The Salt Mephit Tavern

[Arcaneye]

Canderous stands, pushing the chair out from behind him before he is even fully up. This causes his shoulderlength jet black hair to partially cover his face. Not messing with it at all, he looks at the Kaygor without a word, but just a stare.

A piercing stare that shows the pain, hatred and suffering he has received from the Planes. It shows how much he hates being here, and though he knows more about Baator than many, he despises the place with the utmost passion.

Despite the stone cold gaze, Canderous said in a rather light tone, "After you." Showing how complex humans can be.

[Kaygor]

<-- To Arcaneye only -->


The modron, a stranger to such complexity, simply stands from his chair and walks past the bar into a cellar-like area adjoining the kitchen. A few ironwood stools are there, along with a large, stone cutting block. The modron plops himself onto a stool and pulls it up to the cutting block removing a sheaf of papers from his sack. He puts the sheaf of papers on the table and pushes it towards Canderous.

Before I continue explaining, I must have your tag and qualifications, please.

[EK - Shadow of Death]

<-- To K'Zan, Spec the Damned, and Selenya only -->


The bar's busy hour seems to be coming to an end and its patrons shuffle out, returning to whatever lives they lead. A pair of rough-looking elves sit in the corner, talking quietly amongst themselves, as well as a strapping young dwarf and human dressed in unrecognizeable attire, who appear to be fascinated with their drinks.

The bartender looks up to the three of you, with a warm look on his face.

First time trying to earn your keep on the Planes, eh?

[Selenya]

”Not really.” Selenya replied to the bartender. ”Personally, I am not especially short on money at the moment, though if you have some honest work in mind, I may be intrested.”

”By the way,” Selenya said, truning to K'Zan and Spec, ”I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind to sit down and eat. Perhaps, we could continue our talk while we eat? I am paying.”

[K'Zan]

K'Zan speaks first to the bartender, saying:

'For me... yes. I am something of a stranger to mercenary work.'

He then turns to Selenya.

'You sit at Toryg's table. Your hospitality does you credit.'

[Selenya]

Although Selenya wasn’t able to fully understand the first part K’Zan’s compliment, she still understood the significence of it.

”Thank you, K’Zan,” Selenya said, bowing to K’Zan slighlty, ”But this is the least I can do to thank both of you.”

Selenya then looks for a nearby unoccupied table, just large enough for three of them. Once she find it, she will sit down at it, putting her backpack on the floor near her and leaning her staff to the table beside her, and then she will motion for K’Zan and Spec to join her.

[Spec the Damned]

For once, Spec was actually hungry. So he figured he'd may as well take the seat offered.

He looked toward the bartender. "No. It is not."

Then he turns toward Selenya...

"I will sit, for now. And I thank you for your hospitality but I can manage paying for my own meal." He states flatly, with no concern in his tone. He takes out a gold and holds onto it until it is time to order, in which he will pay for his.

He sits, actually allowing his cloak to unfold around him for once, and rests his hands on the table. He stares in silence, his senses always active and searching to catch anything of importance, be it danger or opportunity.

[EK - Shadow of Death]

<-- To K'Zan, Spec the Damned, and Selenya only -->


The bartender, a bald man with a short, thick beard, begins to wipe down the empty tables with a damp rag, working his way over to your table. The two tiefling barmaids are sitting down at a nearby table, exhausted, and taking large gulps from flagons filled with a thick, red drink with a pungent smell that cuts through the odor of the bar and travels all the way over to you.

If it be honest work that ye seek, there's a graybeard who's set up kip right next door who's always complaining about needing canny bashers to do some job out-of-town. Those two bloods in the corner also seem to be in a fix. says the bartender, motioning towards the elves and giving a smug smile You can tell that they're needy from the hands. They're too tense.

He finishes cleaning the table next to you and stuffs the rag into his belt.

Anything else I can get for you?

[Spec the Damned]

Spec gets up and wanders over towards the elves in the corner, acting like he doesn't see them. He picks a spot near them so he can listen in on any conversation they may be having... He also looks them up and down studying theire posessions.

[K'Zan]

K'Zan sits down at the table, and addresses the barkeep:

'Have you any idea about the nature of the job this blood is hiring for?'

[EK - Shadow of Death]

<-- To K'Zan only -->


He babbled something about gate maintenance and the Outlands. Seems tough, but I haven't been out there in a long while, so don't take my word for it. remarked the barkeeper, rubbing his potbelly.

[EK - Shadow of Death]

<-- To Spec the Damned only -->


The two elves seem to be speaking in a tongue foreign to you. As a matter of fact, they seem to be switching between several different languages, seemingly to throw off passerbys. They do, however, speak a few words in Abyssal common, which you recognize.

I refuse to leave such loose ends lying around. Have them bring me the gate key. says one.

The two elves are wearing leather armor scorched black by fire in several places and covered with gray dust. Their heads are shaved bald with intricate tattoos covering their scalps. Both have handsome faces, that seem to be chiseled from rock, though a plethora of scars and bruises mar them. Each has an iron-studded leather backpack, almost empty, laying on the ground next to their feet. Each elf is heavily armed, carrying a wickedly curved scimitar and large-flanged mace on their belt, a large battle axe slung across their back, and a bandolier of large, heavy darts running across their chest. A large glaive and pike are lain against the wall next to their table as well. Each emanates a strong stench that seems almost like burning coals and sulphur.

[Spec the Damned]

Spec glances towards the pair of elves and says to them, "It seems you cutters've been in battle recently. Might I enquire as to the story behind it?"

[EK - Shadow of Death]

<-- To Spec the Damned only -->


The elves stop their talking suddenly. One takes a sharp breath and rests his hands on his thighs. The other meets Spec's eyes with a gaze tinged in red.

Pike it, berk. he says succinctly.

[Spec the Damned]

Spec shrugs at them and turns his head away continuing to listen to see if anything else is said which he would recognize.