Tall Tales - RPLOG
Participants
Date
6/7/477
Log
A fine morning it is in the inn! While one is used to the occasional talent show for the entertainment of all patrons, such events being reasonably common, this is still somewhat unique! Little announcement is needed - the crowd that is drawn to all such events is advertisment enough, in addition to a sign of dubious quality by the doorway.
The event is hosted by the bartender on duty today, who announces solemnly that the stories may be about anything and everything, and will be judged by two simple criterion: how convincing it is, how impressive the events in the tale are, and most importantly, how entertained the patrons - who are the ultimate judges - are by the tale.
Drinks are served, food is dished out, and it's little wonder why these events are held, if the crown going across the counter is any indication of sales.
Chance smiles as he looks around at the crowd, striding in from upstairs, and signing his name on the register "I'll just go wait over there then, oh and don't mind the name, I'm harmless." He chuckles and winks mischievously as he waits, likely overlooked near enough to stage to not need to get on a table to see over other patrons.
Fenris saunters into the taproom of the inn with his hands buried in the pockets of his long, dark coat. "I heard there was a call for tall tales," he says with a smile, "And I suppose that there are few taller than my own!" The tiger scribbles his name into the roster and slips into a chair by the other competitors, as excited to hear stories as to tell one!
With larger crowds of people to be served it is no surprise to see more people working the floor. Serving maids carrying things through the growing crowds along with more than one keeper behind the bar; behind the scenes preparation for basic foods churns along at a brisk pace already. There are many things the public does not see for such events to be so enjoyable, but that's part of the beauty behind the drink-serving beast. One of the bartenders, just as busy as the rest (and no doubt, for his position, better dressed) remarks, "No bias for the regulars, now, hm? We already hear so much on a daily basis."
Indeed, the first tale-tellers are on their way up a makeshift stage put together from drink crates and wooden planks, in a spot usually reserved for performers to ply their trade. Most of them come up in plain clothes, a few have, either by chance or otherwise, manage to dress up appropriately for such an event, but all have their own tales to tell.
The audience's reactions are varied, if a little predictable - tales of giant crops and fish are roundly booed. Those of meeting Creators might have once drawn attention, but less so since the events of the last few months. Those which are plain outlandish receive dismissive waves. The bartenders are busy amongst themselves in between serving drinks, conferring with each other, perhaps, on the quality of the tall tales told. At last, though, it's Chance's turn to come up to the stage.
A late arrival, Natska makes her way into the Freesword Inn. She stands at a table off to the side and listens to the tale-tellers for a bit, reaching up to scratch behind one of her ears as she ponders the evenings event. Finally, she comes to a decision, makes her way to the registry, and adds her own name at the bottom of the list in a tight scrawl.
Chance takes a deep breath in, calming his nerves as he waits for his name to be called, mentally going over his tall tale, and finding it harder to come up with one then he suspected, when suddenly a bolf inspiration strike, drawing a wide grin from the little weasel. Walking up to the front of the stage the small weasel leaps up onto the ledge of it. "So it's a tale you want? Well let me tell you, I've one taller than me!" He lets his voice rise and ring out, projecting it to be easier to hear. "I'll tell you all of the time I had to fight a Kitsune who was impersonating a solacious." He starts with a grin sliding into place. "I was out in the marketplace, with to friends, a great strapping badger, and big burly Croc. We were out to sample some foreign flavors, but found a furious fox ranting at the merchant." He strode the stage as he spoke gesturing widely with his hands as he spoke, "Now we're about to go in and calm the fool down, but another fox, claiming to be a solacious shows up. I look at them, and know, somehting ain't right, then I see the tail tucked out of sight." He stops then suddenly leaps to the edge fo the stage "STOP!, I cry that's an imposter, unhand the noble you phony!" Taking out his stave the weasel twirls it like a dancer's baton, "The trickster does not listen, so I take up my stave. The kitsune conjures some burning smoke laying low all five guards, blinding the croc, and fouling even the badger's aim." With a fina whirl he tosses the staff up into the air, "I shout to the lout, charging in fast. You left me no choice, take up arms, AVAST!" Catching his stave the weasel smirks "Sadly the trickster had little fight in them, one good solid thumping was all that it took. The guard thanked us all, but everyone knew who handled the job, but I stay prefer to stay humble." He smiles, and bows, striding off stage when done.
A half-filled glass placed before a patron at the crowded bar receives a sudden jolt from the bar-neighbor's elbow and alcoholic spirits spread across the countertop. The two sitting on the side of the poor bull whose drink has discovered gravity lift their own glasses out of the way. The bespectacled lion lifts a hand in passive assurance to avoid any hurt feelings between the bull and the boar whose elbow accidentally invaded his fellow customer's tiny personal space bubble due to Chance's exuberance. "Now now, gentlemen, just relax," he says soothingly, clearly, but not loudly enough to detract or draw attention away from the event. The rag resting on the lion's shoulder is pulled free and draped over the slowly spreading puddle before a well-practiced twist of the wrist wipes the liquid up and away. What is leftover is remedied by a half flip of the rag and, ultimately, leads to another filling of the overturned vessel for the thirsty bovine. Mentally, a note is made: all on-the-house treats he offers always come out of his personal pocket at the end of the day, but a skilled eye would note that the grey-muzzled lion likely isn't hurting for funds. Meanwhile, during the liquid emergency, a keen ear listens in to the stories being told. Such multitasking skills are useful for just such a profession.
Natska politely claps for the weasel, her palms softly coming together. The jaguar's ears twitch and she gives the small rogue a grin, quite impressed. In the lull between tale-tellers, Natska flags down a server and orders a drink for herself, relaxing into her seat and waiting for the next one up.
