[OoC1: So I know the last time Forge was on the site he said he was having Computer trouble. Do we know if Selina's player is still around? She has only posted once since the 5th?]
[OoC2: @Nacesh Smooth talk? What are you saying? Except for Agloval, communication with others is a little difficult. Though not completely impossible.]
Without hesitation, Agloval enters. Light seems to give up the struggle halfway through the thick, soiled windows, leaving the interior in shadows. The walls are unadorned except by dirt. The pub is empty of all but the most dedicated drinkers, shambolic figures huddled over bottles. Several looked like junkies, several were the part human and bits and pieces of mechanical and/or biological enhancements(?) and some were both.
Agloval whispers to you, "They are called Remade. Nearly all have been rebuilt as punishment for some sort of crime. It's how they repay their debt to society. Best to not get mixed up with them unless you can help it. But here at The Dying Child, no one is turned away."
A group of emaciated young men lay draped across a table twitching in perfect time, strung out on something, but you know not what. One woman held her glass in a metal claw that spat steam and dripped oil onto the floorboards. A man in the corner lapped quietly from a bowl of beer, licking the fox's muzzle that has been grafted to his face.
Agloval quietly greets an old man by the door whom he calls Joshua, whose Remaking had been very small and very cruel. Later he would explain that Joshua was a failed burglar who had refused to testify against his gang, and the magister had ordered his silence made permanent: he had his his mouth taken away, sealed with a seamless stretch of flesh. Rather than live on tubes of soup pushed through his nose, Joshua had sliced himself a new mouth, but the pain had made him tremble, and it was a ragged, torn, unfinished-looking thing, a flaccid wound.
Joshua nods to Agloval and with his fingers, carefully holds his mouth closed over a straw and sucked greedily at his cider.
Agloval heads to the back room. The bar, in one corner, was very low, about three feet from the ground. Behind it, in a trough of dirty water, wallowed another creature from the same race as your guide but he looked ancient and fat and grumpy. He hauls himself toward Agloval, trough and all with his huge, webbed hands and frog's legs, his body wobbling like a bloated testicle, seemingly boneless. He was a bag of old blood with limbs, without a separate head, his big curmudgeonly face poking out from the fat at the front of his body.
"You're looking well," Agloval says.
"Go fook yerselv," the bartender replies.
"So it's been a good day, has it," Agloval says with chuckle. Before the bloated frog can spit out another colorful reply, he says, "Friends, this is Silchristchek, the landlord" He then says to the bartender, "Silchristchek, these are my new friends. They come from a long ways but they don't really know the local languages. One of their companions who is not with them at the moment, is a communicatrix so I've been gifted with the ability to speak their language but I don't know for how long."
Stinking piss-colored water slops over the edges of the tub as Silchristchek wriggles his way a few feet closer.
Agloval translates:
"Good for you," Sil barks. "What will you all be having?"
Agloval looks around and says, "My scientist friend isn't here but he will be shortly. In the meantime you should pick a table but tables aren't free. I will cover whatever you want and my friend will reimburse me with my finders fee when he gets here."
[I'm giving you the chance to RP a little. React to anything you've seen or heard. Get a drink or a meal. Your choice.]
[OoC2: @Nacesh Smooth talk? What are you saying? Except for Agloval, communication with others is a little difficult. Though not completely impossible.]
Without hesitation, Agloval enters. Light seems to give up the struggle halfway through the thick, soiled windows, leaving the interior in shadows. The walls are unadorned except by dirt. The pub is empty of all but the most dedicated drinkers, shambolic figures huddled over bottles. Several looked like junkies, several were the part human and bits and pieces of mechanical and/or biological enhancements(?) and some were both.
Agloval whispers to you, "They are called Remade. Nearly all have been rebuilt as punishment for some sort of crime. It's how they repay their debt to society. Best to not get mixed up with them unless you can help it. But here at The Dying Child, no one is turned away."
A group of emaciated young men lay draped across a table twitching in perfect time, strung out on something, but you know not what. One woman held her glass in a metal claw that spat steam and dripped oil onto the floorboards. A man in the corner lapped quietly from a bowl of beer, licking the fox's muzzle that has been grafted to his face.
Agloval quietly greets an old man by the door whom he calls Joshua, whose Remaking had been very small and very cruel. Later he would explain that Joshua was a failed burglar who had refused to testify against his gang, and the magister had ordered his silence made permanent: he had his his mouth taken away, sealed with a seamless stretch of flesh. Rather than live on tubes of soup pushed through his nose, Joshua had sliced himself a new mouth, but the pain had made him tremble, and it was a ragged, torn, unfinished-looking thing, a flaccid wound.
Joshua nods to Agloval and with his fingers, carefully holds his mouth closed over a straw and sucked greedily at his cider.
Agloval heads to the back room. The bar, in one corner, was very low, about three feet from the ground. Behind it, in a trough of dirty water, wallowed another creature from the same race as your guide but he looked ancient and fat and grumpy. He hauls himself toward Agloval, trough and all with his huge, webbed hands and frog's legs, his body wobbling like a bloated testicle, seemingly boneless. He was a bag of old blood with limbs, without a separate head, his big curmudgeonly face poking out from the fat at the front of his body.
"You're looking well," Agloval says.
"Go fook yerselv," the bartender replies.
"So it's been a good day, has it," Agloval says with chuckle. Before the bloated frog can spit out another colorful reply, he says, "Friends, this is Silchristchek, the landlord" He then says to the bartender, "Silchristchek, these are my new friends. They come from a long ways but they don't really know the local languages. One of their companions who is not with them at the moment, is a communicatrix so I've been gifted with the ability to speak their language but I don't know for how long."
Stinking piss-colored water slops over the edges of the tub as Silchristchek wriggles his way a few feet closer.
Agloval translates:
"Good for you," Sil barks. "What will you all be having?"
Agloval looks around and says, "My scientist friend isn't here but he will be shortly. In the meantime you should pick a table but tables aren't free. I will cover whatever you want and my friend will reimburse me with my finders fee when he gets here."
[I'm giving you the chance to RP a little. React to anything you've seen or heard. Get a drink or a meal. Your choice.]
