of charms that glistened in the light. The body of the guitar was crafted of an aged deku wood but bore many gashes and scratches from use - only adding character and charm. The nylon strings may have been old, but they reverberated with all the bounce of a young maid's bosom. The rim of the hat casted its shade just so that the slightest creep of a smile was highlighted from the corner of the musicians mouth. What did they think of in the midst of such wistful melody? Perhaps only a drink would tell. "What's a brother gotta do to get some milk around here?!" The musician looked up to reveal a feminine face partially decorated in more tribal paintings and symbols. Black lines and dots distinguishing a rank none would recognize nor regale... except perhaps one particular man in the crowd. Blinded by the lights, she couldn't make-out any faces in the audience. The woman released a soft chuckle as she looked back down at her beat up guitar. She reached into the pocket of her trench coat and withdrew a zora scale etched with someone's initials in Hylian. A sentimental smile spread across her lips and a softness met her eyes. Closing out her set, she used it to perform a more energetic solo before she took a bow holding her guitar out by the neck in one hand and taking her hat off to hold out in the other. She curtsied to an audience that paid her no mind and slinked satisfactorily to the bar for her payment -- a flagon of rum and a toasted cuckoo and cranberry sandwich.
|
|