Delmechia
You sit at the bar sipping away your last shot of whiskey. It's been a long day and an even longer week. What else could have driven you to this hole-in-the-wall pub? Expsuridius ea Tarador. Claire Stellwetter's famous bar and grill. You snort and take another sip.
Over by the cash register is the woman herself, looking just as lovely as ever: gray hair, fluffy scar tissue running down the face, and a suspicious gaze cast in your direction. She knows what you are, even beneath your black cloak, but what of that? If she tells you to leave, you'll leave. Until then, however...
Another swig.
A couple old dwarfs are laughing further down the table with their voices distinguishable over the bar room fuzz like some strange guitar riff on chords.
"... And then she says to me, she says: 'where did a dwarf like you get money to pay for a girl like me?', and I says back to her: 'I'm not a dwarf, honey, I'm a leprechaun!', aha!"
They burst into gales of drunken laughter; wiping the tears from their eyes.
"And she believed me!" he chokes out.
Dwarfs and their exploits.
The entryway door swings open to admit the sound of the pouring rain and then slams shut, like a fuzzy radio being switched off. You look with the corner side of your eye and see a tall man with black eyebrows and long hair stomp in. He scratches his goatee and finds a seat over at a deserted tree-stump table. A waitress comes by and takes his order and leaves.
You tip your head back, finishing off the shot, and slam down the glass. You've been drinking too much. Even by the standards of an elemental. Still, you needed it. The fucked up things people are capable of these days. It's food for thought.
Not that the city's going to stay the same for any stretch of time. The gnomes are taking over; who would've guessed it? Their technology, their brains. A few more decades and all the magical people are going to be second-class. The elves think they're still high and mighty? It's laughable. Yes, soon it will be just the gnomes and the geniuses, all moving the world off into its enigmatic future.
You let your mind wander for a few more minutes before it occurs to you how late it is. You sit up from the bar and turn to go, glancing at the tall man as you walk to the door. His green eyes meet yours for a split second in the dim and smoky light. Even in the shadows he looks pale and sweaty.
You pull open the door and duck slightly under the frame to reach the rainy street. A couple cars driving by. Neon light reflected in the puddles like vibrant oil paint. As you go down the street, a spike of lighting flashes through the sky, followed by it's audible companion.
Suddenly there's a high-pitched scream from back at Stellwetter's Bar and Grill. You pause, half amused, and then there's a sickening gunshot that drives the amusement away. It's almost loud enough to be an explosion, and then the whole building is a mess of yells and shouting.
You reach under your cloak and grip your silver dagger, hesitating briefly.
Over by the cash register is the woman herself, looking just as lovely as ever: gray hair, fluffy scar tissue running down the face, and a suspicious gaze cast in your direction. She knows what you are, even beneath your black cloak, but what of that? If she tells you to leave, you'll leave. Until then, however...
Another swig.
A couple old dwarfs are laughing further down the table with their voices distinguishable over the bar room fuzz like some strange guitar riff on chords.
"... And then she says to me, she says: 'where did a dwarf like you get money to pay for a girl like me?', and I says back to her: 'I'm not a dwarf, honey, I'm a leprechaun!', aha!"
They burst into gales of drunken laughter; wiping the tears from their eyes.
"And she believed me!" he chokes out.
Dwarfs and their exploits.
The entryway door swings open to admit the sound of the pouring rain and then slams shut, like a fuzzy radio being switched off. You look with the corner side of your eye and see a tall man with black eyebrows and long hair stomp in. He scratches his goatee and finds a seat over at a deserted tree-stump table. A waitress comes by and takes his order and leaves.
You tip your head back, finishing off the shot, and slam down the glass. You've been drinking too much. Even by the standards of an elemental. Still, you needed it. The fucked up things people are capable of these days. It's food for thought.
Not that the city's going to stay the same for any stretch of time. The gnomes are taking over; who would've guessed it? Their technology, their brains. A few more decades and all the magical people are going to be second-class. The elves think they're still high and mighty? It's laughable. Yes, soon it will be just the gnomes and the geniuses, all moving the world off into its enigmatic future.
You let your mind wander for a few more minutes before it occurs to you how late it is. You sit up from the bar and turn to go, glancing at the tall man as you walk to the door. His green eyes meet yours for a split second in the dim and smoky light. Even in the shadows he looks pale and sweaty.
You pull open the door and duck slightly under the frame to reach the rainy street. A couple cars driving by. Neon light reflected in the puddles like vibrant oil paint. As you go down the street, a spike of lighting flashes through the sky, followed by it's audible companion.
Suddenly there's a high-pitched scream from back at Stellwetter's Bar and Grill. You pause, half amused, and then there's a sickening gunshot that drives the amusement away. It's almost loud enough to be an explosion, and then the whole building is a mess of yells and shouting.
You reach under your cloak and grip your silver dagger, hesitating briefly.