RP:Svilfon Learns About Kelay Tavern
Kelay Tavern
Franchesca moves closer, purring at the man more as she lean to him, whispering words before giving his ear some biting and a lick.
Gwilym solicited a laugh from the drunk, as well. Mesthak himself could be said to have giggled (is that dwarvenly?) as he set another glass of his famed brew before the gnome. Gwilym, on the other hand, finds no humor in it; in fact, were one skilled in observation and parapsychology, he shows signs of trauma from the subject, as if the victim of spousal abuse. "'pressive!" sputters the drunkard. "Why'dja leave yer home in...Granite wazzit?" The gnome opts not to correct the man and his drunken slurrings, but seems happy to change topics from his wife. Indeed, his eyes show fear for the hog of a woman. "Eh, they didn't want me no more. Gov'na gave me a written decree of exile." This garners some disbelief from the drunkard, whose mouth and eyes go agape and he shakes his head saying '/No/'. Gwilym nods vehemently. "Forsooth, my friend! Really, they did! Loaded up three wagons of 's'much o'my toys as I could carry. 'course, the missus took an entire ponyboard herself."
Franchesca whispered to Svilfon, "Why not buy this poor Kitty some drinks?"
Svilfon gets up so fast that his chair is flies backward. The loud 'thud' that sounds is drowned out by the somewhat high-pitched squeel that comes from the most inept of wizards before he manages to say, "I.. ah..." He raises his hand up to his ear to wipe away the remnants of the kitsune's drool, before he can manage a, "I... no.. uhh... I'm... Taken!" His eyes dart left to right, before he nods vehemently, "Yes.. Taken! I am sorry..." The wizard picks up the chair and would offer Mesthak an apologetic smile were the dwarf's attention not on the hilarious gnome.
Franchesca purrs at the man once more, "Last time I recall... even husbands can be taken... besides... why say that? I didn't ask for that remember? I asked if you would buy this Kit some drinks.... well if you can't, I guess I'll buy my own."
Gwilym spun suddenly on his perch as the wizard creates quite the outburst. He points a finger at Franchesca accusingly, although it wavers as testament to the volume of drink he's consumed. "Harlot! Adulterer!" he shouted, spitting a bit as he did so. "Tryin' to feeblemind a good family man, /you/ harlot." The drunk seconds this, amidst a hiccup, but says nothing more.
Svilfon looks between the gnome, the kitsune, the drunk and the dwarfish barkeep as a blush rises to his cheeks. He is not used to causing so much commotion and begins to splutter, "I am.. My wife.. Yes, wife... She... Well..." He takes off his most wonderful of hats and rubs his hand over his now shiney bald head, "You see... My wife... She's a dragon! If she knew you'd licked me then I would be licked, and most asuredly not in that way!" The wizard turns to Gwilym as he lays his accusations down, but is far too flustered to begin to defend her honor, or agree with his rather bold claims.
Franchesca pouts, "Awh... poor you then.... not going to have some it seems?" biting her lower lip before moving toward the bar, unintently posing as she lean forward, wagging her tail a bit, thinking what she should order.
Gwilym nodded to Svilfon, and secretly admired his bedazzling hat. Well, not so much secretly, as his eyes were very keen on it. Blinking at long last, he looked back to the man's face, and with a reassuring tone tried to console him. "It's okay, friend. You're an honest man, and I'll testify. Your wife cannae be as barbaric as mine own!" The gnome does not laugh at this declaration, if it were meant to be comedic, but seems quite adamant about it.
Svilfon manages to calm himself down a bit as the situation cools. His hat is soon returned to his head and the gnome is offered a thankful smile before he speaks to Franchesca again, "'Having some' with my wife is like trying to shave a dwarf's beard." The wizard offers a slight wink to Mesthak as the dwarf grabs his own beard in his hands; even saying such a thing can get a human killed! "It is something only someone very foolish or very brave would try, and sadly, or thankfully - depending on your perspective - I am neither of those things!" He nods once, before returning his gaze to Gwilym. "I am glad that you, sir gnome, can understand the perils of marrage."
Franchesca takes her seat on top of the bar, moving her leg over the other as she quietly purr, wagging her tails as she look at the man, taking a quiet sip. Somehow, she doesn't believe that the man does have a wife... or maybe she just wanted to play with him... mischievously
Gwilym winced, but mustered a nod -seemingly requiring great courage- in accordance to Svilfon's compliment. "I tell ya, it's the first level o'Hell, my friend. Tier one of the forsaken realm." A despondent glance down into the clear liquid Mesthak offered him, and he drowns his despair in the drink (woohoo, alliteration!). Smacking his lips, he leaps off of the barstool, his hole-ridden, curly-toed slippers colliding with the floorboards with a scuff and a thud underneath his cumbersome weight. Awkwardly, he waddles towards the man with the fancy hat, gesturing if he would allow him to take a seat adjacent to him.
Svilfon waves his hand to the seat, offering it to the gnome with a smile. Before the small tinkering, singing and most hilarious of men can sit the wizard has turned to Franchesca once more. The wizard looks her up and down with a wince born of terror. "I think you will get me in trouble, Chesca." He nods, gulps, blinks, then returns his attentions to Gwilym, "Tier one of the forsaken realm." He nods, "I like that! Just don't tell..." He stumbles for a moment, "Ilgriathialkal. Yes, her.. that is my wife's name.. The most wickedly worrisome wyrm ever to walk this world.. ask anyone!"
Franchesca said to Svilfon, "Oh... trouble, what fun would that be...."
Gwilym gingerly accepted the seat proferred, having again to vault within its confines and causing his feet to hang above the floor. His girth hardly fit between the ribs of the chair, and had nary a hair's bredth of room between the arms. He was used to it though, and seemed no less comfortable in its purchase, but the chair on the other hand wailed and protested beneath its new burden. "If'er name means anything, she sounds sommat a nightmare!" Gwilym brought a hand to his begrimed face, smearing some more oil and soot around his cheek. Similar stains adorn his frayed linen tunic, and would affirm his earlier claims at being a tinkerer. "I like yer hat!" proclaims the gnome rather loudly, ignoring the insidious Franchesca.
Svilfon beams brightly as the man admires his hat; most surely the inept wizard's greatest possession. The man tips the brim to the wide gnome, "Her name is the sweetest part about her!" He nods again in a most vehement fashion before turning to regard the kitsune just briefly, "Fun, like most things, is all about perception. My wife, may she live for a thousand more years.." (just incase she is listening) "Would bite my arms and legs off, before throwing me into the ocean if she caught me even looking at another woman!" To prove his point, the wizard pulls from a small pocket a rather large, still bleeing and horribly smelly leg. He throws it to the ground below the bar, though is polite enough to offer Mesthak an apologetic smile as he does. "That is the leg from a man who told her she was -one- of the greatest dragons he'd ever seen. One! Not the greatest! And she bit off his leg and gave it to me for our anniversery! This is the woman, and I do use that term rather lightly, you would seek to anger!" Another nod is offered, before the gnome once again is given his full attention, "But, my small and wide friend, pray tell, your name? I am Svilfon the wandering wizard!" He smiles again, having warmed quite a lot to Gwilym.
Svilfon dropped 1 human leg.
Franchesca whispered to Svilfon, "She won't know if you won't tell..."
Gwilym watched the dismembered limb as it was produced, and although his eyes widened at it, he appeared to have a wife that could trump that, or so the glint in his eyes indicated. He had just begun to introduce himself when a bloodcurdling cry assailed his ears, paralyzing him with a palpable sort of fear. "M'name's ---GWILYM!!" came the shriek. He froze, blood draining from his face beneath the stains of aforementioned composition. Palms on the table, he descended from his chair, head bowed low like a dog with its tail between its legs. "That's the missus, I'm inferit...Hope she don't smell the booze on my breath!" he frightfully says, starting towards the door with a haste he hadn't shown prior. "I'll return anon, Svilfon, hafta start unloading m'wares and toys anyways." With a wink, a difficult one to summon over his fear, he adds, "And I'll show you my very special hat!" With that, the gnome scurries out as if hearing the crack of a whip.
Svilfon winces inspite of himself as the gnome runs leaves. He can feel for the poor man and offers a smile full of sympathy, "Good luck!" The words are spoken with the sincerity only one who has lived under such a whip can understand.
Gwilym vanished before your eyes, perhaps never to be seen again.
Svilfon turns to regard Franchesca again as the gnome scurries away. He eyes her for a long moment, before speaking in tones that are awash with terror, "You do not know what she can know, my friend." He sighs, "And I cannot tell a lie." Whether or not this is a lie is uncertain, but he speaks the words with the utmost sincerity.