imported_Ambrose Braeden
Feb 26th, 2003, 09:35:03 PM
The blast doors slid open quickly and the Vampier strolled into the Roonstone Inn, soaked from the rain outside of the Transparasteel doors. His cloak that was as black as the night fluttered around his feet as he walked. Patrons filled the establishment along with a few fledgling Vampires who had nothing better to do. They were a discrace to this race, the race that some come to know as Blood Drinkers. Few chairs were taken up by the mohogony bar top. The barkeep whiping off the bar with a wet rag, his feet soaked. The bar maid walking around in her short skirt that was her uniform, serving drinks to the customers of the Tavern. Ambrose Braeden walked over to a spot at the bar that had just been whiped down.
I will take a blood wine. That is all.
He watched as the patrons played Sabboc at the tables. The dealer switched the cards, and a man who had a perfect sabboc, now had a poor hand. One that he would surely loose with. That was one of his favorite games. Still is, but he does not play it much anymore. He has no time for foolish games like that. He noticed a huge wheel on the far wall. A lone patron sat next to it, drinking his sorrows away. He grasped his left hand around four rod irons. Picking up the lonely man by the troat he held him against the wheel, pinning his hands and feet to the wheel. As if he was being crusified for something he had done. He stood back and watched as the man struggled to get out of the hold. The darts that were stuck into the dart board on the left of the bar were perfect.
He spun the wheel and started to throw the darts, aiming for the struggling man...
I will take a blood wine. That is all.
He watched as the patrons played Sabboc at the tables. The dealer switched the cards, and a man who had a perfect sabboc, now had a poor hand. One that he would surely loose with. That was one of his favorite games. Still is, but he does not play it much anymore. He has no time for foolish games like that. He noticed a huge wheel on the far wall. A lone patron sat next to it, drinking his sorrows away. He grasped his left hand around four rod irons. Picking up the lonely man by the troat he held him against the wheel, pinning his hands and feet to the wheel. As if he was being crusified for something he had done. He stood back and watched as the man struggled to get out of the hold. The darts that were stuck into the dart board on the left of the bar were perfect.
He spun the wheel and started to throw the darts, aiming for the struggling man...