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Shaking Hands, Making Friends [OPEN]; ....Sharpening Daggers, and spotting Foes
Topic Started: Tue 05 Jul 2016 20:50:04 (122 Views)
Warlord Arskittar
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Shaking hands, Making Friends

The pub was noisy, as always. Indeed, it was one of the many attributes of a settlement that never changed, no matter the style of town, its inhabitants or its culture, there would always be a pub. Boisterous patrons gathered outside, some swilling half empty flagons of whatever was the cheapest brew going, others sucking on noxious bundles of leaves known as 'Cigars' by some of the more refined folk.

One such cigar omitted a much fouler stench that the rest, accompanied as it was by a poignant green cloud of smoke rising from the stubby end of the cigar, originating itself from an equally stubby Goblin - Shifty Goldgrabb, the self styled 'paymaster' of the pits, who walked into the Bar, his rather tatty Fur-Lined Coat (obviously lifted from the back end of a Human Homestead) marking him out, as did the fancy Hat atop his head, lined as it was with white fur, for some reason known to few, least of all the Shifty.

Tapping his way into the bar with his rickety stick, the Goblin kicked one of his kin from a nearby stool and chuckled ''Keep your witz about ya' git!'' he snickered to the prone figure, who scarpered away offering a form of apologetic bow as it did so (for it was rare to encounter an actual Goblin Moulder!). Sitting down, he looked around the see what other patrons where in attendance....



OOC: Thought I would get this up and running as I know there is an interest in it! So feel free to hop along!
''This is all your fault.''
- Mork (or possibly Gork) on MP Season IV

Total Fights:
Wins (1) Losses (0) Draw (0)

The Lab of the Boss
The Coppergrabb Chronicles

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Proper Good Business (Spying and General Thuggery) Kinda Good Stuff (Gambling Information and Odds) Dead Shifty Stuff (Bet Fixing Rings and Schemes)
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Ratty Gnawtail
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Gribble...grib...Gribble!

"Gribble" muttered Gribble staring dolefully into his stein.

"We have to tight-tighten our belt-things, Gribble" muttered Tekris as he swilled the contents of his drink about and made a face.

"Grib?"

"Well...no-no you don't have a belt-thing...but that's beside the point!"

Tekris continued to stare into the contents of his own stein, wondering if the brownish sludge would cause serious damage to his liver. These were hard times to be sure. Hard enough that Tekris had considered finding whatever had happened to Mizzreek's fermenting bin so that the pair could try and refine the so-called Gribble Special Brew. Technically per pint it would be cheaper than the slop he was forced to drink here, but last time he had that brew, Gribble one morning had entered a drinking frenzy and had drained the whole keg before it had even matured. Gribble had tried to pin it on Huggles, but Tekris hadn't believed him. For one thing, Gribble had inflated from the sheer volume of liquid and took three days to return to regular size.

"Y'know Gribble, I wonder what-what ever happened to the great library of Hell Pit?"
The (mostly) Complete Works of Ratty
Green Seer Gnawtail portrait by ShuNian)

Warlock Matik on Ratty's ideas on time manipulation
 
Red Dwarf is not a good basis for temporal mechanics :7
Sod
 
I secretly suspect that Gribble is the master moulder and Ratty is its beast. :P
Morkskittar
 
Evildorfs love you :3
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Ratticq of clan Gnawkin
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SUIT UP!

It surprised him every time he walked into Rosko’s Pub, the sheer engineering that had gone into this place. Outside, one could hear the muffled noise of creatures of all sorts being indoors and enjoying their drinks, meals or other activities that could take place. However, the sheer magnitude of it all could only be experienced in the pub itself, and walking through the door felt like a warm wave rolling over oneself. The sheer presence of everyone or… thing… sometimes feeling overwhelming.
Yet, Rosko’s was a familiar place and even though Ratticq mostly kept to himself, either in a private booth, or by himself at the bar, there were various familiar faces that he recognized quick enough. The so-called high rollers, Moulders or creatures with other (sometimes more fearsome) reputations where it would be best to remain on their good sides, stay away from, or whom one could contact if certain ‘transactions’ needed to be sorted, for whatever good or harm it would bring one.

With most of the booths occupied, Ratticq walked towards the bar, where he noticed a rather hunched rat-like creature smoking a cigar, with a rather shifty Skaven and a Squig sitting next to it.

“Yeah”, Ratticq said to noone in particular. “Not sure what to think of that…”

Walking to the bar, the sheer bulk of the mechanics supporting him made the sit on one of the stools a worrying task. Sensing the bar furniture to be near the end of its life, Ratticq decided that standing and leaning on the bar itself would be a far more sensible plan.
Nodding to the rat serving drinks, he tapped the bar and raised his head. “Beer and a meal, it has been a far too long day for an old rat like me”.

The meal that was delivered to him seemed to be a stew with some unidentified form of meat in it. Poking it a couple of times, Ratticq decided that meat was meat. At least the smell was inviting enough, so in case it tasted worse then that, he could always use it as a projectile if any of the creatures in his near vicinity would become more nuisance then company.
Digging in, he slowly cocked his head to the side, noticing what appeared to be a Goblin in a fur coat, the Skaven and the Squig (which had a far too intelligent glare for Ratticq’s liking) to be staring into his direction.

“What?”
In my body, where the shame gland should be, there is a second awesome gland. True story.
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