This is not an adventure PbP, per se - it's a RP environment for characters who are currently between adventures, but still want to stretch your legs. Come in, kick back, see what happens. Welcome to Limbo.
I. Good for Business
The bar was quiet. It was early yet, and Mors was just opening for the day - the place was still empty, save for himself and Athena, cooing softly on her perch. The silvery owl had her run of the place, when it was empty like this, but when the patrons came in, she would seek a quiet corner in the attic.
“Not a mouse on the whole block, I'd wager. Good girl.”
Setting the last of the stools on the floor, Mors begins wiping down the tables, wondering how much business today will bring. His enchanted cabinet was all stocked up most of the liquors and other beverages from ever corner of the world. It still amazed him, how the seemingly inconspicuous piece of furniture could be so vast inside. He could stock the shelves as much as he liked, but it never ran out of room. Add to that the pub‘s entrance. To Mors‘ eyes, the double swing doors opened up to the main street of Thraka, a middling town of no particular fame. To anyone else, however, the view might be distinctly different. The door had been… changed - somehow, doorways to empty establishments the world over led to his pub. A man would step enter a tavern in Sandpoint, dink for a while in Limbo, and then go back again without ever realizing he'd been transported hundreds of leagues in a blink. Mors did‘t know how it worked - but free drinks for life was a small bartering price with the wizard that created it. Of course, that was before realizing that the wizard‘s favorite repast was Abyssal fire-wine; neither cheap, nor easily aquired. Still, with patrons visiting from so many places, he managed a profit. The cabinet and the portal were by far the best (and most expensive) investment he had made, and it made Limbo one of the greatest pubs in the world.
“Well, I'm entitled to be a little biased…” Mors mumbled to himself. “Not like anyone is around to complain.”
Mors goes about his morning rituals, preparing the pub for business.
Arryn steps through the door into the pub's interior and looks about. Pretty sleepy place, he thinks to himself, but then shrugs. Just as good a place as any to find some liquid comfort, and nobody around to criticize him for it! The lanky 16-year old makes his way over to the bar and plops himself down on a stool.
"Something cheap and strong, barkeep," he mumbles, subconsciously brushing back the locks of black hair that always fall in front of his sad and distant eyes. "And make it plentiful."
Mors cocks an eyebrow, surprised to see one so young, seemingly burdened with the weight of a man twice his age.
Mors reaches under the bar and pulls up a bottle of dark rum. It was the drink of choice for those who more concerned with heart than palate. He sets a tumbler down in front of the young man, and, after a look at his haunted eyes, pours a double.
"Woman?" Mors asks, setting the bottle onto the bar.
"I've seen that look before, and it's no slim odds that a woman is most often the cause."
"Been there myself..." Mors mused. "All the troubles in the world - it's six up and half a dozen down that a woman's the cause." Mors pours himself a mug of ale, and rejoins Arryn. "If there's a man in the world that understands them, I've yet to meet him."
"Well, there's not much to understand. I get out of the joint, ma is waiting for me, we go to the Swallowtail Festival to celebrate and goblins come and rip her to shreds." He downs the rest of his drink and plunks his glass down for more. "If you've really been there yourself, I'd love to hear about it."
"I mean, is it too much to ask a bunch of supposed heroes that I be allowed to come along and help them kill goblins?" He whips a dagger out of somewhere, probably a sleeve, and toys with it on the bar, spinning it idly.
The doorway opens and a tall gleaming elf walks in. He takes a look around and nods approvingly. A composite longbow sticks up over one shoulder, the hilt of a curve blade over the other, and the holy symbol of Iomedae stands firmly emblazoned on a sash across his chain-covered chest.
The man walks to the bar and flashes a pearly-white smile at Mors and the boy. "Good evening to you all, friends. What sort of drink do you carry?"
Mors smiles at the newcomer, and greets him in in the tongue of the elves.
"You are welcome in this place, friend."
Continuing in Common, Mors explains that the bar is well stocked with imbibements from many lands, and he was sure to find most any drink he desired. "Although I am out of Luthedarin ice brandy, I'm afraid. The grape harvest has suffered there, a decade past, and I doubt I'll see new stock until next spring. Name your desire, friend, I'm sure I can accommodate you."
"Just a simple, honest ale is good enough for most men, good sir," Praxim says, pulling up a stool next to Arryn. He pulls off his gauntlets and tucks them behind his belt.
"Sandpoint, good sir. They are having goblin troubles and I am soon to join up with a group of heroes to lend my expertise and help eliminate the problem."
The door opens again, somewhat hesitantly, and a tall, robed figure walks in. Whoever it is apparently wants to conceal their identity, for he wears a hood that conceals his face, and gloves, as well. The wizard pulls up a seat a little ways away from the other customers.
The shining, way-too-good-looking elf, studies this new arrival with interest that he doesn't bother to conceal. However, he respects the man's (he assumes) desire to be left alone and doesn't intrude on his privacy.
The woman stalks in through the doorway, barely seeming to notice the bang the door makes as it slams against the wall form the force of her barging through it. Storming straight to the bar, she slams a hand down, the thunk of a heavy coin muffled some what by her gloves palm.
"Keep! Your strongest! Thamars' corset leave the bottle!" She snarls, then her head hangs forward, her shoulders slump and she sags down onto a stool.
"Over..it's all over even before it was begun..." Her voice is soft now, muffled by the folds of the leather coat she wears. The fabric also muffling the other sounds, possibly soft sobs, that follow.
At the strangers words, the woman spins back and away from both him and the bar. As her eye regain their focus, one gloved hand has already dropped to her hip where the floating great coat has swung wide to reveal the hilt of some strange piece of ironmongery. Reflex already having the metal half clear of its scabbard. She blinks as her thoughts muster.
"Ah..I'm sorry..just, you, I was startled." Her words ending in a muttered half apology. As her hand slides the weapon back into its sheath, then draws the black great coat closed to cover it from view. She coughs, blushing slightly.
"Oh, t'is no matter now. I am cast adrift, the realm to which I am from not gaining even a description here." She sighs. "Ah, and what a world it is..." Her voice fades as her eyes gaze into what might have been.
To those who would like a view into the possibilities of "The Iron Kingdoms" feel free to read these small works as you will. *bows*
The door opens and a strange couple enter the bar. a rather stunning attractive girl, with leathery bat wings, and a serpentine creature flying behind her. She looks around and murmers to it, Well, Grak, what do you think?"
It nods at her, and then lands on the ground next to her, and crawls over to one of the tables next to the corner of the bar. She walks over to the table, looking over at the other patrons, but not saying anything, and has a seat.
"I wouldn't have expected this establishment to be so large, considering the outward appearance. I wouldn't be surprised to learn if some magic was used during its construction," the wizard remarks, breaking the silence. His voice is even, pleasant, and well-educated, with an accent that's hard to place.
The wizard seems to glance over, apparently in a more conversational mood now. "I believe it is her eilodon," he remarks. "Though I could be mistaken." He removes something from a hidden pocket and feeds it to the raven perched on his shoulder.
The boy brushes a lock of hair off his eyes and takes a good look at the contents of Amber's bottle, then Lureene herself. Half in the bag, he makes her an awkwardly drunken and juvenile flirtatious smile and slides onto the empty stool on the other side of her. Nice wings.
Amber gives a slight smile at he typical 'Pub' antics developing in front of her amongst her fellow tavern dwellers.
"Um, I suppose the term is 'Gun-mage'. My arcane talent is focused and channeled by my side arm." She brushes her coat aside to sow the short 'scabbard' and it's residing weapon.
A lean, black cat slides into the tavern and slinks towards the large fireplace.
Arryn looks up at the flying snake, stares at it a while and then shrugs. Oh, I didn't realize that was real. I was just thinking that this whiskey stuff was pretty strong.
Amber's smile grows a little wider at the peoples behavior around her. She seems to relax a tad more. Leaning back upon her chair, her coat sliding open allowing her well cut clothes to show her trim fighters figure. Though one hand always seems to hover near the smallish looking, richly tooled leather scabbard at her hip.
"A pleasure to meet you Arryn." She smiles, "Well met to yourself as well, Lureene." In passing she waves a toast to the figure in robes a well as Praxim, a slight blush upon her cheeks evident from the alcohol. Seeing both her cup and Lureene's empty she calls such matters to the attention of the barkeep.
"My good man!" She calls, "Would you have a beverage called 'Port'?" She enquirers.
"It is a pleasure to meet you Amber, I can tell you have a fine taste in liquer, I have not heard of anyone asking for that since I...left my home. Much obliged for the drink, by the way, I am low on funds now, and I was hoping to..." She glances at the gentlemen sitting around the bar "perform for a drink or three."
