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<blockquote data-quote="Isida Kep'Tukari" data-source="post: 6181709" data-attributes="member: 4441"><p>The Scavenger's Art is as eclectic inside as out, with no two tables, stools, or chairs built to the same lines, or even of the same material. But the bar is wood. Mostly. The clientele matches the décor, looking like a veritable sideshow of sizes, shapes, colors, and dress. Many are armed, many more are sporting some numenera device or another, and all look some variety of avaricious or dangerous. You can acquire some mulled wine and a relatively quiet alcove without too much difficulty, and just close enough to the bandaged mercenaries to do a bit of eavesdropping, should you feel so inclined. Should you care to stretch your ears, you can hear the following:</p><p></p><p>"...Not going back. Not having to scratch together a fire every night was pure misery when every misshapen mutant and his bastard aunt decided to come calling," one man is saying, taking a pull on his tankard and slamming it down decisively. </p><p></p><p>"I would have welcomed that. At least you can scare the abhumans off if you get nasty enough," a woman mutters, her dark hair streaked with dust and snow. She presses a hand to the bandage on her calf and blanches slightly. She grabs for her ale and take a couple of long pulls before going on. "The hounds just wouldn't shut up. Howling like we were disemboweling their kin, and worse when we actually <em>did</em>. Stars of my fathers, they'd have to give me a small fortune to head out again."</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Isida Kep'Tukari, post: 6181709, member: 4441"] The Scavenger's Art is as eclectic inside as out, with no two tables, stools, or chairs built to the same lines, or even of the same material. But the bar is wood. Mostly. The clientele matches the décor, looking like a veritable sideshow of sizes, shapes, colors, and dress. Many are armed, many more are sporting some numenera device or another, and all look some variety of avaricious or dangerous. You can acquire some mulled wine and a relatively quiet alcove without too much difficulty, and just close enough to the bandaged mercenaries to do a bit of eavesdropping, should you feel so inclined. Should you care to stretch your ears, you can hear the following: "...Not going back. Not having to scratch together a fire every night was pure misery when every misshapen mutant and his bastard aunt decided to come calling," one man is saying, taking a pull on his tankard and slamming it down decisively. "I would have welcomed that. At least you can scare the abhumans off if you get nasty enough," a woman mutters, her dark hair streaked with dust and snow. She presses a hand to the bandage on her calf and blanches slightly. She grabs for her ale and take a couple of long pulls before going on. "The hounds just wouldn't shut up. Howling like we were disemboweling their kin, and worse when we actually [I]did[/I]. Stars of my fathers, they'd have to give me a small fortune to head out again." [/QUOTE]
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