- Markshire PCs:
[in-char, sort of]
A little, hooded elf-girl wakes, disoriented, to find her clothes saturated with smoke from a hot, blazing incinerator nearby, a burning sign only slightly further away, and the crackling wings of the demonic barkeep before her. Her thighs and back are sore from the hard stone seat where she slept, either for days or merely hours, she cannot tell.
“What did you put in my drink?” she asks Versoa.
“HA! You didn’t even touch it!” The bartender’s laugh is 2 parts snort, 3 parts howl, and 1 part something that resembles egg whites emerging from his nostrils. “Some people came by, though, looking for you, tried to wake you.”
“Oh?” The girl checks her coin purse and wonders briefly at the foul magic that kept her asleep through all of that. But only briefly–she has a short attention span at times. “Really? Who?”
Versoa shows many teeth, which she takes to be a grin. “Didn’t exactly exchange calling-cards did we? One of ’em–big human fighter–she filled up the spittoon a couple times waitin’ for ya. Other was a half-elf girl, pretty, delectable voicebox.” The bartender drools slightly as he recalls the throat in question.
“What did they say?”
“Bloody hell, girl, I’m a barkeep not a message board. Go find ’em yerself.”
She stands awkwardly, stiff. “No one from Thane Gash of Zairat?”
“HA!” Heavier on the egg whites this time. “I wish! Like damned ladies’ night in here. Now, if you three could attract some menfolk, then….” The bartender trailed off, uncertain perhaps. “Well, maybe then I could give ya a moderate discount on yer drinks.”
She stretches, and her stomach rumbles. She was definitely NOT going to eat here. Perhaps she’d make a blackberry pie.
“Well, gotta go to work–have to grind some axes and such. See ya around, Versoa, probably later tonight.”