<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/lB240Kg.jpg?1)  </div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><strong>Penn Teegan</strong></span><br/><strong>HP:</strong>26<strong>AC:</strong>19<strong>Passive Senses:</strong>18<br/><strong>Status:</strong>Normal<br/>Character Sheet (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=222317)<br/><hr/><br/><i>"An' when I yit im, he fell ower like a feckin' puched a bladder, all 'is blood and guts and shite out inna rush, an' he jus' doubled ower and went 'aaaauaaauuauaaauugh"</i><br/><br/>The braggart's equally intoxicated friend bellowed a wet laugh, spraying spit and cheap ale into the air between them.<i>"Oh, Oh,</i>was all he could manage around his choking laughter.  His beard was just as stained and vile as his companion's, but a shade more gray.<br/><br/><i> "An' I jus' lifted 'im up on the end of me sword, an' he just gaggin' an chokin' an callin' for 'is mummy--"</i><br/><br/>A whispering sound of steel.<i>Fli-flick</i><br/><br/><i> "Oh, oh, ohhhhhh--"</i>his friend bellowed in laughter as the braggart kept up his convulsing show, his thick fingers clutching at his throat and his eyes now bulging from their sockets.  The thinner, older man careened in his chair, righted himself, still choking out laughter.<br/><br/>The story was over, it seemed, and the braggart could speak no more.  There was a gurgling sound, then another, as he drew breath through his severed windpipe and aspirated on the blood from every severed artery and vein in his wrinkled, hairy throat.  The sanguine warp in his face gave way to sudden pallor as his tongue writhed soundlessly in his mouth, and then he moved too far and tipped the balance so that the neatly severed tendons could no longer hold his bulbous head aloft.  He had a view of the firelight dancing on the tavern ceiling, and his wet choke became a full out, rupturing squelch as his lungs screamed a strange wet wheeze in the tavern air.  His brain was dead when he lurched to a side and flopped into a gushing puddle of thick flesh on the stone floor of Taggard's famous Shield Tavern.<br/><br/>The door closed silently behind the dark-haired girl just as the listener's bellows became an<i>Oh, ooooooh</i>of horror as blood misted his gaunt cheeks, and the barmaid's scream was shrill over the shattering of clay mugs on the flagstones.  The door muffled the noise as it clicked shut, and Penn was on the street, winding a well-known path past the shuttered market stalls and dodging wide sprays of horseshit in the streets.  Soon, she was arriving at the Dragon's Nest, her round-stopped blades having been wiped with an oily rag from the lamplighter's satchel and neatly tucked away against her lean back, the armor coming to rest over them like a bird folding its wings against the rain.<br/><br/>Of course, she came in through the kitchen, sidling past the cook without raising an eyebrow-- not that the cook would raise an eyebrow to a Dragon either way.  She paused to smell the stew, wrinkling her small nose, and instead snagged the cook's personal bottle of rum before making her way into the main room.  Her path was faster than normal... no point in sizing up the bar for some strange... this was a night for drinking.  A Dragon named Nesbit, his black, bald head glistening with sweat where he kept her table by the fire, glanced up as she approached.  He asked with his eyes, a subtle lift of his brow muscles where no hair would grow.  Penn's head tipped in the briefest of nods.<i>Done.</i>Nesbit nodded curtly and left her table without a word to make his report, and the cork hit the floor as Penn took a long pull from the bottle.<br/><br/><hr/><strong>OOC:</strong><br/>Picking the table in the southwest corner of the main room.