Tailtian Games - Lughnasadh 2006 (- threads, 523 posts)
    Tailtiu's Tavern (82 posts)
    Role Play Thread

    The gathering place at Tara! Come join the fun ~ eat, drink and be merry!
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    Drinks and dancing!
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    Author: * Balbhuaidh Cruithni - 2 Posts on this thread out of 9 Posts sitewide.
    Date: Aug 6, 2006 - 23:24

    "The Hurling match still goes on, Master Fenian," I answer the tall forester. I like the way he stands and carries his drinking horn. I make a similar pose and try to look just as important. There are many others about who seem to be having a harder time of the drink. But my bilberry juice seems to have no effect on me. I grin, pleased with my fortitude.

    I strut across the tavern, amused by the great songs and dancing. "I can dance on my toes all night long," I say to nobody in particular.

    "Is that right, little master?" comes an answer from someone who's gone by the time I turn around.

    "That's right! And I can leap up and touch the rafters at sunset and alight back onto the floor at dawn. Only the wee harper back home in Emain Abhlach can play so long. All others tire out much too early." I look back and forth, hoping that one of the big folk will make eye contact with me so that I have an audience.

    The one called Flidais looks like someone important. I tug on her brát. "Did you know that my father is a fili companion to She Who Strikes Fear? And my mother is a Cruithni princess? Did you know that?" The gold-and-russet-draped rían nods and smiles courteously. I pause and wait to see if this will inspire questions from her, but she continues to carry on in her big talk with the forester. I frown and try to get others' attention with similar questions.

    My cup of bilberry juice is almost empty, but I'm still thirsty. I grunt as I stretch to push my cuaich across the bar.

    Before I can get another cup-full, my antaidh Fedelm pulls me back onto the dance floor. I try to make good my claim by hurling myself about the room, cawing like my mad ravens - Anam and Croí. When Feddy challenges me to a cider race, I cannot say no!

    There at the bar is a new face. She's a MacRoth! I can tell by the emerald gleam in her eye, her sharp features, and the southern rose hue in her head of red. "What may I fetch fer ye, bonny Fedelm?"

    Ahem, I cough. The barmaid rolls her eyes in my direction. "My apologies, wee lad. Are you buying?"

    I smile my affirmation and fish through my pouch for something of value.


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