Attention: Dwarves!
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::An orange haired bard, in a blue and white jacket is seen speaking clearly and perfectly, trying to get the attention of any local dwarves. He places an empty box on the ground, steps up on it, clears his throat a few times, lifts a finger, and begins::….
"Attention, local dwarves! Hear ye, hear ye! Lady Jirka Larkur of the Council of Moradin has a message for you! If you're between the 0 and 5 feet tall, have a nice round belly, a big bushy beard - not to mention have dwarven blood pumping through your veins along with all that ale - you certainly must of heard about the council of Moradin!"
::He takes a few moments to "ahem" as well as clear his throat, adjust his shirt, and take another deep breath to continue::…
"The Council of Moradin is an honorable group of dwarves, just like yourselves, who enjoy cold ale, good friends, honor in combat as well as honor outside of combat. They are trying to gather the dwarves of Narfell in unity, to establish a limited trade, exchange combat prowess, to aid one another and most of all, to prosper! All good dwarf-kin are allowed. Please, no grey skinned duerger dwarves. We know all you crazy evil grey skinned dwarves would like to join the council, but your race is too evil, sorry. So, if your pure of heart, and your of dwarfish heritage, seek Jirka Larkur out, for more information! She's the pretty, green haired dwarfess with the green armor and helm. She currently resides in the commonwealth of Jiyyd."
::He smiles, and steps off his box. And hauls it off::
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_"Argh, nice arse says I wi' a curse an' that," mutters our dwarfen beauty to herself as she watches Nathan shake his booty and turn the rough corner of the building, out of sight.
Tucking away the bucket of whipped cream, and patting her cat o' nine tails fondly, she turns and makes her way back down the alley. Seeing as the crowd as dispersed, and on account of Drelan's consistant suggestions that she may be a touch on the raw side of reeking, Mercy slings her gear about her, scratches at her arse for luck and makes swaggering sailor like into the general shop, makes a purchase of some cheap soap, a hog brush and a ham hock for the road. Tucking the ablutive item 'twixt her bosom, she recalls that the Rawlins has a nice deep lake for soaking her hide in.
Stomping through the snow, leering jovially and smacking her lips as she finishes munching at the hock with her yellow pegs of teeth, she finds herself at the edge of the water, reflecting her not insignificant figure.
With a belch and a hurried peeling of garments, as well as a quick glance about for any peeping tom's, as well as a long winded sigh for the lack of said perverts, Mercy strips, slapping her bosoms for luck, and with soap in hand dives like a dispraxic hippo into the water. Chilly, but a paciderm by nature, Mercy continues to scrub at her extermities with the hog brush. Little does she notice, as a slick layer of filth begins to drift atop the water around her, that Nathan is returning from his jaunt about the Rawlins. She doesn't hear the crisp clatter of footsteps on snow, drowned out by her shanty…_
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::The orange haired is almost home free, he can see the end of the alleyway, he grins with vain victory, adjusting his red cloak, ready to set off into the alleyway and evade the crowd::
::But then, seeing the large, plump shadow being cast down, not to mention the round, green-skinned dwarfish figure blocking the alleyway exit – He gulps, and feels a small strand of sweat stride down the left side of his face despite the cold... and everything was going so well::
"Err, Heya Mercy, I didn't see you there!" ::He tries a nervous smile:: "Sorry I can't stick around for your, err… tempting ale and whipped cream and urghm" -- ::He almost gags, but manages to cover it with a cough, and then smiles again with the same nervosity:: "And err.. nine tailed feline offer, – I think I hear someone calling my name.. eheh.. heheh.. yeah.. that's it.. so, I'll see you later, then! If your interested in joining the council, Jirka's the one you need to speak to, eheh, because, well, I -- I really have to go, now!"
::He smiles briefly, nodding hastily a few times before she can answere, before starting off towards the north rawlins, hoping that the umberlean priestess doesn't follow him::
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_"Oi, dancin' pumps! It be me, me pinko-lovin'-bundle o' sea shite! An' where did ye think ye be aff tae, argh, an' that eh me lovely little bardie wardie eh?"
Blocking off the light of the alley with her massive bulk, her bust heaves appropriately amidships, a lascivious smile rounding her turnip face.
"I has me an plan fer ye involvin' a barrel o' ale, a pint o' whipped cream and a cat o' nine tails. Don't forget yer wimple, honey!"_
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(( :lol:))
Nathen Wingates is seen trying to avoid being noticed by Mercy as he ends his speach, side-stepping and with shifty eyes, he inches his way past the crowd and tries to escape through an alleyway, he's heard murmuring something along the lines of 'not getting more of my hair' …or... 'not falling for that one twice.'
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Rolert hears this news and decides that after all the insults spewed at Duergar he will join. He hopes to speak to Jirka or Oscar at some point.
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_Mercy has shouldered her way between the crowd, chomping on a shoulder of an animal of indeterminate character.
"Dwarfs o' good 'earts says you cully, wi' a wanion an' that, argh? An' whit 'appened tae you, sweetheart - turned all stumpy on yer yeller-faced-hoorie-mucker wi' a curse, driven' wi' passion fae lil' ol' Mercy? Argh, well that be soundin' alright tae me, says I, an' that damme fer a sea-slug else!
Come pinkie, me bosom's all yours!"
Mercy wobbles magnificently through the crowd, towards our dear interlocutory bard._
