The Inn-ICC

It appears to be a normal enough place. You came upon the building as you travelled, and it appeared to be large, constructed of red bricks, with a slanted, tiled roof. Laughter and music could be heard from inside, and light flooded from the windows in the early evening gloom. Squinting, you could just make out the name of this fine establishment, scrawled in intricate lettering across a hanging sign, The Inn. Thinking it a bit of an odd name, you entered, as there was no other dry place with a warm fire readily available for miles.

Stepping through the door, you are met by an odd sight. Many different creatures fill the inn, everything from imps to cowboys to spaceship pilots. A bar sits in a still circle in the middle of a great common room, a raised stage off to the side, with tables dotted all throughout the room. A rack hanging above the bar holds the nicer crystal, while bottles sit of many shapes and colors on shelves. Doors on the west and east walls lead down long hauls to rooms both empty and reserved, built for folks of many shapes, sizes, and species. A pair of double doors opposite of the entrance leads to a large kitchen. The room feels both antique and modern, wood floors polished to a shining reflection, brick and mortar walls, with a grand fireplace near the west wall roaring with warmth, adding a warm light to the perfectly lit room. Beautiful serving wenches dash from table to table, serving all those in need of food and drink, while an older looking man with a robust belly and a white apron stands behind the bar, polishing a glass with a rag. Two more bartenders stand behind the bar, one a handsome elf, the other a gruff orc. The older man waves to you as if greeting an old friend as you enter the common room.

"Welcome to the Inn!" he exclaims, "I am Garsed, your bartender. What's your poison?"

At just over four feet, the newcomer to The Inn did not cut an intimidating figure. His stringy arms barely could push the door in and they shook in protest. His clothes were rag-tag and resewn. His forlorn shoes were worse for wear and they audibly resented going across the floor. He seemed to pay no mind to that though, as a young boy should. His gray eyes were full of wonder and shining with awe. Like many his age, he couldn’t stop his body from moving in the direction his eyes went. He practically pirouetted across the room, stopping once in a while to “ooh” and “aah” at the different patrons and the beautiful wenches. He glanced longingly at the stage but noticeably reprimanded his desire with a shake of his head.

Eventually, and by going the roundabout route, he made his way to the bar where the tender was polishing a glass. The boy, who could pass for approximately 8 years old, seemed to be wise beyond his years. He knew the drill and he knew he ought to take a seat before ordering. He struggled to get on top of the stool, his dark hair tossed back and forth as his small legs tried to kick up onto the seat. He struggled for a bit before he finally hoisted himself up. He straightened up on the stool, his legs dangled over the sides. His head barely cleared the bar. In an attempt to scrape together his dignity, he put a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat.

“Hi Mr. Garsed! My name’s Thorn,” He squeaked in his prepubescent voice, “My mama said I was named that cause I was a thorn in her side from the day I was conceived. Ain’t that funny?” He gave out a lilting laugh, “I’m not real fond of poison but I do have a request,” He lowered his voice and inched as close as he could, “Do ya got any milk?”

Just after the young boy called Thorn had crossed the threshold into the Inn, a pointed black leather boot wedged itself between the frame and the door itself, preventing the hefty portal from slamming shut. Slowly sliding it back open, in walked a tall human, fair-skinned and with pitch black hair covering his head and adorning his face in the shape of a goatee. The man was garbed in a smart wine-red buttoned shirt, which was loosely left open close to his neck. Along with it he wore rugged dark trousers, tucked neatly inside the aforementioned leather longboots, which easily reached his knee. Over his shirt he wore a long black coat, left entirely undone in the front. As he fully entered the structure, he gave a toothy grin and tipped a non-existent hat towards the bar. The wide smile betrayed his seemingly-human heritage, revealing his canines were much more elongated than to be expected, giving this man a look even more sinister than that his garb provided. Making his way through the common area, he would stop at the tables of the more friendly-looking patrons and introduce himself. If they tolerated his presence long enough, he'd perform a small illusionary parlor trick, often producing small mementos or token gifts. One more grand performance involved a dating couple, where the man asked the woman at the table to turn her back to her date. He then produced a large bouquet of roses and a boxed wedding ring, handing them to the bewildered gentleman at the table, and instructing the woman to turn back around as he walked off, leaving her shouting in joy as the now-engaged man stood there in stunned silence. Eventually, the jovial illusionist in the gloomy garb made his way to the bar proper, just as Thorn had finished introducing himself to the old barkeep. Following up the boy's request for some milk, the man would gesture to the shelves of drinks behind the bar and say "I'd appreciate a glass of that 1623 Amontillado you've got on the fourth shelf, when you get the chance." Seemingly remembering this step at the last minute, he'd also add "The name's Max, by the way."

    KAR-BOOM!!!


    A faint blue light, illuminated Obed`s face as he angrily slammed his fist against the ship's controls. DAM IT!! Visibly frustrated the short and stocky Sea Captain, looked out through the pane of glass before him. Beyond the pane, the skies were as if they were never there, smothered out by dark thick masses, as blue light cut through the darkness in sporadic and angry bursts. The ship shook and tilted once more sending the captain flying back slamming hard against the metallic wall. The old man's already aching bones stung, as he pulled himself up and made his way out and starboard. This was meant to be a simple job, take a ship of legitimate cargo across the sea, make it through customs, remove the illegitimate cargo hidden within, deliver it to the buyer, sell off what was left, pool the money, shaft the crew, take a ship down towards the island nations and ...that's as far as his planning had gotten him. A few months ago he had been sitting pretty, managing several ships and owning multiple fisheries. The government finds one fish with narcotics in it and they shut the whole thing down. His plan B was currently being swallowed by the sea, and all his plan C`s were for at customs. Obed, clutched onto the railing as his boat tilted sideways, and a handful of the crew fell off. One may have been struck by lightning, some were shouting about a Kraken, Obed didn`t have time to ca….the ship lunged forward as a wave rose from nowhere scattering Obed across the floor where he slid towards the lifeboats pushing away his crew. “Shouldn't the captain go down with the ship?”

    “That's not a captain boys...that's an idiot.” The old man growled as he readied his boat, preparing to cut the rope. “I like you lot fair enough but...every man…..” He didn't finish the saying but they all knew. He cut away the final rope quickly while holding a knife out towards his crew with his other hand. “Allways.” With a sudden drop, and a loud splash Obed was thrown into the volatile waters calling out. “Bless your sorry souls, may the sea be a fair mistress.” Not that any of them could hear over the howling winds or the massive laps of wave after wave propelling him further and further away from each second but maybe….....maybe the sea would. Obed, lined his back up against the wall of his lifeboat. There was no way to steer the damn thing in this maelstrom and he had no idea if there was really any place to go.

He may be the one needing the blessings of the sea, but he wasn't gonna call out for them. After all, what would it matter? If he did get swept under…..he`d see his Julianne again. What would she think of what he did to the crew? What would his Jeffre think? Of the man, he looked up to letting…..no. No, Obed thought as he sunk lower into the lifeboat and pulled a flask from his jacket to his lips. None of it mattered, as much as he liked he would never see them again. There was no after, no meaning, no morality, he knew there was only surviving until you couldn't anymore... Only three things mattered in this or any life. Survival, money, and booze. The last of which he poured down his gullet as his tiny dingy was tossed about like a football... His iron stomach keeping steady. Eventually, he drifted off into a drunken slumber.



  He awoke with a crash and a thud, before finding a sharp piercing pain in his side. The boat had washed ashore...a shore made fully of rocks but a shore nonetheless. In slight agony, the tired old man pulled himself from the rocks and looked around the rocky coast. A slight path had been carved into the stone which he followed, there were a few structures here and there all seemed abandoned. What was this accursed place? He-of course-found himself the tavern sadly all it was, was a mostly destroyed old building with a sign half broken flapping in the wind. He turned away from it...when he heard...sound. Music, chatter...and smelled food, beer, ale, despair,  and all the other Inn scents. Confused he turned back, the old structure was still there but almost flickering back and forth was this..other red-roofed inn known as...The Inn. Creative.


He was probably massively dehydrated and seeing things but...he pushed open the door and shuffled in. It took a second to take in...just the activity having come from an abandoned shore. It was indeed a real inn. Of a rather elegant design, as his eyes scanned the room he could clock a number well into the hundreds of stealable things. The whole concept was bizarre as were...some of the patrons. Obed was a sailor though, there is hardly a more superstitious lot. Tales of meeting places from nowhere leading everywhere...they weren't uncommon. He had learned a long time ago...it's best to just not question what the sea brings. The old man thudded his back against the wall, sliding down it into a slouched position. Anyone who looked at him could see he was worn and tired. Short with a stocky build, old leathered skin, pure white hair..where he had any left..., a scratchy white beard, scars and marks covering his body all of which ached. He tore off as many layers of his soaked clothing as he could without being indecent and tossed it still dripping wet onto the coat rack. Where he saw the weapons box...he didn`t like it…..but he had nowhere else to go. Reaching into his boot, he pulled out a knife and tossed it into the box. He stopped and thought a moment. No shouldn`t risk it a few minutes later and he set the box back full up of various knives, a harpoon gun, some fishing hooks, a grenade he had somehow acquired, and a waterlogged box of matches. He stepped further into the inn. Some couple was celebrating their engagement. Or the wife, the husband(to be) looked scared for his life. Brought back memories...and made him want to spit in their drinks. Drinks, Obed patted himself down pulling out a few bills...faded, wadded, and wet. A small mostly torn coin purse held a few pieces. Nothing of worth...in this setting. Need beer money...probably food to….beer first!! He felt around a bit more before grinning as he pulled a metal case from his back pocket. A little faded and wet but the case had done its job for the most part. He shuffled the deck of cards in his hands before walking over to a vacant table near the bar in the front of the room. Taking one of the decorative coins from his purse he flipped it about in a parlor trick as he banged on the table.

  “Hey hey hey hey! Won't you play an old man! Anyone?” He swung open his arms and put them to his side in a quick motion with a loud shuffle, an inviting smile covered his face ear to ear, and a new found energy oozed off of him. You can take the man away from the con but you're can never take the con out of the man. From the deck he pulled two cards and placed them on the table up first before flipping them. “Jack of spades, Jack of Clubs..Jack of this and that.” Obed chuckled the last bit out before producing an ace of spades and holding it out for the crowd. “Ah, a lucky card!” He said in a tone of almost wide-eyed wonder. “Our lucky lady!” He tossed the card onto his table, and began to shuffle them about while still calling out. “Come one come all, entertain an old man. Hell! Even wager.” He flipped his coin up until the table with a laugh. “Start low, climb high heh. With my old bones you could probably make a killing.”  Would be easier with crowd shills but he was used to working alone and was confident enough in his skills. He was rather excited.

After all…..

Three Card Monty was a classic.