Ogre Heads Tavern of Calenhelm

[Mobeus]

Mobeus arrives in the city of Calenhelm, with the bustle and noises abounding. What appears to be hundreds of messengers running past him, seeking their destination among the haste and noise of the Capital of Calandonia. Making his way through the market Mobeus is offered all sorts of fare, from exotic fishes, fruits, to weapons and armourments, to strange pungent liquids in ornate glass bottles. Refusing to indulge these marketers, he pushes past, making his way to the Ogre Heads Tavern.

He gathers his robes up, not to trip over them going up the stairs into the Tavern. He makes a quick albeit hasty glance around the room for anyone familiar but then proceeds up to a table in the open. He seats himself down, and makes a rather quiet order for some mead. He stretches his arms while arcing his back along the wooden chair he is seated in, placing some items from his bag on the table, first some parchment, then some ink and finally a quill. He begins to write things in a contemplative manner, slowly placing writings all over his paper. The normally ornate writing of Mobeus isn't seen in this instance, his writing is more of a jotted, hasted nature, akin to one who is brain storming.

The many other chairs around his table are open to those who would wish to join him, his manner is one of invitation and openness should any wish it.

 

[Mobeus]

Gathering up his items, Mobeus nods his head to the servers and pays his tab. He comments to the server, "I feel like I've been waiting for weeks to people, I think I will head to the Arcane Sanctum, tell anyone if they show up from Parson's Breach, that I will return here shortly. I feel like I have business to attend to."

He assures the server many people will indeed come, but he comments how he feels like he just arrived a little prematurely, or that maybe people are afraid to use portals. Mobeus laughs a little bit and puts his items in a large sack and makes his way to the Sanctum's home.

 

[Dakken BlackBlade]

Dakken thinks to himself, in a pensive array of nostalgia, as he views Calenhelm from the outskirts, "ah, home at last." The irony of that statement comforts him, for, Calenhelm is no more home than Brightmoor is; however, he will never forget the staunch atmosphere of a city filled with boisterous energy and enthusiasm--and that, is what is so comforting.

Walking through the streets of Calenhelm is like a breath of fresh air, distinct from the stale claustrophobia of the rural communities and such. It is not the gregarious faculties of the city that enamors Dakken thus, it is the situational exchange that these people have transacted. That is, exchanging the simplicity of the country life, for the quickened, and heavily conflicted life that teeters on the precipice of the city walls, so-to-speak.

Dakken pauses as his peripheral vision interrupts his thought-filled jaunt. He thinks to himself, "...Interesting, the memory is such a curious thing. It slaps you with attention, and then leaves you mystified as to what you should be remembering." Dakken takes three steps forward and stops, slowly drawing his head up to a haggared-looking sign that reads: "The Ogre Heads Tavern." His brain may not have recalled the tavern, but his fists certainly did. He looks down at his hands, which are clenched, releasing that familiar sound of tight leather-on-leather friction--this is the language that his hands speak to his brain, and it's very clear to him. He reaches out and hesitantly grabs the door handle. After a split-second pause, he forcibly pulls the door open and tears up the stairs, slowing as he gets to the top. Standing at the entrance to the tavern and looking around at the various 'undesirables', Dakken turns to the barkeep and begins to speak, when he stops himself before he can let out the first word. Seeing the puzzled look on her face, he decides to walk over to an empty table in the North-West corner of the room, of course, holding a wry smile the entire way. He lands on the chair closest to the corner and exhales deeply. Still smiling, he says to hismelf, "I should remind myself to remember this place more often" as he lets out a sharp bit of laughter. He shakes his head at his own humor and takes off his gloves, reclining back into his chair with his left hand supporting the weight of his head, at his jawline. "Perhaps the recent development will prove interesting after all," he thinks to himself. He slowly slips away into thought, leaving the rest of the room to themselves.

 

[Aengus Óg]

A Tall, handsome looking Tari-nor tapps his boots on the door of the Tavern as he enters. He smiles at the servers and takes up a table close to a window. When the server ask his order he repyls with a roast chicken and steamed Veggies, his one and only food of choice. With a pint of ale in his hand, he studies the room for potental buys and potental Saps.

 

[Harlequin Katzchen]

The doors to the tavern swing open and a light joyfull breeze flows in on the heels of a friendly well known Tari-Nor.
Bunin surveys the room, looking around for any familiar faces.

With a slight shrug she turns to the bar and orders a drink, as she stands waiting she notices a tall Tari-nor by the door and breaks out into a HUGE grin.

"Well hello there!" she calls out from the bar, "And why havent I seen you here before?" she asks as she sidles up to him.
"Its not often that I see any of us around, and I make sure I get around!" she finishes with a wink.

 

[Aengus Óg]

Time stampec 10. Year 112.

The cool winds blow in as Vaegar enters the Reputed Tavern named after the unslightly head piece on the pedistal by the door. He looks about and finds a suitible table near a window. The coolness of the glass panes helping to keep the stench of Halfbreeds and sweat out of his nose. He orders a glass of Elven red when the tavern wench appears, pays and takes up the glass. His head shakes vigorisly as he trys to hold his stomech contents down, taken aback by the taste of sour wine and nutmeg. Must be Rocholm vintage he muses.

Putting the glass down and pushing it aside, he crosses his hands and waits patiently for the first of his guests, Lets hope they do not tarry, he ponders, I would hate to have to drink this glass at all, let alone by myself..... I hope they dont have a two drink minimum.....