"Look at the little princess, to good to use a trash can." Traductus mumbled as he watched Chantarelle throw a seed into a keg of brew.  He quiclky took the last sips of his ale and made his way to the tavern door.  As he walked out he grabbed the seed out of the brew and flicked it at Chantarelle. 

Once outside Traductus reached out into a pouch and pulled out a cigar. He had taken the cigar off a dwarf he killed 3 days ago. This sort of thing was a rare treat and he wanted to enjoy it with out interruption. He lit the cigar with a flnit rock and his boot knife.  Standing with his back agenst the side wall of the tavern, Trad closed his eyes and to a long puff of the cigar. 

A icy breeze swirls in to the tavern, and in walks Vyrrah a tall, elven woman. She stands for a minute, taking in her surroundings with eye of blue, colder than any wind. She makes her way to the bar, glaces seeing a Witch Hunter of the Empire sitting with two dwarven filth. Running her hands through her long black hair, she grins wickedly at Raiven and continues to the bar.

The barmaid approaches her, another dwarven scum. Vyrrah looks at her in disgust. "In this...*looks around in disdain*...establishment, do you provide anything for those of us with taste? Or must i suffer the tar you dwarves call "ale"?

"Uh...well we 'ave the Grog, Miss..." 

"*Sigh* I figured as much. Bring it to me chilled. Maybe then it will be atleast drinkable.

The waitress returns with a mug of ale. In annoyance, Vyrrah looked down at her warm ale as the waitress hurries off. Muttering about swine that cannot follow direction, she curls her hands around the mug, which becomes enveloped in frost.

"So hard to find good help these days..."

((My first crack at it, i like writing fantasy stories though! what do you think?))

Kurten dismounted his dappled steed, his heavy armor clinking as his feet hit the ground.  Tying his horse's reigns alongside the water trough, the older man's cool blue eyes took in the huge variety of steeds besides his own... proud Elven chargers pawed the earth beside powerful Empire quarterhorses, and packed Dwarfen gyrocopters were hung on racks nearby.  What truly drew his attention, however, were the spiked-and-webbed Chaos-tainted horses from the North, and a few pens nearby, one containing razor-teethed Dark Elven Cold Ones, and another with rutting Greenskin boars and wolves.  He had heard this tavern only cared about the gold in your pocket, not your allegience, and he would have avoided it had he the choice, but he still had a long road ahead of him, and he needed food, drink, and warmth to remove some of the chill from his bones.

As he walked to the door of the tavern, he saw the powerfully-built Northman leaning beside it, smoking a cigar.  Kurten fingered the scar that blinded his right eye, his mind flashing back to the huge, tainted claw attached to another such Northman that had come within inches of taking off his head, and his hand strayed towards the hilt of the sword at his hip, but when the Northman's yellow eyes caught him and glared, he thought better of it.  He had just finished taking Passwatch Castle back from the hordes of Chaos a fortnight ago, and he was still weary from his trip.  Attempting to battle this possibly fresher Northman in his current state would be tactically foolish, and he has not survived 43 years and more battles than he could count to die in some tavern brawl.

Pushing the door of the tavern open, he noted it's weakened hinges squeal, as if it had been opened less-than-gently quite a number of times recently.  As his eyes adjusted to the dingy, fire-lit interior of the building, he took off his feathered helmet, revealing his grey crew-cut hair and his neatly trimmed goatee.  Stowing the helmet in the crook of his arm, he stepped into the tavern, letting the door shut behind him, and took in the inhabitants of the beer-hall... noting no less than four greenskins, and the pale curves of a Dark Elven woman sitting at the bar, he attempted to find the best place to sit.  Noting the hard-eyed Witch Hunter, his flintlock clearly visible at his hip, and the two dwarfs, one heavily-muscled and tattooed, with a greataxe nearly the size of his body beside him, and a flaxen-haired dwarfen woman beside him, he figured they were the safest folks to be near should something happen.  Walking towards them, his foot caught on something firm, but yielding, and a great stench assaulted his nose.  Looking down, he saw the headless form of an Orc on the tavern floor, the stump still leaking dark green blood slowly, and recoiled slightly in disgust before gingerly stepping over the corpse.  Stepping up to the Dwarfs, trying to ignore the large, smelly Orc sitting beside the female, he bowed his head slightly.  "Greetings, friend Dwarfs," he began, adding in a traditional Dwarfen greeting he had been trying to learn, hoping he didn't slaughter the pronunciation too severly, "and greetings, Templar of Sigmar.  May I join you?  This place seems quite... exciting, and you all seem to be a good group to have your back to should excitement arise."  As a barmaid wandered near, he ordered a mug of Bugman's Stout and waited for the group to accept his invitation before seating himself, as was proper.

Rerex had seen a lot of tavern doors in his day but none as pitiful as this.  What had obviously once been a mighty door of dark oak was now but a stitching of furrows and splinters hanging limply by a single hinge.  As he stood before the ruined door, he felt his anger rise:  so much destroyed in this war, so much lost, so much -- ARRGHH -- he slammed his bare knuckles into the body of the door.  It exploded off the frame and toppled to the floor.

'Ye'll watch whar ye set yer eyes, barbaran," Rerex said to the Northman now standing bolt upright next to where the door once stood, a cigar stupidly set into his cave of a mouth.  "Or by me axe ye'll meet Khorne afore that 'gar hits the ground."

Rerex, the slayer, entered the tavern.

(first time RP.most likely will be my only post so feel free to use my witch hunter as you want.Just don't make him too much of a wimp plz.Love to see how you think Travell would act.)

         The human walked slowly down from the stairs that lead to the rooms above.He was fastening his belt that had a gun and sword hung from it, buttoning up his coat and adjusting his hat,when a blond haired dolled up bar wench came down beside him ,grabbing his arm. Not caring or havening all his attention on the Blond girl on his arm.The brown bearded witch hunter didn't pay any mind to the other patrons,as they made their way to the bar.

           "Two pints of ale bar keep."Travell yelled to the bartender, looked around the bar for the first time.He turned and whispered something into the the blond girls ear.She laughed out load and gave Travell a little push. he grabbed the two mugs of ale from the bar keep. Looking at the girl he nodded to the stairs. Lets get you out of here before you get hurt he thought to protect the blond bar maid,plus he found her company pleasing . The bar girl smiled and started back up stairs as Travell followed her.

On a bar stool on the far side of the counter sat a tall thin man, seemingly too tall to sit on the stool properly. He was reading a book that seemed to be strapped to his shoulder by a series of leather strings. After seemingly studdying the book forever, apart from a few glances at the many barfights, he closed it and tightened the strings holding it to his shoulder. He called the barmaid over and asked for an ale. Once he had the drink he turned around on his stool and looked at the many newcomers.

He had been seated there since early morning reading his books, and the bar had since filled up quite allot. Looking around, he saw a chair splinter, quickly alert he looked at the source only to see a dwarf sitting on the floor with the remains of a chair around him. Chuckling silently he walked over and offered the Dwarf a hand 'Are you alright?' he asked, 'My name is Cohen, need a hand up?'

(1st time RPing, just here to try it out =D)

   Heldan strode toward the tavern, eager to rest his legs from his long and neverending trek to spread the good word of Sigmar. Although, thought the young Warrior Priest to himself, the good word generally seems to be his hammer landing upon the collective heads of the heathens. As he neared the bar, he spotted a particularly nasty-looking northman smoking what seems to be a very worn out cigar. Normally, this northman would be the immediate target of his wrath, but he was extraordinarily tired and dearly wished for a mug of good dwarfen ale.

   Heldan entered the tavern through the splintered remains of the door and was assaulted by the strangest array of travelers he had ever laid eyes on; another northman at the bar, a disgruntled Ironbreaker sitting upon a pile of splinters, several slayers, one of which who seems to be about to start a brawl with the large Orc in the corner encased in crude armor, a wiry Bright Wizard with a book tied to his shoulder, a shadowy figure in another corner, a Dark elf woman at the bar, and an aged Knight of the Blazing Sun sitting with a grizzled Witch hunter, another Slayer, and what appeared to be either a very young or well shaved (possibly even FEMALE) dwarf. Heldan was already starting to like this bar.

He strode toward the latter-mentioned group...

Tired, dirty, smelly, weather-beaten, a rugged looking man in his thirties who pocessed the afore mentioned qualities trudged up to the tavern. Cinders flew off him as a breeze crossed his path. Raising his head, he seemed to enjoy the momentary cooling of the air. His hair is short, rough, tinted red. Heat irradiated from his presence. He dragged his feet to the tavern, looked at the shattered door, hesitated, then walked in.

Ignoring all the characters and noises currently in the tavern, he trudged slowly towards the waiter, who seemed to be shaken up about something. The bright wizard looked at the greenskins, then looked back at the waiter. 'Cowardice,' he thought. 'Must be why this dwarf is a here serving drinks, rather than out there splitting these greenskins' heads open.'

"Hey you!" The bright wizard called out to the waiter, and snapped his fingers. Nearby a plate glowed bright red and exploded. "Dammit, that always happens." He grumbled to himself. Facing the waiter again, he said, "They call me Solarflame. No that's not my name, only a title to reflect my powers. I am looking for the owner of this..." He pulled out a severed mutated arm of a maurader from under his robes. It looked like a set of giant lobster claws, and was charred at severing point. Solarflame chuckled as the waiter stared at the amputated mutation, "came right off when I hit him with nova. But the bleeding stopped real quick and he ran off this way. Now," Solarflame's eyes glowed red, and the heat from his proximity increased. "He killed my companion. A fair elf lass who pocessed the healings of high magic, and saved my hide from others - and myself, multiple times. The waffle snuck up to us, and before I could react, the poor lass was sucked over to him and cut in half. So..." Solarflame eyed around the tavern, and riveted his eyes on the northman, while still talking to the waiter. "I'm wondering, if anyone in here has seen him, or knows where he might have gone."

In all the traffic and commotion, a traveler strolls in where the door once was. For those who were or choose to look up, the figure is cloaked in a well worn sunbleached grey cloak. The figure walks with the grace that tells of elven decent. Sitting down at the end of the bar, a pale lavender hand waves the bartender over for a drink.

 *softly, yet in a stern commanding tone that tells of a hard edge*

" Give me what passes for a drink in this shack."

The bartender raises an eyebrow at the slight, but pays no mind when the coppers clink on the wooden bar. Walking over to a keg he begins to poor a pale amber ale into a mug, a little chuckle to himself about this week empiral ale. Good thing he keeps it around for the elves.

"No not that swill, That one!" /mumble

The bartender gives a little start, nope having expected the customer to be behind him with the shout. He slides the already poured mug down the bar to whoever wants it as to not waste it, then begins to poor a draft of nealry pitch black bitter. "Maybe this elf isn't so bad after all " he thinks to himself with another chuckle and hands it to the patron with a smirk and a nod.

Aedhra takes a few good swigs, lets a little shiver run over her body, then gives a nod back.

"Agreed, it's passable."

"HA! You're alright lass"

Then refills the mug as a thanks for the amusement. She needed this after the long journey, and the even more bitter cold outside. Sitting back and not removing her hood, she finally surveys the room, taking in the flaming red hair and embers immenating (sp?) from the wizard, the choas knight, the green skins, and the half-naked dwarves and Imperials. "How does these dwarves stand this cold, let alone without any cloths on?" she ponders, then looks at ther greenskins and wonders if the Imperial health inspector would ever pass the establishment with them in the building.

"I hope Malekith knows what he's doing making them our allies" she says under her breath and leans back against the bar to observe the crowd and enjoy her draft.

Solarflame studied the young elf lass - though she appears young, she may very well be hundreds of years old - who calls herself Aedhra, who sat gracefully at the counter, drinking the dark ale. She seemed to defy the chaotic atmosphere in the tavern, the immediate air around her glowed brighter and calmer, as if the purity of her grace has shielded her presence from the taverns foul stench and risky patrons. She reminded Solarflame so much of the elf lass who he had recently lost, who's deathcry he shall never wipe or even weaken, from his nightmares. It was more than a companionship. It was a bound of heart and soul. He felt warm tears surging rom his eyes, but they evaporated before streaming down his face. Some say a bright wizard is incapable of sorrow, insensitive fools.

Just as well. He cannot appear weak, not to his allies, not to these grunts and simpletons in this tavern, and definitely not in front of greenskins and chaos servants. Anger erupted from within him. He is going to make an example of someone, to get attention. One of the choppas will do nicely. He began to summon the winds of aqshy and eyeing the biggest choppa in the room. He has been known to burst down any enemy not hiding behind a shield before their healers can even react.As he was about to cast his deadly chain of spells, a conversation between two hooded figures in the corner catches his attention. He sat quiet, listening to the voices of the figures, too drunk to realize they were too loud, speaking of a maurader who's mutated arm has began to grow back. Across the tavern, the choppa's attention is on the half naked dwarves, not knowing he had cheated death by a spark.

Kanzolmur, a shaman, waited; hanging from where the big 'un had fallen through the ceiling and into the tavern.

"Oh Whyz did I go with himz, I knew I shoulda stayed where it was safe.." kanz Muttered quietly.

so far none of the patrons had noticed him, the area where the ork had fallen was wet now, the rain falling through the hole couldn't be stopped. Kanz looked around noticing the Stunties who stood around the tavern, all of them looked menacing. Kanz hadn't looked down though, to notice he was right above the table of the one Stunty slayers. "oh grip dontz let me down now!" kanz was worried now his grip was loosening he knew what was coming. His mind started flying over every way he could get out of it unscathed, he only found a few ways but he hoped they would work. He felt his last ounce of grip give way, he felt himself become weightless. Kanz knew it was going be tough but he knew that he could make it.

((Switching RP characters from Heldan to Skrank))

Heldan spontaneously combusts, then explodes. No one notices.

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        Nearby, away from the unfolding commotion of one of the only multi-factional taverns anywhere, a lone Squig herder picks at a half eaten boar leg, the last of his supplies. Although he was a goblin, and therefore not capable of much reasonable, let alone intelligent, thought, Skrank kn ew that he would likely not find food for days later on this harsh mountain, and even if he did, he wouldnt be able to kill it, since his only weapon, a crude greenskin bow, had been snapped in half during the battle with the boar whose leg he was gazing at presently; and yet, he was desperately hungry, and even slightly rotted leg meat was beginning to look appetizing. Before giving in to his stomach, he glanced at his bony squig, Gnashy, and wondered how squig meat tasted fresh...then Skrank remembered the fact that even he couldn't kill a squig unarmed, and with a reluctant grimace, turned to the leg meat and was about to take a bite when Gnashy suddenly shot up from his sitting position, nose in the air, looking straight at Skrank, half growling and half whimpering hungrily.

 "Oi, get yer own fud!" roared Skrank at his defiant pet, "Dis grubs mine! Yer lucky I 'asn't gottin a chance t' sharpen me teefs, or I'd bite ye gud and have ye for dinner!" Skrank, knowing that the squig probably couldn't understand, nor care about, his bluff, prepared to pounce on Gnashy if he pounced. But his squig wasn't focused on him, Skrank suddenly realised. He wasn't looking at him, he was looking beyond him, and as Skrank turned his head at the direction his squig was fixed upon, his sensitive nose was suddenly assaulted with a plethora of beautiful and horrible scents; drying blood, a mixture of every known race, predominately dwarfs, and most importantly, food and drink. FOOD AND DRINK! Skrank connected the dots; there was a bar ahead! Mounting his squig, for his wolf had perished months earlier from starvation, Skrank slapped Gnashy's backside with the flat of his broken bow, hollering, "Git on, yew git! There's fud ahead, and I'm as 'ungry as a stuntiiiiiEEEEEE!!!!!" He cried as his squig bolted towards the scent of the pub. Not my best idea, in hindsight, thought Skrank, just before a tree branch hit him across the top of the head at squig-sprint speed. He fell forward onto his mount's back, semi-unconcious. Gnashy was too hungry to give a damn, and he sped toward the smell of dinner, with his comatose master still on his back.

A brown-green blur dashed through the sparse woods outside of the tavern, a squig dragging a goblin by the neck on its' reigns. As it rushed towards the scent of food, it ducked and waeved between dying trees, it also had to duck underneath a hulk of rusted metal. While it managed to avoid the obstacle, the goblin once again hit it's head, leaving a metallic 'CLANG' resonate through the woods.

Solidus smirked as he saw the semi-conscious Greenskin rush towards the dim light of the tavern. Of course, through his heavy helm he was probably the only person on the planet who knew he had done so. Looking up at the sky, he pulled a tattered star-chart out of a satchel at his waist. The stars were exactly where they were supposed to be, and Morrslieb was perfectly in position...just as the seer he had eviscerated had said they would be.

It had taken him months to try and find this tavern, a place whispered about by madmen, drunks, and the true sages. The knight of the Change God had been searching for this place, but only recently did he find the way. Many sacrifices, many vagaries splayed on the field of battle had brought him to the Blind All-Seer of Taal, who had needed many hours of persuasion to reveal the truth of this places existence.

As he trundled through the underbrush, he breathed in, the air coming in slower than it used to. He was approaching nearly seventy, although he moved about in his massive plate armor like a man half his age. The Change God had gifted him mightily, but he was beginning to outgrow his usefulness to the war. This upstart T'char'Zanek was going to need mighty warriors to fill out his grand scheme, and he never had a mind for strategy. That was why he needed to find this place. He knew what was to come, he had seen it happen, even taken part in the ritual. As new warriors came to prove their worth to their leader, the most popular target was the older, slower ones. It was less of a matter that they were easier to kill, although they were, their years of carnage and conquest had gifted them with the plunders of war. More often than not they wore the best armor, and were therefore prized targets. Solidus kept what he had killed.

StuntyChucka walked through the ruined remains of the doorway barely fitting himself through it. He covered in blood and filth, he was tired but happy for he got to smash lots of those Humies who were trying to defend that town. A few bar patrons looked at him with utter disgust while most of them simply ignored him. He noticed the bar was full of Stunties, Humies, AND pointy ears!

He Yelled into the tavern "Whats with all these gits!?" Most of the patrons stll ignored him except for a few of those spiky headed stunties. One of the spiky humies barely glanced at him as he said, "Your in a bar most of these people have seen worse things than you tonight."

StuntyChucka stared blankly at the spiky humie having trouble following his words until he said,"Shut up 'umie i'm getting me some food!" Chucka stomped over to the counter his head nearly touching the raised ceiling. He was big even for an Ork but that was because he wasn't a git he knew how to survive!

"Umie get me some food and some of that beer!"  He roared at the frightened bartender. The bartender seemed both offended and intimidated, "I'm not a manling i'm a dwarf!" He yelled quickly. Chucka didn't care they all seemed tiny to him. He stalked over to a table picked the elves up on it and threw them across the bar, he sat at the table feeling the chair squeel under the pressure.

After a few minutes his food and beer was brought out by a barmaid who he was not sure what species she was. She looked at him expectantly and he responded the Orky way. He punched her in the face. A few goblins began to gather at his table looking excitedly at his food. One goblin covered in scars went for his food with a knife and landed it right into his ham. StuntyChucka roared his anger, grabbed the goblin and smashed it into the table. The table splintered and broke in half the half carrying his food flying into the air.

The goblins swarmed around the spot where the food was going to land and Chucka ran at them. The others in the bar seemed interested now some staring with smirks, others with rage that someone new spoiled there night.Chucka drew his Choppa, A Two-handed axe that he wielded with one hand, he found it in an old stuntie tomb since then it has gotten several notches a few covered with checkered wood to make it swing faster. He swung it cutting one gobbo's arm of and cutting the othes head in half.He jumped into the air to catch his food which had been in the air for an amazing amount of time. He grabbed the plate and stared across the bar, he saw one of the spiky elves with a staff stop casting the spell that made the plate float.(Chucka didn't know that)  He watched as the ground came towards him and he yelled his "WAAAGH!" as he fell through the floor into the basement.

Chucka got up realizing that he smushed a dead gobbo into his food "Ah 'ell it'll taste right better now!" He looked around the dark room unable to find an exit but what he did find were barrels full of BEER. Chucka laughed his triumph sat on the floor and began to eat while he opened a barrel...

(I'm good with ork dialogue because I read lots of lore BUT i'm not so good at typing ork things outside of dialogue so show mercy in any complaints you may have ^.^)