Mac's

Fellsgard is the foundation of Khy'eras' history and through reconstruction, it is now a vibrant and lively city. People reside here due to mild climate, opportunities, and safety and stability. Adventures often start from Fellsgard. Read more...
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Memoria
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Mac's

Post by Memoria »

On the western side of Fellsgard, nestled among harbors and marketplaces is a tavern called Mac's which specializes as a brewery and fish house. Mackenzie Esaine (the owner) was inspired by her aunt, an exceptional sailor and navigator who attempted on several occasions to traverse the mist layered over the oceans. After Mackenzie's aunt would come back to port, she longed to quench her thirst with a beer, but Fellsgard didn't have many diverse options at the time. Thus, as Mackenzie grew up, she formulated ideas and recipes and with her aunt's donations from her journeys, was able to open a tavern.

It was never just about the beer, though travelers do give Mac's rave reviews for its exotic concoctions and wide variety of selections. Mackenzie is of the firm belief that the way to any person's heart is through their stomach and being close to the harbor, seafood options were brought onto the menu. Their most popular dishes are a white, creamy clam chowder and a spicy shrimp and lobster sandwich, both served with bread made in house. To the outsider, Mac's gives the impression that it is expensive, but as it gets lots of steady business and they are never short on food ingredients, the owner has kept prices reasonable.

The building itself is three stories, though the second and third floors contain an open space; these floors are basically table-lined balconies that surround the square structure. While the first floor contains tables throughout, in the corners of the top floors, there are fitting places to have secret meetings. The ground entrance is where the bar is, spanning the length of a fifty-foot wall, so there's plenty of sections to order drinks. Mackenzie herself is seldom seen behind the bar, as she has ample staff and prefers to lock herself away and think of unique recipes. For this, she has been charmingly dubbed "The Food Alchemist".

As for entertainment, Mac's has a stage on the first floor and once a week will book shows performed by local groups, the performances ranging anywhere from dramatic theatre to puppet shows.

Note: You may use this thread to introduce characters or meet new characters. Staff (as they have time permitting) will likely create NPCs to respond to posts.
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Re: Mac's

Post by Corr Blackbeam »

Usually, the smell of frying fish that assailed Corr's nostrils on entering Mac's tavern never failed to set his stomach rumbling.

Today, though, it only set it roiling.

He had drunk far too much last night, which wasn’t at all like him. He normally shied away from the gambling tables and the lowered inhibitions large quantities of ale could cause. But he’d collected payment for his latest job yesterday, and had thought he’d treat himself to a night’s stay at his favourite inn, a way’s east from here.

It was a pokey little place down a back alley, frequented almost exclusively by the city’s ‘shadier’ types. It had been a busy night in the taproom, with a number of high-stakes card games in session. After two celebratory (and rather strong) pints, he’d stupidly allowed himself to be talked into a quick hand. He’d figured he would bow out at the first indication his luck was turning – but he’d actually started off rather well.

By the time the alcohol had dulled his mind and the cards in front of him were blurring, his winnings had dwindled and he was too far in – too heavily involved – to back out. He’d had no choice but to see the whole, ugly ordeal through.

Now, somehow, he was down to his last 50 copper, having been obliged to drop off the guild’s take at headquarters on his way here. He'd thought the sea air would help to clear his head, but it hadn't proved particularly effective. At least, he thought grimly as he sidled into Mac’s, his hangover would prevent him shelling out more coin on one of Mackenzie’s famous clam chowders.

He approached the bar, keeping his hood pulled low over his face, and eased himself gingerly onto a stool. He had a pounding headache, and knew he probably looked like death warmed up, but he forced himself to stay alert and inconspicuous anyway.

This was no seedy tavern full of fellow rogues and ne'er-do-wells. There were law-abiding citizens here, some of them upstanding, and he certainly couldn’t afford to be recognised or remembered.
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Kurgun Amberbeard
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Re: Mac's

Post by Kurgun Amberbeard »

The harbor district proved an endless source of entertainment for Kurgun, who prior to his cross-country venture had never borne witness to the sea. By his reckoning, boats were rickety constructions of flimsy wood, ill-suited for the rigors of being jumbled around by the waves, and yet they held together remarkably well. Even as a child, it had not been difficult for him to determine that stone would not float, and it wasn’t as though he and his kinsmen had never made use of wood, but he would hardly trust the material to hold his weight and keep him afloat. Even the Domrhaskian elevators made him nervous, and it had only taken a glance for him to decide that he would never set foot upon an airship.

Mackenzie’s tavern served as excellent respite from boat-watching, and Kurgun often found himself planted in a stool, which was an awkward process given that the furniture was primarily built with tall-folk in mind, and it took some effort for him to work his short, stubby legs into the right position to hoist himself up. He relied upon his famous squinty-eyed glower to stave off the mockery of his observers, and it was successful more often than not. It was shortly after one such glaring match that a walking corpse shambled its way up to the bar, and effectively collapsed into the seat beside him. Kurgun reached into the breast pocket of his tunic, withdrawing a stubby wooden pipe and stuffing the end between his lips, tapping at the wood with his teeth a few times though no smoke bubbled from its bowl.

Rolling the pipe to the corner of his mouth, he cast side-eyes toward the pale fellow before cackling dryly around it. “Long night?” he asked Corr, quiet and rumbling, “Ask for a Bosun’s Remedy. Iffin’ you can keep it down, it’ll ease the ache in your skull, and put a spring in your step, besides. Wouldn’t be the first man Mac’s saved from a day’s misery. Doubt you’ll be the last.” After grumbling his advice, Kurgun continued to look ahead, dropping a meaty hand on the bar to catch the tender’s attention, to pick a random alcoholic concoction off the list of Mackenzie’s extensive collection, even if he had to keep from looking too far down the list to avoid ordering over his own meagre drinking budget.
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Re: Mac's

Post by Corr Blackbeam »

Corr had evidently not been paying as much attention to his immediate surroundings as he usually did, as the raspy laugh that issued from the bulky shape beside him – only just visible out of the corner of his eye, beyond the edge of his hood – made him jump slightly.

He inwardly cursed his hangover. His thoughts and movements had been noticeably more sluggish today, and he'd been focusing what awareness remained on the wealthier-looking patrons of Mac's. They sat further from the bar, away from the noise and crowds, or clustered above on the terraces that looked out over the large taproom. It was the winking and flashing of light on gold coin that always caught his attention, and there was plenty of that on the upper levels today.

Slowly, so as not to intensify the throbbing in his temples, he shifted on his stool and tipped his head sideways. The figure that had laughed was a thickset dwarf with a wooden pipe held in his mouth. Straw-coloured hair flowed around his ruddy-cheeked face, and a long, full beard bristled from his chin. His feet, Corr noticed, did not reach the floor, and Corr vaguely wished he'd been here to see just how the fellow had clambered up onto that man-sized stool.

In response to the dwarf's gruff enquiry and his advice on what to order from Mackenzie's extensive menu, Corr winced slightly and inclined his head.

Generally suspicious of strangers, and loathe to give Fellsgard's citizens any reason to remember him, he'd made it a habit, where he could, to avoid conversation in taverns like these. But a quick once-over of this particular patron – who had the look of a regular drinker about him – had eased Corr's groggy mind somewhat. The dwarf's hair was rather shoddily kept, and Corr noticed that his perusal of the drinks on offer did not stray beyond the cheapest offerings. Here was another, it seemed, who was watching his purse.

Despite himself, Corr shifted the edge of his hood back and shot the dwarf a tight, wan smile.

"Let's just say that Kaxitaki's luck certainly wasn't with me at the card tables last night."

He'd never really been one for religion, particularly the fervent idolism of some of his fellow guild members, but he'd often thought that if he was so inclined, it would be Kaxitaki he'd follow. Gods' knew he'd relied on luck and chance more than a few times in his... 'colourful' career.

The bartender appeared, drawn by the thump of the dwarf's hand on the bar, and Corr quickly cast a glance at the asking price of one of these... 'Bosun's Remedies'. He chewed his lower lip, but decided it wasn't going to break the bank, and so, when the bartender's eyes moved over to him, he muttered, "Bosun's Remedy for me," with a slightly abashed – but grateful – glance at his stocky neighbour.

"Name's Corr," he said, making sure his voice didn't carry. He leaned one elbow on the bar and massaged his temple, glancing over the dwarf's pale countenance. He added, "You're a long way from your homeland. What brings you to our... fair city?" His lips gave an imperceptible twist.
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Kurgun Amberbeard
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Re: Mac's

Post by Kurgun Amberbeard »

Kurgun finally turned his head when he caught the glint of a smile, his own lips unconsciously peeling back over blocky teeth as the fellow explained his condition. “Fickle’s She that watches but does not throw,” he quoted with a quick tap on the bit of his pipe, “Dice is my game, not cards, but just as likely to empty the pocket.” His grin widened after a moment, as if recalling the fellow’s difficult morning. “’Course, the mixture of ale and cards is the recipe for many a tragedy that’s been told in this hall,” Kurgun said as he jerked his head upward, gesturing toward the first floor, “so at least you’re in good company!” Kurgun trailed off into quiet chuckles as he turned his attention back to the bar, half expecting that to have been the end of their conversation.

He was not unused to curious stares; his kin were not so uncommon as to never be seen by townsfolk, but they hardly filled the streets on market day. Further study revealed little of interest, as beyond the belt-knife that rested at his left hip, he had taken the precaution of leaving what few possessions he considered valuable at his residence. In the six months Kurgun had lived in the city, he’d more than once spent a pleasant evening in a tavern only to find his purse half-again as light as it should have been, and had learned to avoid carrying more than he planned to spend when he was planning on filling his gullet with ale.

Stirred from his thoughts by the bartender’s attention, Kurgun gave up on the extensive menu and mumbled a “whatever’s on tap,” around his pipe as he shifted in his seat, straightening his back to disguise that his blank stare had been the result of daydreaming. Surprised a second time at his drinking-fellow’s decision to continue their conversation, Kurgun’s eyes darted over to give the comparatively tall man a curious once-over before shrugging. Twisting half way on his stool once again, Kurgun abruptly stuck a hand with the texture of full-grain leather out in the fellow’s direction and bobbed his head a few times in greeting. “Kurgun,” he returned with a pleased squint of the eyes, “good to meet you.”

Clearly happy to have found such a convenient topic for conversation, the dwarf did not hesitate to answer. “Was a caravan guard for a merchant operating out of Domrhask,” he began, “Merchant was a family friend and good to my mother, so I had little reason to refuse. Long trek, but I made it here in one piece, and the cargo managed the same. You know one thing they don’t tell you when you’re signing on?” He asked, one brow raised, “All the plans deal with getting the cargo to its destination, not how to get its guard back to the starting point!” Kurgun’s grin returned in full force as he finished his explanation. “So here I am, and here I stay for the immediate future, as I’ll be thrice-damned before I step foot on one of those… air ships,” he said with a disgusted shake of his head.

“What of you? Given your tale, I’d hope you don’t make a living at the tables,” Kurgun cackled merrily to himself, “Though if you do, I think you’ll need more than a Bosun’s Remedy.”
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Re: Mac's

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Mac's was a lively hive of people chatting, eating whatever fare was on the menu, gambling (when they shouldn't be), and of course, drinking. It was a rather busy night and beverages were sliding across the bar top to their destinations, while some arrived to tables on trays heavy with drinks. Kurgun and Corr had positioned themselves rather closely to the bartender's position, but the woman had not gotten a chance to take their drink orders for some time.

The lady leaned close to Kurgun to hear the Dwarf's order. Somewhere in those mumbles she heard, one "Bosun's Remedy" and one "whatever is on tap". A brow raised in the direction of Kurgun then Corr at the mention of Bosun's Remedy. An order was an order though and apparently, she'd need to choose for the Dwarf. Turning about, the bartender whipped up a Bosun's Remedy and half-heartedly picked a drink dubbed "Spider Eggs".

When placed before the pair, the Bosun's Remedy was a foamy, pale, yellow-green colored concoction with a sort of gray, grainy looking sludge at the bottom. It had a silver stirring rod in it. The Spider Eggs was a red-tinted ale with three olives in it, which for the most part (despite the olives), looked relatively tame.

"You're gonna want ta stir that before ya drink it, love," she said with a nod towards Corr.

Before she could explain Kurgun's drink, the woman was off with a fast twirl in the other direction to service a customer that was getting rather rowdy at the far end of the bar.
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Corr Blackbeam
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Re: Mac's

Post by Corr Blackbeam »

Normally far more comfortable blending into the background or passing unnoticed at the edge of the public eye, Corr found the dwarf’s brief scrutiny of him a little disconcerting. It was rare that strangers got close enough – or that he remained in one place long enough – for them to give him a good once-over, and he almost regretted striking up the conversation once the words had left his mouth. It was too late, however; he couldn’t take it back. And now the dwarf was thrusting a leathery hand towards him and introducing himself as ‘Kurgun’, with a friendly nod. Corr held Kurgun’s gaze for a second or two before dropping his dark eyes to the offered palm and shaking it, a little tentatively.

The ugly scar on Corr’s own hand, where he’d burnt himself with a candle last year, had thickened his already slightly callused skin. But it was nothing to the rough texture of Kurgun’s. This fellow was no stranger to manual labour, it seemed, or perhaps to wielding heavy weapons.

As the dwarf spoke, relating his background as a Domrhask caravan guard and his (evidently deep-rooted) suspicion of returning there by air, Corr tried not to get distracted by the quick movements of the bartender, nor the suspicious-looking ingredients that were being liberally added to his drink. Tearing his eyes away and ignoring the faint wobble of his stomach, he nodded at Kurgun and found himself agreeing with the sentiment, though he knew it was a bald-faced lie.

“I’m wary of those sky-ships myself.”

Says the man who spends half his days soaring around as a raven, he thought, and he blinked, avoiding Kurgun’s gaze.

Unfortunately, their drinks weren’t quite ready, which gave the dwarf an opening to enquire about Corr’s own circumstances. The rogue stiffened very slightly – imperceptibly, he hoped, though he noticed his own fingers tighten a fraction on the bar. He made a show of lazily shifting position, of gathering his thoughts before he spoke, but his hangover-addled mind was running full-tilt through various options and explanations.

“I was born and raised in Fellsgard,” he said. True. “And I’ve never left the city, though who knows? I may do, someday.” Also true. He chewed his lip and flashed the dwarf a quick grin. “I don’t live off the card tables, thankfully. I’m an... independent contractor.” He dropped his voice but tried not to make it obvious. “A… courier. Not the most exciting work, but it pays for food and lodging – most of the time.”

Mostly true, and easily interpreted as innocent business. He hoped so, anyway. He didn’t need to mention that what he couriered were secrets and sensitive information. (And, occasionally, stolen goods.)

He was relieved when the bartender abruptly turned and presented them with their drinks. But as he blinked down at his greenish-yellow concoction, with foamy accents and a dubious looking sludge at the bottom, which reminded him of thick, grey mud, his gratitude wavered and then melted away. Swallowing heavily, he glanced at Kurgun’s beverage, which, to his dismay, looked far more normal. When the bartender leaned in and advised him to stir the sludge before drinking it, Corr looked back at her in a panic, but before he could ask after the ingredients or change his mind and order something else, she had gone, disappearing down the far end of the bar to placate an unruly patron.

Corr stared at the drink for a moment, wondering if his stomach would settle enough to allow at least a few sips. Then he decided that putting it off for too long would only make it worse, and so he reached out, stirred the drink (which sent clouds of the grey mud spiralling up into the clear, greenish liquid) and took a long, resolute gulp.

The texture, he decided, as he swallowed with a grimace, was worse than the taste. The grainy bits in the sludge had stuck to his teeth, and he ran his tongue around his mouth to dislodge them, looking accusingly down at the glass in front of him. Then the aftertaste hit. And his digestive system – which had clearly not been expecting this full-on assault – rebelled.

Corr put out a hand and pushed himself unsteadily away from the bar, staggering off his stool at the same time as his body jerked with a hiccupy gag. Thankfully, nothing came up. But he was certain it was about to. He ran for the door, one hand clamped firmly to his mouth, expertly dodging customers and tables. It felt like an age before he felt fresh air on his face. He stumbled a few steps and leant against the tavern wall, taking long, deep breaths through his nose and keeping his lips clamped firmly together.

A minute passed, then two. And then the nausea slowly faded. Abashed, Corr briefly considered transforming and flying away, never to set eyes on the unholy brew sitting on the bar again. But then he remembered Kurgun’s friendliness, his readiness to offer his hand in introduction, and the good-natured menu advice the dwarf had given – even if it had turned out to be almost too much for his delicate stomach to handle.

He headed back inside, hood pulled up, and returned to his place at the bar, which was thankfully still free. As he manoeuvred himself back onto his stool, he noticed, with some surprise, that he was actually starting to feel a little bit better. "Well, what do you know," he said, peering at the three-quarters-full Bosun's Remedy. "Maybe this stuff is going to work, after all."
Last edited by Corr Blackbeam on June 27th, 2019, 11:04 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Kurgun Amberbeard
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Re: Mac's

Post by Kurgun Amberbeard »

Kurgun returned the bartender’s odd look with one of his own, taking an abnormal amount of joy from the fact that she was the first to look away, even if she didn’t realize that they had been having a staring contest. Being foreign lent a certain degree of confusion to his interactions with the tall-folk of the city, and he was always tempted to waggle his eyebrows and make strange faces whenever he was the recipient of strange looks, if only to reinforce the impression that he had completely lost his mind. Unfortunately, he was not nearly drunk enough to engage in any such tomfoolery for the moment, and turned his attention away from the barmaid to his newly-found drinking companion, certain of his victory in the optical duel that had taken place between himself and the young woman.

At Corr’s brief summary of his history, the dwarf ducked his head in a quick nod of understanding. Elements of the fellow’s behavior were… strange, and seemed forced, but social butterflies rarely fell into bar stools already hungover, and if Kurgun noticed any deception, there was no sign of it. Instead, the cause of much of his suspicion was in the job description of “independent contractor,” as such a thing was relatively uncommon in dwarven holds. To be independent implied the lack of a connection to a clan or a guild, which in turn implied that an individual was for one reason or another not wanted by a clan or a guild. He blinked away that concern a moment later; it was certainly true within his own family that to proclaim oneself independent would be an incredible dishonor, but he had spent enough time among both tall-folk and the philosophers of his own kin to know that such traditional interpretations of duty were hardly universal.

Instead, Kurgun maintained his wide grin and spoke, “I experienced the same. I was a full-beard before I first stepped outside the hold of my birth, leaving me with equal parts excitement and dread. I miss it still,” he admitted as he saw the bartender approaching with their drinks. “Cheers and gratitude,” he said as the mug was dropped onto the bar before him, before returning his pipe to his breast pocket. He gave the olives resting at the drink’s bottom a long look before he grasped it with a hand and without hesitation brought it to his lips, taking a long draw from it. He smacked his lips noisily as he studied the flavor. The absence of a fruity aroma threw him for a moment, but the ale flowed smoothly, enticing him with the sweetness of malt on the tip of his tongue while simultaneously stinging the back of it with bitter hops. Readily downing a second, heavy draw from the mug, Kurgun casually dropped the half-empty container on the counter with a pleased sigh. He wasn’t entirely sure of the purpose of the olives, yet, beyond the amusement they provided by floating up and down, but the pleasant, caramel aftertaste won him over. He would have to remember the name of the drink for later.

Turning back to Corr as he reached for his own drink, Kurgun continued, “It’s odd. The longer you are away from home the easier it is to tolerate the absence, but the more you miss…” he trailed off as the man suddenly jerked away from the counter and nimbly danced his way through the crowded tavern to the front door, “it.” He sighed, shaking his head in disappointment at the fellow’s weak stomach – a waste of good liquor, though the man must be incredibly dexterous to have managed to reach the door despite being hungover. The bartender would certainly appreciate being saved having to mop up. While waiting for Corr’s return, he amused himself by rolling the olives around in the mug, wondering whether he was supposed to pick the small fruits out of the brew or finish them all at once when the drink was empty. Perhaps fortunately, the return of his drinking buddy interrupted him just as Kurgun decided the only reasonable option was to heft the mug and finish the remainder in one long draft. “Glad to hear it,” he said in answer, twisting back around on the stool and propping an elbow up on the bar. “Don’t know how Mac does it, but the Remedy works more often than not.”

He had never tried the beverage himself, but he wasn’t about to mention that after encouraging the man to make do with the sludge. Hesitating for a brief moment as he once again pondered the meaning of “independent contractor,” Kurgun eventually came to a decision, clearing his throat. “Regarding jobs and lost coinage,” he began, “I confess to being in a similar situation. My room and board is provided in kind, but I am left to my own devices regarding other expenses,” he said with a purposeful look toward his mug. “As you were raised here, I imagine you’re familiar with House Sidrioh? I’ve heard they offer reputable, short-term work for,” he hesitated again, “independent contractors. While I am not so independent, I find myself with an excess of labor and an absence of coin, and I was planning on paying their bulletin a visit come morning. I’m a fair hand on the road, but there is much about the city and its surroundings I don’t know.” Kurgun blinked a few times before adding, “Proceeds would be divided equally, of course.”
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Re: Mac's

Post by Corr Blackbeam »

Corr glanced sheepishly over at Kurgun now that he was settled firmly onto his stool. He was beginning to feel a little like he’d set foot back on dry land after an unpleasant trip out to sea. His stomach had stopped churning, the pounding in his head had lessened and the fog of fatigue behind his eyes, which had been with him since he’d woken that morning, was starting to lift and fade.

He recalled guiltily, then, that Kurgun’s voice had been rumbling beside him when he’d pushed away from the bar and dashed outside. The dwarf didn’t seem too offended, though, propping an elbow on the bar and responding positively to Corr’s comment on the revitalising Bosun’s Remedy.

Kurgun’s drink was half gone, and the sight of his neighbour’s progress forced Corr’s attention onto the greyish contents of his own glass. A tad apprehensive, but eager for more of the vigour the murky liquid now seemed to be bestowing on him, he reached out, brought the drink to his lips and took second sip. Then another. It really wasn’t all that bad, he thought, once your insides had got over the initial shock. A funny aftertaste, perhaps, but he was sure he’d had worse elsewhere.

Corr glanced sidelong at Kurgun as the dwarf mentioned House Sidrioh, and their bulletin – with which he was familiar – of reputable adventuring work for those in search of coin.

‘Independent’… yes, he had said that, hadn’t he? He’d been thinking of himself that way more and more, these days, even though it was, perhaps, flexing the truth a bit to use that particular term…

He worked alone, of course. He always had. The type of contracts he tended to take on demanded isolation and secrecy. And his clients often knew nothing at all of the rogues’ guild, nor the handful of coins Corr felt begrudgingly beholden to drop off there on his way back from a job.

But he still sensed a flicker of something like shame as his thoughts turned, inevitably, to the loose and somewhat chaotic ‘organisation’ that had raised him, and to which he owed his training. He had been spending less and less time at their headquarters of late, and the gaps between clients’ payments and dropping off his take had grown longer, if he was being honest. If anyone at the guild had noticed, they hadn’t decided to confront him yet. He’d found himself wondering – if he happened to disappear for a while – how long it would be before he’d find a hooded figure on his tail in the backstreets and alleys of the city.

Corr found himself studying Kurgun as thoughts whirled in his head. His mind was much clearer, thanks to the Remedy, and a half-formed plan of sorts was beginning to coalesce there.

For a while now, he’d weighed up ‘testing’ his luck by holding on to his latest payment, just to see what the guild would do. But if it wasn’t a thieving job, if it was ‘reputable’ work… well, then they had no claim to any of the proceeds. He’d balked a little at the dwarf’s suggestion at first – he didn’t think he’d done an honest day’s work in his life; would he even know how? – but it certainly presented an interesting opportunity, with no risk that the guild would come sniffing for their ‘due’.

Before he could second guess himself, Corr took another sip of the invigorating Remedy and gave Kurgun a slow, thoughtful nod. “You know, I’m inclined to take you up on that offer. I do know of House Sidrioh, though I’ve never made use of their bulletins before.” He paused. “I know this city like the back of my hand, for my part, and, though I’m certainly no warrior –” He glanced at Kurgun’s far heftier frame “– I’m a fair throw with a pair of daggers.”

He darted his raven-black eyes to the left and right before continuing, to make sure no one was listening in; you couldn’t be too careful, not in his line of work, and his kind were occasionally still viewed with suspicion by some.

“I’m a shifter, too,” he said, his voice now low. “Well, half and half, anyway.” He flashed the dwarf a quick grin. “Could come in useful for ‘adventuring’ – depending on the objective.”
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Re: Mac's

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For the viewers at home, Bosun's Remedy was a strange concoction, crafted from a mixture of pear and green grape juice, a substantial amount of vodka, and ground bone ash from the four-horned yaks of Irtuen Reaches (the sludge), all topped off with egg white that was whipped vigorously to form a foam at the top. It had very few ingredients, each of them quite unique, but when combined, was an interesting and effective way to cure a hangover.

Kurgun's drink the "Spider Eggs" was an exotic special on the menu. It was a bit difficult to produce. It was an ale and did indeed have notes of fruit such as strawberry and apple, but its reddish color was derived from a few drops of snake blood and stuffed inside the olive pits was a mush of spider eggs from the Crimson Boltback, a large arachnid that dwells in the jungles of Ajteire.

As luck would have it, while Corr and Kurgun were discussing possibilities of banding together, they would not have to go to House Sidrioh (unless they desired other tasks). At that moment, a hefty, but sturdy looking man came into Mac's and made his way - limping - to the back of bar. In his hands, he had a wooden box that he set on the opposite bar top next to Kurgun's bartender, so she could peer inside. The box was lined with corked vials, but each vial was empty.

"Oi, Roger, what am I supposed ta do with air. It doesn't make fer a very good drink, ya know?" she said lifting a hand to her forehead and letting out an exasperated sigh.

"I dunno, Flore. Gonna have to hire someone from House Sidrioh on this job. An outside source, if you will. Me and my boys," he said shaking his head, "aint going back to that jungle. Those spiders are getting rather nasty, you hear me?"

To this, he gestured to his sweat stained shirt then to his pants, both which were decorated with yellow mucus-like substances and reddish patches (most likely blood). His face was soiled with dirt and his brown hair was matted in odd directions, as if the man had been in a tussle.

"It's a stupid drink anyway," Roger continued. "Probably tell Mac to pull it from the menu."

"Yeah, well," Flore said with a frown, "she won't like that won't bit. Shoot, the Spider Eggs was sellin' really well too. But I guess I outta go tell her."
Word count: 418
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