Kaldor
Shape shifting flirtaholic
Inner Sanctum Nobility
- Local time
- Today 10:29 AM
- Messages
- 42
- Pronouns
- HE,HIM
Welcome to the Crow and Hammer. I'm Kaldor, or Kal if you prefer. There are many people with many stories to tell in this humble bar. What's with the hammer, you ask? Oh, that's my story to know if you're feelin like chatting with your humble bartender. There are other gents in here scattered through the tavern, all willing to have a chat and share their story with a nice lass over a drink. Each of them is a proper gentleman, or I'm no barkeep. I do warn that each of the lads ' stories is very different in their content, some like to get spicy on details, and some are downright odd if I do say so myself. Let's see, thou I can point out a few of them for ya...
Ah, see there, that's Rezkin, that poor lad has the worst luck.
Have you ever had that one friend who never knocks or rings a bell, the one who just walks in sometimes at the worst possible second? Well, that's fate, or rather the fates, they love to play little tricks and make life a little more fun to watch.Who can blame them, after all, immortality is boring after a few centuries. Well, they have been making Rezkin's life hell ever since he came to the mortal world during the times of old Greece. The son of Hades and Persephone, and a secret to the world, had no idea he was breaking sacred law when he left Hel to find out what his mother did every year on her errands to the mortal world. Hadess was too late to stop or warn him. Rezkin was trapped on the mortal plane, and a curse was placed on him. Every year at the turn of the year, Rezkin was made to have a singular bad luck that was unavoidable. Some years it was easy, always late to a movie, oh well. Some years it was truly hard, like always missing his flight, but just a few minutes.....the trip to see his parents on their anniversary in Greece. Every year, a new twist.This year, Rezkin sits at a party talking to a lovely lady, and in the back of his mind, he wonders what the bad luck will be this year.?
Ahh, and over there is the Lad Malcolm, or Mal to us here. He's a right crazy lad.
The year is 2168, and humanity is on the losing side of a century-long conflict with xenolifeforms of the planet Argenta in the Andromeda galaxy. What once was a system-wide government, the United Planets of Sol, is now pushed back to its homeworld of Terr, and in a last-ditch effort to survive, humanity erected a shield around Terra strong enough to weather the tide. Humanity trapped within the shield cannot withstand the siege for more than a decade. The genius Dr.Marko Stransfiel, desperate to save his people, researches a new technology to speed up the progression of time within the shield to give humanity the time to develop a way to push back the Alien threat. Unfortunately, in a great disaster, the Dr. lab is destroyed and all hands are lost. Unbeknownst to all the Dr. lab assistant Malcolm Redholm was not killed. Standing too close to their prototype when it exploded, Malcolm was sent back in time to the Dark Ages of humanity. When the planet was known as Earth, he landed in a small forest in what is known as the Empire, an Island off the mainland that had, during its time, been a major seat of power on the planet before six world wars. Waking up in a field of wheat, Mal knows not where or when he is.
Over there in the corner. That lad in the hood, well,l he's a bit new and doesn't say much without a few, but his name is Rafen.
We begin our story in a dark wood at a tavern on the edge of town. Inside, a hearty and merry gathering of people drink the local ale and enjoy the music of a traveling bard hard at work by the roaring flame. In the back of the tavern, a man sits with his hood up and face in shadow. Before him is a half-full tankard of ale and a block of cheese with a modest chunk of bread. The man is an adventurer from a land far to the north. He does not speak of I, but only says that most ship captains would never travel there because the cost is too high. As with the last fortnight, the man sits with several sheets of paper before him, job requests from nearby forts and villages. Though his garb is rough, it is of high quality, and he has become known as a more than qualified swordsman. Occasionally, he takes jobs with groups, but more often than not, he goes out alone and returns alone. It is almost a pattern his coming and going, returning for one week before going out again. This time, though, he does not look pleased with the choices that sit before him, and those nearby could swear he talks to himself and even argues with himself over the contracts. None seems to fit him, and the bartender begins to wonder if he will break his habit and stay for another day or two. A storm has buffeted the tavern for several hours, but the gathering is unaware as people laugh and dance till the door crashes open and the bartender yells to close the door, or the warmth is escaping. A woman stands in the doorway, drenched in her dress, clinging to her body, the color, once vibrant, is now muted and muddy. Out of breath, she declares, "I need to see him, the swordsman of this tavern, the man in black and steel."The taver, now silent and growing cold, looks from the lady to the back, where steel eyes look out from the shadowed hood. A deep, grave voice is heard from the man. "I am he."
Believe it or not, we do have ourselves a dragon here, too, but he's out back. Just call out Vash, and he should wake up eventually.
The year is XX05. Dragons are slowly declining in the world. A mad wizard has cast a spell on draconic kind that has left them fertile but unable to breed with one another. A conclave was held as the population reached 50% of its former glory. Many solutions were brought up and given a chance to succeed. One unlikely solution was to breed with the humans. They breed like rabbits and have multiple you, so maybe a pairing with a dragon would repopulate quickly. It would be up to the dragon to shape change and to purge the offspring of the human s, ide thou. And so a dragon was chosen. An arcane drake from the mountains of the north. His kind are good with magic and shape-shifting. So, then was the dragon Markinos was chosen to attempt the solution.
Oh, so you want to hear my tale, do you?u Well I suppose I could tell it and the story of this hammer, but I warn you it's a story about this very Tavern.
unknown to the vast multiverse, there is a tavern in a pocket dimension outside space and time. In this place, there is no fighting or violence, but sometimes fun and shenanigans are had. This place is the one place heroes and villains from everywhere can get a drink and maybe talk out some issues or play fun with someone they have to fight, but are still friends with. The bartender, a youth but somehow older than he seems, is the kind of person that everyone somehow knows but knows nothing of. Is he a hero or villain himself, or maybe something more? Nobody knows, but everyone knows the rules and that breaking them is very bad for one's health and welfare. Most know of the cautionary tale of Zeus's ban. It is a place of heroes, so it's the oddest of days when a normal woman walks in with no memory of how she got there or who she is. Odder still, she knows of many of the people at this old-style tavern, and she knows she's a fan.
Well, that's everyone I can see at the moment, maybe there are more hiding about if you wander a bit. Just ugh, whatever you do, be careful of the black door by the stairs, that's to a different bar of sorts.
There is a place in all major cities where those of privilege and power go to have all their needs taken care of. A place where they are nobody and allowed to just have a drink or get some fun without issue. They have been the late-night haunts of billionaires and presidents alike. Passed down from father to son, the owners pride themselves on the fact that once you enter their establishment,t nothing ever gets out. At the ripe old age of sixty-five, Michael's father finally brings him to his new job and hands over the keys. He is now the proud owner of Angel's Kiss, the hidden lounge of New York. Its story goes back 200 years as the first of the hidden lounges and the start of the one place where nothing is ever talked about. Money and power mean nothing here, and the greatest challenge is keeping it quiet.
So, what can I get ya to drink, lass?
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