// EXPERIMENTAL THREAD // - The Tavern

[TrashPanda]

His transportation through the planes went smoothly as his feet touched the stone walkway just a mere ten feet from the door to a tavern of sorts called the Silver Crucible. He looked left then right. Seeing that others were not paying attention to his arrival. His black cloak with some ragged edges and holes littered it. He lowered his hood revealing a face that split down the middle. One side representing his unnatural undeath that he worked decades to achieve. His necromantic powers reaching its peak almost to rising power of death itself. His only goal now was to ascend into godhood but that will take time and effort to collect the information to do so. He did get this far. So he only could assume it possible. He had left proxies of himself elsewhere in many planes to find said answers. He wondered how those could be going.

He grinned at the idea of visiting a tavern somewhere. Usually these establishments are coated with babbles of information or rumors. Some truthful. Some unbelievably false. But all in all a good place to start. His half grin disappeared as a worm crawled out of his empty skulled eye socket. He plucked it from there and then smiled a grin that almost felt like a father looking upon his newborn child. "Oh deary me little one. You shouldn't be here….. but let is let you free to burrow somewhere and become a large purple worm elsewhere. Oh the chaos you will ensue little child in my undeadly like name, Joyrot." And he set the worm down to crawl its way to a patch of dirt to begin its new life elsewhere. Whatever here was.

Spoiler: Joyrot if his face was but half is skeletal.

He brushed off his bone like hand and started to walk slowly towards the tavern door. Singing in riddles as he so oftentimes did. He found everything boring unless it would help him achieve his goal or considered good for his multiple games or pranks he played on unlucky travelers. Two in particular back on his home plane. But he figured, Alannah could handle them in his absence for now. He did his half grin and stepped within the tavern after opening the door.

The room he come to see was rather well lit and cozy. He instantly hated it. The good smells of food and patrons trying to smell nice to attract one another. He kept composure and told himself this was for information and its the best idea he had at that particular moment. But damn did it aggravate his senses. He stepped around watching people converse with one another. Say yo himslef what a boring pass time activity. Some looked ip and stared at him a moment. He'd just smile and nodded each time. His look made them afraid or look on in disgust. But none of that bothered him in the slightest. He had finally come to an empty table and sat down. "Ok" He whispered to himself. "I'm bound to catch someone's interest. Either bad or good. Who knows." He just began looking about. Not really knowing how to begin this dreaded task called socializing.

 

[Darko Cernovsek]

A serving girl went to attend Liesl's empty mug, while the barkeep himself approached the... individual... who just entered his establishment.

The barkeep, Murgon, would be the first person to claim he'd seen everything by now... but the sight of the individual who just entered was proving him a liar, once more. One of the harlots gasped in alarm, staring at the half-skeletal person, one of the drunk workers clenching a fist, while the barkeep spoke...

"Aye, all are welcome in me place, but drop the illusion magic or whatever ye got on you right now! I be likin' a good prank as much as th' next bloke, but yer upsettin' the patrons with yer... undead visage." - trying to keep his tone nonchalant. But even as he said it, he had an unsettling feeling that this was no illusion. Even for his unskilled eyes, it seemed too... real.

 

[Missmonkey]

Spoiler: Jade Hirameki

Stone faced and walking with confident grace, a strikingly beautiful Asian woman stepped over the tavern's threshold, her hourglass figure garbed in black and dark red robes with a few traces of dark red armor visible peeking out from beneath her clothing, behind her walked two slightly younger females in similar attire. If anyone in the room glanced in their direction, not one of them noticed… or cared enough to look.

The woman with the all business expression on her exquisite face couldn't have been any older than 22 to maybe 25, the girls following her were almost guaranteed to be 18-19 in age.

However, very briefly… all three women gave the obvious necromancer a questioning look, ultimately though, the woman clearly in charge had other items on her agenda that did not include an out of place necromancer. If the strange man wanted a drink, so long as he did nothing to disturb her and her business or attempted harm upon any innocent patrons, she cared not what he did.

"Haruka-San, Miaka-San, find us a table… I will have a word with the barkeep…" She spoke to the girls, her tone soft and calm, yet there was certain quality in the way she spoke even something so simple as this that seemed to command respect.

"Hai, Hirameki-Sensai…" both spoke in unison, giving her a subtle partial bow before they turned to complete the task given to them.

Approaching the bar, she gave the barkeep a very simple and subtle nod of polite greeting "Konbonwa… pardon me, I often forget that we walk lands at the moment where many would not know our language… Good evening to you, good barkeep… my name is Jade Hirameki and I come seeking information… I was given a lead not long ago that a man was seen in your establishment… a man of my ethnicity… he may or may not have given you his real name… the man I am looking for is called Reizo Hatori… Has he returned in recent days? If not, did he say anything about where he might be headed?"

 

[rosie]

Despite knowing she'd never be able to touch whatever mead or ale was being poured into her tankard, Liesl lifted her chin to the servant girl in silent gratitude, not bothering to make a move for the drink. The barkeep's distinct voice became audible above the buzz of the tavern, pulling her attention in that direction, and her muscles coiled with tension at the sight - what appeared to be a man, half dead, though clearly alive, sitting pretty by his lonesome. She rested her elbows against the table, propping her chin in the palm of her hand as she watched the scene unfold.

Gaze glittering with curiosity and a touch of wariness, her brows furrowed as she tapped her index finger against her cheek, absentminded. Illusion magic made sense - there was no way this man was truly half-dead, though she supposed she couldn't possibly have seen everything this world of chaos and wonders had to offer. Jaded as she might've been, perhaps there had to have been a miracle or two here or there. Or a curse. Clearly.

New arrivals pulled Liesl's gaze yet again, three women with striking features and distinct clothing making their way through. She didn't move from her spot, taking in the sight of strangers and briefly considering fishing her book from her satchel. Granted, that would mean no longer being able to keep an eye on the door, but the comfort of twin blades concealed at her belt were a little more incentive to properly relax.

 

[TrashPanda]

"Illusion? Where?" He looked around quickly then under the table. "Someone was using Illusion magic around here and I had not seen it while walking in that's absurd!" Was the barkeep pulling his leg now. "I don't see what you are talking about..... Oh you mean me. No illusion at all. Just... pure.... beautiful.... achievement." He half grinned and looked to the barkeep. "What you see here is what I've achieved after decades of work with Necromancy as research. Like the tavern for instance it just doesn't spring from the ground like grass from a seedling. It was created by effort and work. So... I just happen to look a bit different then where I started."

"Now that I would have your attention for the moment. I would like nothing more then peace and possibly a good question answered." He hated asking for that so called peace from a living vile thing that cant seem to follow his own code of ethics that say 'All are welcome' Then continue to drill his patrons for others unease. Not so welcoming is the tavern is it. He however loved that sort of reaction. So fate does have it rewards, sometimes ever non-discriminate. He looked around the tavern to see if anyone was eyeing him. Yeah patrons were definitely. This might have been a bad idea.

A Stone face woman approached the barkeep and attempted to distract him with a question of her own as he found this to be a good opportunity to slip out from his seat, throwing up his hood, and made a beeline for another seat. When he came to stop and seated. He was just a table away from a woman staring in his direction. He mouthed the words. "Hi." When from under the hood there were a small bit of bugs crawling from under his chin to the empty socket where his eye should be.

 

[notlydialovelace]

Even after having kissed Uncle West, not more than just a peck for the time being, Love found herself almost coughing with a bitter taste in her mouth as a seemingly half-rotted man approached from the entryway. Oceanic mythology was far more her area of interest and familiarity, at least as far as textbook knowledge was concerned. But he was the spitting image of the illustration in one of the books she had perused often in her earlier days before taking to the sea, of the sub-type of draugr born of the crew of sunken ships or those who fell or were pulled overboard into the ocean.

As if to take her mind off of the macabre aura of the man---who thankfully sat far enough away from her that, even as a cleric whose deity was not concerned with the cycle of life and death directly, she felt like an icy dagger in her mind---, she nodded in approval of her fellow cleric's suggestion of a trivial gamble. Certainly she preferred bets she had little to lose in, but her tolerance for alcohol had improved a bit over the past few months following her introduction to wine, particularly elvish vintages.

She took the two coins of silver offered in exchange for the impractical sphere, placing it in West's palm with a smile on her lips.

"A pity our former drinking-companion has decided to abandon us, but I suppose he prefers solitude to the company of dogmatists, even unusual ones like us," she said, tilting her head back in the direction of the table that she, West, and Whisper had sat at before. "Care to return to the table?" she asked.

 

[WhatISeemIAm]

The tattooed and heavily scarred figure strolling toward The Silver Crucible was conspicuous and occasionally recognised albeit generally by older individuals with good memories, and seldom in the same way by any two people. Until recently he had been functioning as a luminary in an inaccessible venue better known for the exceptionally strong and reputably undrinkable liquor it produced than for the books it contained. The former being offered to anyone who would accept it, which few did, the latter jealously guarded and off-limits to all but the most persistent and influential of visitors. He did not look like a luminary. The grey streaked black hair might have suited the role, the matching stubble did not, nor did the large scar bisecting one of his blue eyes, or the collection of artless tattoos, each being more in the vein of reminders and personal advice than anything else.

'I hope I can gamble here,' he spoke to his companion.

'You really have nothing to wager,' she responded, a hand moving to the hilt of the court-sword hanging from her waist as a pair of very pale blue eyes regarded a group of unsavoury strangers walking the narrow dock-side streets.

The man waved at them, and smiled, indifferent to their glowering hostility.

'I could wager you,' he said while stepping around the approaching group, 'you could pass for a girl in bad light,'

The tall figure did not really look like a boy in any light,. She did dress like a man, albeit a very wealthy and fashionable one, wore her hair short, and carried herself with an unsmiling aloofness that was not especially feminine.

'I decline. I may be shackled irremediably by certain obligations to keep you alive, but am not constrained to do anything you say.'

He shrugged.

'But you still refuse to explain the nature of these all-important obligations,'

'When I last told you, you did something inadvisable and got yourself killed. So I decline.'

'What if I swear in a grave and serious way not to do anything inadvisable?'

'You did that on the initial occasion. I no longer trust you.'

'Hmph. Well, if me being alive is so important to you, why did I wake up in a gutter with a knife in my back?' He seemed more curious than annoyed by this as they paused in the doorway of The Silver Crucible.

'Can I put it bluntly? Don't respond, I ask only out of politeness,' she cut back, while glancing over the patrons, 'Simply put as it stands getting killed is the closest thing you have to a talent. As to the how-'

'-I feel I must have many talents. I don't recall what they are, but I'm certain they exist-' he put in as the two paused in the doorway.

'-You were trying to obtain a book from a very dangerous person who hates you while I was indisposed.'

'What was the book about?'

'I'm not sure. You were under the impression you had authored it. I suspect you were hoping to discover your name. You complain regularly about not knowing it,'

'I don't know my own name? That's vexing. You'd think I'd have written it down somewhere, seems more important than-' he glanced at a hastily tattooed note on one forearm warning him to avoid a number of foods and animals, '-this business about nuts and... Otters?'

'Yes. Otters. It's a long story, but do keep away from them, at any rate here we are-' she gestured at the room, '-don't wander off, and try not to get killed. I'll be back in an hour or so.'

'Sound advice,' the scarred figure responded as she left before venturing over to the bar.

After chatting briefly with the landlord and exchanging a small sum he turned to look over his fellow patrons while opening a bottle which bore the proud label Tomorrow's Regret. A hastily drawn mouth-full of its contents very nearly ended up on the floor a moment later. He swallowed with some effort and then glared at the substance for a moment, raising his heavy, dark brows.

'So,' he intoned softly, sniffing the contents warily albeit with a certain tenacity, as a fighter stung to caution by an unexpected blow, 'It's like that is it?' Slightly pained laughter followed this remark as he drank more. 'It is like that...'

Everyone seemed interesting in their own way; the stoic foreigner with her attendants, the happily half-rotten man boasting about his achievements, and then there was the priest. The sight of whom provoked an unexpected swell of antipathy although the bottle made it go away quickly enough. The most tragic, and therefore best of his fellow patrons came in the form of a person trying to be alone while surrounded by people. They were always fun. Any moment now he felt certain she would take out a book and begin reading. Someone had to step in before that happened. The newcomer strode over to Liesl's table, grabbing a chair en route and dragging it noisily into place, quite deliberately, before he sat opposite her with a grin.

'I'm here to bother you.' The scarred figure intoned cheerfully, 'I'd introduce myself, but I don't remember who I am exactly. I am certain that poking sulky introverts is a hobby of mine though.'

 

[notlydialovelace]

Love paused from setting up the gamble at the table with West when she noticed the entrance of the mysterious illustrated and time-worn man carrying a bottle of something strong enough to raise the dead only to kill them once more, or so she gathered just from the faint whiff of the potent brew as he passed her, the stench of the grave clinging to his breath like a skeletal hand of a long-dead king clutching his prized scepter in his mausoleum. Of course, it was not anything near the aura of the half-dead man who was quietly and bemusedly flaunting his leisure on the other side of the room. Just, more poetically deathly than literally so.

What caught her attention, was rather the fact that the table he so noisily sat down at, happened to already have a prior occupant. One who had definitely not been there when Love had first arrived, but yet somehow had passed behind the weather-maker unnoticed. Love considered her perceptiveness among her limited yet dependable merits, even if she was prone to being distracted at times, by various diversions.

She turned then to West again, a devilish glint in her eye, befitting for one with the touch of Infernal about her.

"If I am not mistaken, darling, a confluence of chaos is about. It smells like the metallic bite of the air right before a thunderstorm. I think that our game can wait until after things have gotten less...interesting, about here..." she said, almost as if speaking to herself more than to Uncle West.

She then turned to face the two unknown figures, the younger girl and the haggard man. It was true that she was perhaps acting, or at least observing, out of a vigilance on behalf of the girl, whose bearing had sparked a memory of her own in her period of being lost, between the Wreck and venturing far east to visit the temple of Kairo. And while she somehow felt as if the girl was more than capable enough of handling things on her own, it was almost as if Love wanted to watch over her past self in surrogate, rather than actually intercede on behalf of anyone in affairs that probably didn't concern her.

Was that ink-slashed man a sailor? He certainly had a rough look about him, but he was not nearly salted enough to pass for a seaman. It wasn't strictly necessary for one to ride the tumultuous waves, after all, to experience the highs and lows of fortune and fate, it was just that tides were a more resonant medium for the influences of the capricious gods to tremulate, and with them, the lives and lots of shipfolk. But life on land was hard in its own way, just more grounded.

 

[rosie]

The sound of chair legs scraping against the floor really shouldn't have had Liesl's head snapping over with a start. She should've seen the marked-up stranger approaching - should have noticed the moment he set foot in the tavern. She might've, if it weren't for the half-dead man mouthing a greeting to her from a table over, enthralled with the gruesome spectacle of him. Alas, this sudden breach of space and contentment left her blinking lamely for the briefest of moments.

I'm here to bother you, huh? She raised her brows, meeting his gaze with guarded intrigue, though she put on a more warm expression. Again, the blades beneath her cloak provided reassurance - though she hoped she wouldn't need them. He could just be a friendly stranger, though there might also be something more sinister behind that toothy grin and cheerful disposition.

She offered forth a reserved smile and a slight tilt of her head, unable to respond vocally, but she was certain he'd get bored before too long and amble off to busy himself with drink or some other patron, more open to conversation than herself. There was no reason to introduce herself, to reveal any information, really, but there was a hint of dread gnawing at her gut. If she offered him nothing and he did persist, would that not be cause for suspicion? These circling thoughts were beginning to make her head ache. She tentatively settled back against her chair, turning her attention elsewhere, though stealing glances every so often. What do you want, she wondered.

 

[TrashPanda]

The half rotten individual watched as someone sat down next to the girl and a little bit of disappointment came over him. Or was it disappointment really. Perhaps not to the one whos lived over three centuries perhaps more. Simply lost count as they flew by. He tilted his head to mirror the girl who's attention was on the newcomer and out of his hollowed eye socket an eye tumbled out dangling from his undead like socket. "Oh! Left Eye! There you are my silly little friend." He picked it up with his skeletal finger and delicately put it back into his place. "Ah, No wonder it was all dark in you."

He set back in his chair. Still knowing a lot of the patrons had eyes on him but he cared not. Their problem that they stare. Not his. He found it quite strange that the girl spoke not a single word. So he decided to try something. Taking a string from his cloak and wrapped it around his finger and whispered into it. To message the girl telepathically rather than speaking aloud. 'Silent one you are? The names Joyrot. And Id like to ask you a question? You may reply to me within your noggin if you wish?'

The good side picked up on a scent and it reeked of Divination. Oh no.....

 

[Avarice West]

West maneuvered the little silver ball from his palm to the back of his hand and dexterously rolled it across his knuckles. He allowed it to roll off and then snatched it out of the air. When he opened his hand back up he revealed an empty palm. "Ah yes, very nice," he said satisfied with his purchase.

It had not escaped West's attention that there were a number of new arrivals in the tavern, each one somehow managing to be a little odder than the one before. Or maybe not really, because what could truly be odder than a man with half of a dead face. Nope. West decided not to pursue that little line of false logic. The difference between the odd and the ordinary was only a matter of familiarity and perspective. He noticed them, but made it a point not to react at all, but to keep his focus on Love, while assessing each character through his periphery.

"Are you labeling me as a dogmatist?" West asked in response to Love's comment. "The only rule I live by is the one that says, "rules are made to be broken," and this includes the rule that I live by, because without some rules everything would turn to chaos!" West stopped talking and admired the spiral descent into irony that his comment had taken. He took up his seat at the table at Love's invitation. "I feel it's only fair I should warn you. I have a great deal of experience playing this game, and I've become quite adept at losing."

A final stranger entered the bar, and despite his intention not to notice this one either, their eyes met for a brief moment. The look West received was so bone chilling that for a moment he believed he may have pushed things too far with Whispers after all, and this scarred brute had been sent in to ensure that West's ill-advised tickling was brought to an abrupt end forevermore. The man moved past him however and selected a seat at another table. West couldn't help but start breathing again, because if he didn't he would likely pass out.

"If I am not mistaken, darling, a confluence of chaos is about. It smells like the metallic bite of the air right before a thunderstorm. I think that our game can wait until after things have gotten less...interesting, about here..."

Love's description was both poetic and accurate. The energy in the bar had most definitely shifted from the mundane toward the chaotic. "Agreed," West said, trying to sound much more relaxed than he actually felt.

It might seem strange to the casual observer that West had become suddenly reserved and even cautious, but this was in fact aligned perfectly with his clerical training. In the absence of chaos, West was duty bound to ensure its presence, albeit in silly, mostly harmless ways. In the presence of an abundance of chaos, West was inclined to become quiet, observant, and most importantly to stay out of chaos's way until he was called to the dance.

He watched as Love shifted her attention to the table behind him. He did not turn to look. Instead he plucked his newly acquired spherical coin from the air (or possibly his sleeve, as his skill at slight of hand was far from expert). He closed his eyes and tossed the object into the air. When he opened his eyes to see where it had landed, he discovered that it had landed on the table and had stopped against the bottle of port that rested in front of him. "Good call friend," he said. He pocketed the silver ball and began drinking from the bottle with unreserved devotion.

 

[WhatISeemIAm]

He had been hoping for more from the withdrawn young woman although that probably went without saying. Most people hope for more than nothing. She did smile though, and acknowledged his introduction non-verbally in a manner that seemed incongruously polite for someone who was trying to kill the attempt at conversation with silence. A steady and suddenly thoughtful blue-eyed gaze was fixed on Liesl for a moment as the nameless stranger leaned back, crossing his ankles beneath the table.

'Better to sit alone than with a fool. Such lore is traditional. Before you scorn your own reflection thus, think how the world loves fools: it made so many of us.' Pausing for another drink, and feeling himself sobering up the stranger smiled again, 'My amateurish extemporising notwithstanding, you've left me no choice. I'm going to invite that happy monster over here to tell us all about his accomplishments. Stop me if you'd rather I didn't, either outcome would work for me.'

Liesl was given plenty of time to object if she had a mind to as the stranger drank some more. The initial kick and bite of the hateful liquid having been tamed somewhat by familiarity. A reality which obliged him to drink more. Something peculiar was afoot though and a sensation - the sort of piquant intuition that makes itself known physically - saw him turn toward the partially skeletal figure. A deep-down impression, and expectation was brought to light. Something non-material - how that concept galled - was happening. The stranger felt he should have been able to participate, but he couldn't remember how.

 

[rosie]

The sudden intrusion of a voice inside her head that was not her own, had Liesl's trepidation doubling, gaze flitting across the room wildly for a moment before returning to the stranger sitting across from her. It wasn't him, she could tell that much. 'Joyrot' did sound much more like the obscene, half-dead man from before, though she didn't risk a glance over to check. For a moment, she wondered if she might've imagined it, but that voice had been too direct, too clear, to have been a trick of her own mind.

'Ask,' she thought, unsure if her own response would even reach the voice. Her fingers curled in her lap, agitated enough that she nearly missed what the man in front of her had to say. She wasn't quite sure if she wanted to snicker at those words or simply get up and walk away, instead settling for listening in silence. She could respond, she supposed - surely that would have him retreating without a second thought, but Liesl recalled far too many similar instances in the past. Loath as she was to admit, it still stung.

Her gaze bore into the stranger, brows drawn together as she contemplated her options here. Her fingers twitched again, fidgety, and she came to the conclusion that she'd slip away once the other two engrossed themselves in conversation. It should be easy enough - about as easy it was to forget Liesl was there in the first place, a fact she liked to use to her advantage. The idea of sitting at this table with two complete strangers was a less than pleasant one, but her plan quelled some of the dread, and she offered a single, slight nod.

 

[WhatISeemIAm]

The anonymous stranger, 'Anon,' he felt made as good a place-holder title as any other, felt he had given Liesl a fair chance to veto his suggestion and decided it was time to press on. There was more to it than simply trying to bait a response out of the young woman by way of this social fait accompli. Truth be told the happy monster's remark about his decades of work with necromancy had piqued the scarred figure's interest. Thinking on the subject seemed to poke and scratch at Anon's insides in an insistent, but not entirely unpleasant manner, and he almost caught himself thinking of the half-rotten creature as a kind of kindred spirit without knowing why beyond that it had something to do with inclinations toward unnatural, and reviled forms of spell-craft.

Of course there was also something inherently comical about someone who could react so nonchalantly to an eye falling out of their head and that was worth a great deal all by itself. If he deigned to join then it would certainly be an interesting inexperience.

'Why don't you join us?' Anon spoke up, blue eyes fixed on the partially-skeletal patron as he gestured to an empty space at the table, 'I would love to hear about your achievements and research,'

His gaze fell on the priest again briefly with that, and some curious introspection followed as he tried to make sense of what it was about this priest, or perhaps it was priests in general, that was so galling, 'they're just wrong,' the thought arose spontaneously, 'no, no, this deserve to be taken seriously...' Shaking these thoughts off Anon's attention returned to Liesl and the happy monster as he drained his bottle further.

 

[TrashPanda]

Hearing the words of 'Ask' enter his dark necrotic brain was somewhat a sign that she did have a voice somewhere. When he heard the word 'monster' reach his ears. He grinned. Again others and their one way track minds of judgement. Chaos is him. Chaos the domain he has claimed long ago. Worlds crumble without the small bit of chaos sewn into its dark weavings. He was chaos. Not a monster. Monsters don't care about balance. He however did. He spun another wire and whispered into it again towards the girl. 'So you do have a voice. Splendid I was wondering if you knew anything of the arcane nature? If not that is ok. Also a deal can be made. You may respond back if you like.' He wasn't to keen on taking patron like bargains but this could be interesting. Alannah turned out fine and excels at her wonderful puppetry and necromantic skillset.

He looked to the scarred individual that had asked him to join them. He got up and walked over to the table and before taking a seat his hand simply came off started to do a walk of its own the table and twirl about like a tiny dancer to entertain. He sat and said. "Well more of its sheer dumb luck but it has led to some interesting conclusions." He kept his loose eye ever on the girl. "Where should I start? Two or three centuries back?"

 

[notlydialovelace]

Upon seeing the half-faced man join the table, Love found herself rising to her feet, and paused only after she was standing up.

Did she really want to enter the lion's den?

On the one hand, it could be interesting.

On the other hand, it was almost certainly perilous.

But what was life without a bit of peril, now and then.

"It seems you have an extra seat," she said aloud, walking over to the table, motioning behind her back in a beckoning gesture to Uncle West. Whether he joined her or not wasn't really an issue. She respected his reservation in the face of manifest chaos, and her decision to join the fray was hers alone, without any expectation that he would be following her.

She pulled out a chair with a quick flick of her wrist, a minor act of telekinesis, and strode over to it, sitting down facing the half-faced man, between Liesl and the scarred stranger.

"Anyone fancy a glass of Riyamir Auspex?" she offered, calling one of the bottles from her table into her hand with a quick spell. "I prefer Clarion, but it wasn't on offer at this establishment, at least not today," she said, attempting to smile despite the uniquely macabre situation she was now entrenched in.

Even if she herself could pass for a layperson, Love had noticed, at least on some level, the scarred man's disdain leveled towards the overtly clerical West, and so she was content to play mere wizard-sailor for the moment, as long as the facade needn't have been broken.

 

[Avarice West]

West was halfway through a deep chug on the cheap bottle of Port when Love offered to share her high end elvish wine. He almost choked. Once he could breath again he asked, "Is that a standing offer to any interested parties?" The priest leaned back in his chair about as far as it could go while still staying upright on two legs in an attempt to catch Love's eye. He tipped back forward, deciding not to wait for a response. The god/dess of chaos had provided a crystal clear directive that Avarice should follow the wine. It would be an unforgivable transgression to ignore the commandment of his patron god/dess, especially with such a high quality sacrament on the offer.

West palmed the silver ball that had until quite recently been legal tender, and pivoted his chair to face the table behind him. He looked at the half dead one, "How about if you start with this morning and work backwards from there. I find stories are always more interesting when told in reverse, and that will give us an excuse to interrupt with loads of untimely questions. Love, my love, pour a glass for this gentleman here," he indicated the scarred and tattooed fellow. "And one for me as well." He reached back to his original table to obtain two glasses, which had been conviently set there for the game of Cups and Coins that had never started. "I fear I may have offended him in a past life, and the quickest way to make amends is to offer someone else's alcohol as a peace offering, 'so has it been written, so shall it be done." He bowed his head as if in prayer, but only for a moment, and then he smiled at the young woman sitting silently across the table. He said nothing, but rolled the silver ball across the table to her. "I was just imagining a new sort of game. In which a silver ball bounces around on an inclined table, encountering various bells and other obstructions. There should be an opening at the lower part of the table and the player must try to prevent the ball from falling into the opening by using little hinged paddles to try to bounce the ball back up the incline." West flipped his hands back and forth in demonstration. "You would get points for hitting as many obstructions as possible. I think I should call this game 'Sin Ball'... as the obstructions would each be a metaphor for the various sins one might encounter during life, and the opening at the base of the table would be a metaphor for death. Whoever avoids death longest and commits the most sins wins the game. I could charge one copper per play, and the prize would be bragging rights. What do you think? Is there a future for it?" Expecting no answer from the silent female he looked at the two male figures to gauge their opinion of his idea.

His eyes settled on Love last of all, and he batted his eye lashes at her and raised his glass, as if to say, yes please, I'd be ever so gracious if you filled up the glass as high as you're willing to go.

West glanced around the bar and realized that with the exception of the ill tempered laborers, and the tavern staff, nearly everyone had joined this single table. Nearly everyone, but not precisely everyone, for the exotic woman and her companions seemed to be tied up at the bar on some important business or other. "When you're done there," West shouted across the room, "You should come join us. Clearly this is the table to be at. Pull up a chair, or if you're so inclined, you might take up an empty lap. I'd have no objections." West wasn't trying to be forward, just inclusive. He would of course be just as happy to see one of the ladies sit on the silent young woman's lap, or either of the other gentlemen. Love would have been included as well, but she had yet to take a seat, so therefore her lap was currently inaccessible.

 

[Missmonkey]

Spoiler: Jade Hirameki

{West} "When you're done there,"

Jade's dark chocolate eyes immediately found the source of the boisterous voice, she regarded the speaker with a sort of uncertain chilliness in her eyes and facial expression… she wasn't unsocial, but she did however hold high standards for the company she kept.

{West} "You should come join us. Clearly this is the table to be at. Pull up a chair, or if you're so inclined, you might take up an empty lap. I'd have no objections."

Her eyes narrowed slightly… did this loud man mistake her for one of the common harlots that moved about the tavern… surely her attire would suggest she was anything but one of these loose floozies.

She glanced towards the table where her two students sat, they regarded their sensei as if awaiting her instructions… Jade gave Haruka and Miaka a subtle shake of her head, signaling them to ignore the loud individual.

The beautiful woman moved with a steady grace towards the table, stopping about two feet away from the man that had called out to her "I have no interest in your lap or anyone else's… perhaps you would be best seeking the attentions of one of the harlots, that is after all what they are here good. A good evening to all of you"

The parting words were spoken in a respectful and polite tone, primarily for the others at the table, her chilly gaze met the loud man one last time, before she turned from him and proceeded towards the table where her students waited for her.

"We will have a drink and a meal, then we will seek out an inn for accommodations… if Reizo is here in this town, we will find him…" she said softly, taking a seat, she flagged down a serving woman "Please have three meals arranged and three glasses of wine, please..."

The serving woman nodded and left to do as bid, paid a generous tip of three gold pieces to have it done without delay.

"Sensei... if that man wishes your attention, perhaps you should tell your terms... he defeats you, you give him a shot" Haruka replied with a grin at her sensei "It would be amusing to see how quickly you could defeat him in hand to hand combat"

"Iie" Jade declined "We are not here to be show offs, this is the biggest lead we've had on Reizo Hatori in almost a year"

"Hai, Sensei" Haruka replied, semi deflated... it was always so cool to watch their sensei in action. Oh well.

 

[TrashPanda]

As the others began to fill the small table. The very kind of tingle one would get when set with an obstacle such as crowds. Having two is rather fine company but to have more and more join becomes crowded. Hard to gain a standing with one when others have found the unnatural urge to socialize. Bemused by the facts that others just file in near him was disgusting to his nature. The hand that was dancing on the table then hit the wood with an unsatisfying thump. He pulled his small bag from his hip and set it on the table.

He listened to the game and felt it wasn't enough to his satisfaction. Representation. Bah! Its either to be real or nothing to satisfy his needs for a 'game'. And oh did he know how to play a game alright. All games to him should have more risk. Its about the fun of risking it all. Metaphors were just silly. He pulled from the bag a bottle of his own aged Clarion. "I can't drink for it just falls right from me." Points to his jaw and clicks it twice in emphasis. "And I have no need for this so here." places the bottle on the table in front of Love. "I do not like crowds. But I will however say. Games that I play are not safe hidden within a metaphor. Either its real or its not worth my time. And I still got a long time to go. And Information to gather." He takes a scroll from his bag and the hand moves to take the scroll and walks it over to Liesl and sets it in front of her. "I will try to be entertained by this activity however only if anyone could answer a question. The ascendance of Godhood I do seek and any leads I will take. One like me has achieved immortality as it is but now I seek to go ever higher in the chain."

The exotic woman approached and did her work of the man. In which Joyrot did find hilarious. He started to cackle and wiping the imaginary tear from his hollowed eye said. "Wonderful how the balances of chaos give onto fate."

---

Spoiler: The onlooker.

In the rafters a man stood looking down on everyone with a woman next to him whom wore a red dress. "Find Reizo quietly. We might be able to help the woman. Go." She giggled and kissed his cheek. "Yes dear it will be done." Then with a wave of her hand a purple doorway only she could see appeared and she stepped through it. The onlooker tapped the railing lightly as if to count the seconds she would be gone. "Don't be too late...."

 

[WhatISeemIAm]

Seeing the partially skeletal figure's hand come off, and begin moving about independently was amusing, slightly unsettling and impressive all at the same time, but Anon was more interested in the stranger's conclusions. There was little room for doubt now that the subject of the arcane, specifically in relation to mortality, interested him considerably. Although it was frustrating all the same knowing he should have known more than he currently did. Sadly another one of their fellow patrons inserted herself into a place at the table before anything could be said. Something about the way she smiled struck the scarred figure as a contrivance when she asked if anyone wanted a glass of whatever the child-friendly liquid was that she had on-hand, and the very fact that she would share it told him everything he needed to know about whether it was worth sharing. Namely that it wasn't. No introduction. No sense that she actually wanted to be involved, and the flippant use of magic annoyed him for some reason. As if she couldn't pull a chair out on her own, or carry her own bottle if she wanted it.

The real issue however was that where she went the priest followed, and he poured Anon a glass of the children's liquor without even asking. Which was offensive on two counts. First he wasn't a child, and secondly the implicit suggestion that he would drink from a glass. Despite this his scarred face showed no more than a smirk at the old expression the priest gave voice to. It might well have been true and in rather more literal terms than the phrase generally implied.

'Very well.' Anon spoke softly of the peace offering before draining the glass of wine with the speed of one hurrying to throw down some unpleasant medicine, 'Well, that did not even make me suffer slightly. It's quite intolerable. Let's put our proverbial past-lives behind us though-' he smiled curtly as he poured a little of the contents of his own bottle into the now empty glass and slid it towards the priest, '-Your turn.' He did not expect the priest to baulk at the stuff, and in that sense there was a degree of respect implied in the offer.

Tomorrow's Regret was not a table wine. It was a hateful concoction centred on a pure pot-stilled single grain alcohol. To the extent that one could nose the stuff and smell anything but burning vapour it was peaty and contained a strong ginger note, but to say it tasted of anything beyond brain-death and the promise of dead memories would have been doing it too much credit. For all that though it was evidently produced with skill and a certain amount of immaterial nonsense was involved in that it contained more than pure, single-grain spirit, yet remained as potent as if would have been if it contained nothing else.

'Sin Ball,' Anon muttered to himself as the priest spoke of his hypothetical game, 'The game has no future in this, or any other world,'

The priest, who hadn't bothered to introduce himself just like his companion, invited yet another patron to the table. Anon gulped more liquor and tuned out the interaction that followed.

'I'm sorry, Mr. Skeleton. I am interested in this subject, just give me a moment before I respond,' the scarred figure put forth when the half-dead patron spoke of his quest for Godhood before turning on the two newcomers, 'So, who the fuck are you people and what are you doing here? I have an excuse for not telling people these things, because I literally don't know myself.'