A'koss said:
“An’ what about you, little tiefling?” Tyrjon flops his hat down on the table, eying the barmaid with a smile. “I noticed you have some nimble fingers there… how’d you end up servin’ drinks to the clueless?”
The tielfing smiles.
'That's a long story, and one best left for another visit,' she winks and walks off with the empty tray
As the time passes you begin to take notice of more things around the common-room. Proving that there was little screed in the waitresses words, there seem to be few planar races here (apart from you, or, most of you at least), and for the most part it seems as though you-re in a humans-only clubhouse. The place itself is simple, functional rather than characterful and, and bland rather than reminiscent of the Prime. The only drop of atmosphere takes the form of maps of various crystal spheres hanging off the walls, some recognisable, others wholly alien.
A figure enters the tavern. Any distinguishing features it may have are obscured behind a thick canvas cloak, its face shrouded in the shadows cast by its oversize cowl. It heads towards the barkeep (a human, his skin the tanned colour of a cutter who’s seen countless different suns), and leans over, speaking in hushed tones that cannot be heard over the common-room clatter nor seen through the gloved hand quickly raised to its mouth. The barkeep nods vaguely in your direction, and the hooded figure seems to nod
Moments later, the figure moves towards you table and lifts the cowl away from its face revealing human features that have been marred by pock-marked skin. His eyes are sallow and devoid of that spark that graces most other cutters’. He nods curtly and begins in a hollow voice, somewhat sad, somewhat indifferent. Perhaps you can help me. My name is Rubious, and I need capable cutters to take me to the Hive. Tjallon said you might be helpful. It is not far, but I need to get there soon.
[/sblock]
