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Old January 3rd, 2013 (04:52 AM). Edited January 3rd, 2013 by Claire*.
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Claire* Claire* is offline
Here's to the crazy ones.
 
Join Date: Jul 2012
Location: USA
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Nature: Sassy
Posts: 554

Bofvar Blyr

“Like a pot to piss in, this place is!” Bofvar proclaimed in his most jovial manner to his present audience. His captive audience, that is. The shopkeeper grumbled a word under his breath that might have insinuated something slightly derogatory towards the Dwarf’s mother, but he payed it no mind. “I mean really, I’ve seen less excrement in a chamber pot. How do you walk these streets without stepping in the accursed stuff?”

“I suppose we just make do, sir.” The grin on the shopkeepers face was obviously forced. He must not have taken too kindly to the stranger’s insults of his town. “Is there anything else you’d like, or will this complete your purchase?” His tone became slightly more hostile, almost as if he was willing the Dwarf to hurry up and leave. Tapping his fingers on the countertop, he looked to the items upon it and then back to Bofvar.

“Hold your horses...” he reached into his belt and pulled out exact change for his purchase. “...They’ll have plenty of time to paint your streets brown later!” Bofvar burst out into uproarious laughter. The shopkeeper was obviously not amused by his little joke. “Oh, come on! That was bloody brilliant if I do say so myself.” He straightened up and put his arms on his hips, a stupid, somewhat antagonistic grin crossing his complexion.

“Of course, sir, a stroke of pure genius,” The keep answered as dryly as humanly possible. “Here is your bread, have a wonderful day.” He just about spat out the last few words through his gritted teeth. No sooner had he thrown the bread in Bofvar’s direction, had he disappeared into the back room of the shop. Probably a hopeful attempt at dodging further company with the Dwarf.

“Hey, you’re lucky this bread is the only good smelling thing in this town, or I’d be taking my coin elsewhere!” His voice bellowed through the storefront. Satisfied that he had gotten the final word in, he held the freshly baked loaf to his nose and inhaled a strong whiff. It was enough to keep out the atrocious oder of the air, for just a minute at least. Breaking off a piece and leaving the baker’s establishment, he bumbled down the road and enjoyed his sourdough. What were the people of this town thinking? Bofvar enjoyed the occasional, okay, frequent dip into debauch behavior. But, to wallow in filth? They needed to get their **** together. The thought gave him a little chuckle, the fittingness of the statement running through his mind.

The path to the tavern was modest as these things went. The market street bustled with life of business being done. Traders selling their wares and buyers hunting for the best deal. It was a give and take, the trading world was. One side never had the others’ best interest in mind. It was cutthroat, in a way not entirely dissimilar to Bofvar’s work. Supply and demand, pretty basic principle of both businesses.

Bofvar stood out from most on the street. Well, not that he ‘stood’ out in that sense of the word. He was the shortest present, a feeling he had grown accustomed to over the years. Even some prepubescent’s of other races loomed over him, Elves mostly. His mind ran to those long-legged vixens especially. He would probably be lying if he didn’t admit to having a weakness for a pointy ears now and again. Sure, loose women were fun, but those uptight Elves, there was nothing like a good challenge.

Lost in thought, he hadn’t even realized how much time had passed. His bread now gone and the tavern he had been looking for rested just across the way. “The Broken Keg”, what a sad name for a bar, he thought. A broken keg would mean that all it’s precious contents had been lost and spilled upon the parched pavement, never to reach Bofvar’s gullet.

Boisterous laughter could be heard being carried out into the public air outside its confines. Someone must have been weaving a good tale or two inside. That was typically his job. Somebody must have beaten him to the punch and gotten plastered before him. It didn’t quite sit too well with him. Walking up to the door of the establishment, he kicked it open with one of his powerful little legs. Swinging open on its ill-maintained hinges, it slammed against the interior, a loud crash emanating from where it impacted.

The laughter began to die down at the sudden noise, more out of curiosity than out of respect for who caused it. “You lot should be ashamed of yourselves!” He shouted as he strolled in, his statement completely oblivious to the events that had occurred here earlier. “Everyone knows that I’m tonight’s entertainment.” Spying just who he was looking for amidst the littering of tables, he made his way over and seated his stout form on a rustic chair that creaked under the new load. A few boos made there way over to his ears. He must have interrupted quite the show to illicit such a reaction.

“The lot of you, shut your traps!” Bofvar called out to them to settle their disgruntled disapproval at his interrupting their prior fun. It looked as if only two others of their marauding band had gathered so far. He was secretly happy that he hadn’t been the last. “Barkeep! I require liquor!”

The bartender still wiping the tears from his eyes that his spurt of laughter had brought him, waved in acknowledgment. “W-what will you be having?”

Bofvar reached down and jiggled his belly at the man. “Does it look like I give a damn?” The tavern as a whole gave out a small chuckle. “Go ahead and surprise me,” He shouted back over the sounds of the patrons before turning his attention back to his comrades. Playing with his beard, he glanced at the large man and then to the woman, his eyes lingering just a bit longer on her than him. They were here for the same reason as he, to collect the spoils of there hard work and celebrate a job well done. Coinage and celebration, those were two principles he could get behind.

Giving a mock salute to the man who was seated across from him, he began to rub his grubby palms together. “So, how did we make out with the prize money?” He asked him, his ever growing love for riches bubbling to the surface. His mind began to race with what he would do with his share. Nothing responsible, that was a given.
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