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Message: <blockquote data-quote="industrygothica" data-source="post: 7078522" data-attributes="member: 23298"><p>A balding dwarf walks through the doors of The Edge of Dispater. His dark, pointed beard hangs down to his ample belly and accentuates his ashen face. He wore raiments of red and gold with moderate armor, and wore one black leather glove on his right hand. One supposed that his other hand donned the other glove, but where that hand was was anyone's guess. Instead, from the elbow down, where his left hand and arm had once been, was a dull, smoke-colored clockwork mechanism that functioned like a hand but was anything but. There was a pincer-like vice for grasping, and the thing twirled and whizzed round and round in no particular manner, but when it came time to hold steady the mug of ale Pete slid down from the other end of the bar, the thing behaved quite politely, spilling not even one drop. Kilvo fetches a silver coin from his purse with his proper fingers and tosses it to Pete in what has to be a practiced routine.  "Keep 'em comin'," he says. He heads to a table in a corner and flings his cloak back dramatically before taking a seat.</p></blockquote><p></p>