This ain't that kind of fantasy (IC)

[New Socialist South Africa]

This ain't that kind of fantasy

OOC (apply first is haven't already)

Character List:

Squeek Greytail (Ratman bartender and student, 22) - New Socialist South Africa
Elvrynna “Rynna” Gallabban (Dark Elf student, 17) - Monarchy of Japanada
Baron Abel von Eisenberg, heir apparent to the Margrave of Passau (Vampire retired captain, 232) - BettaMin
Mohammed “Moe” Abdelmajid Othmani (Zombie retired soldier, age unknown) - BettaMin
Isaac Malone (Vampire CEO of Scarlet Industries, 345) - Dalria
Carver Neil (Human, Grandmaster of the Pale Legion and Sheriff of Astoria, 52) - Dalria
Omorfi Foni (Siren lead singer of “Exhallos”, 23) - WhatsamattaU
Barron Holderman (Human CEO of Finé Inc, 53) - Corpus Magnus
Reum (Ratwoman artist, 23) - Corpus Magnus
Žvende Grinz (Goblin Art Forgery Overseer, 32) - Corpus Magnus
Sir Kirstopher "Kris" Devonshire (Vampire Professor of History at UFU, 734) - Hashkin
Malraah Gobos (Goblin police captain of the Greytown precinct, 49) - New Socialist South Africa
Cassius Gladio (Human Chief of Police of Urbis Forum, 61) - New Socialist South Africa
Homer Kayjack (Human University Science Student, 21) - WhatsamattaU
Snorri "Ghoul Slayer" Grujindar (Dwarf Nashzemlya Convener, 160) - WhatsamattaU
"Gnomeman" / Felgar Goldsmith (Gnome Superhero / Vigilante, 30) - Nordengrund
Lyra Lupus (Bitten Werewolf / Human Outgoing Emperor and leader of the Federalist Party, 44) - New Socialist South Africa
Robert “Bob” Inseldorf (Skeleton Forklift operator and Union organiser, 521) - Turkducken
Lucius Ahenobarbus (Human Governor of Victorum, former Emperor, 81) - New Socialist South Africa

Organisation List:

Scarlet Industries (462 year old Vampire product focused Corporation run by Isaac Malone)
The Pale Legion (36 year old Human Supremacist political party with terrorist and criminal elements and links, headed by Carver Neil)
Finé, Inc. (134 year old Corporation / Crime organisation run by Barron Holderman)
Clan Mordheim (700 year old Ratfolk secessionist and imperialist extremist / terrorist group)
Pan-Sentient Unity Party (10 year old political organisation, pushing for equal rights for all sentient races)
Federalist Party (190 year old centrist political party headed by Emperor Lyra Lupus)
The People for A Better Tomorrow (5 year old Labour Union headed by Robert Inseldorf)
People's Party (134 year old centre-right political party)

[New Socialist South Africa]

4:30pm - Sunday the 14th of January 2018

The Silver Bullet Bar

Squeek Greytail arrived for his Sunday evening shift at the Silver Bullet. Located on "Crooked Alley", a dodgy looking little side ally, with some parking space nearby in a small lot and a taxi stop nearby, the sizeable but dingy building of the bar sat squeezed between a low cost three story block of flats on the one side, and a cheap goblin run laundromat on the other. The bar had two entrances, one that led into a smaller more restaurant like area, “the dining area”, and a larger door that led to the “party area”. The door to the party area was closed and locked for now, with signs already up outside with the entrance fees and the event for the night:

COME WATCH EXHALLOS PLAY LIVE!!! (Starts 10:30PM)
DJ R@TZ (8PM - 10:30PM)
DJ FLUFFY to play after EXHALLOS

DRINK SPECIALS:

8PM - 10PM
SILVER BULLET SHOT - 1 Ageno
DOUBLE BRANDY MIX - 2 Agenos

10PM - MIDNIGHT
DOUBLE VODKA MIX - 2 Agenos
GOLD MOUNTAIN DWARVEN STOUT PINT - 2.50 Agenos

MIDNIGHT - 3AM
GOBLIN GROG - 0.50 Agenos a Pint

7 Agenos Entrance
4 Agenos for students with valid student card
Pre-purchased ticket 2 Agenos
(tickets limited, contact Bjorn, Garland or Melissa)

Below the names were the relevant cellphone numbers for contact details. From the prices, it looked like the bar would make an absolute killing tonight, although with so many students coming, Squeek was a little dubious as to how good the tips would be. Still, Exhallos should be amazing, even if he would be too busy serving drinks to fully appreciate them. Squeek entered through the restaurant door. The smaller bar was filled with the day regulars, older men and half-dwarves mostly, a mix of the retired, divorced and depressed, sipping on their usuals. Squeek hurried in and hastened behind the bar. Gorkil, the seasoned goblin day shift bar manager, was finishing up. He had been there since 8:30am setting up, and the bar and restaurant alike opened at 9am. Des, an old man with white hair who owned some stocks in the bar, had a habit of arriving a little after 9am and having his first dumpie of Golden Fields beer of the day around then, excepting the bill to be printed out and left in a little tumbler glass on the bar, where they would gather over the day until he eventually paid his bill just before the day barmen left, if he didn’t just tell them to “put it on the books” and count it as drawings from the bar he co-owned. By now Harry was also sitting at the bar, drinking his usual draft of Great Northern Beer from a Black Stallion Beer Draught glass, a curious little quirk that new bartenders were expected to know lest old fat red Harry got angry. Simon sat eating his fish and chips and sipping his Old Faithful beer at his usual corner of the bar, doing a crossword, and Ori Whitebeard sat on his favourite tall stool sipping his pint of Gold Mountain Dwarven Stout.

“Squeek” greeted Gorkil, while getting another dumpie ready for Des from the ice sink, printing out a slip to add to the tumbler. “Evening Gorkil” replied Squeek, straightening his black uniform as he ducked under the old vanished wood of the bar opening and joined him behind the bar. “What are we short on?” he asked. “Ice” said Gorkil simply, pointing to the diminishing ice in the ice sink. “Lets make sure there is enough here and enough in back fridge. That and we are a little low on the fresh red, so maybe ask Marcus to fill it up”. “Right” said Squeek nodding and he hastened off to do so.

He hurried through the back way along a dirty corridor, with the kitchen on his left. “Evening ladies” he called as he went, greeting the three goblin matrons and two rat women and Satyr grandmother who worked in the kitchen. “Evening” they called back, hastening back to their work. Heading along the corridor he arrived at the storeroom, and knocked on the hard wooden door. Inside he heard a curse before a man’s voice bellowed “WHAT?!?”. Squeek opened the door. Inside the manager of the Silver Bullet, a big short tempered beefy man by the name of Marcus stood by a desk. The walls were covered with shelves of wines and other drinks that didn’t need to be kept in a fridge. A big table sat squarely in the middle of the room, allowing it to act as an office as well as a storeroom. Seated on the desk was Aphrosia, a beautiful but vain young half-elf waitress in a short skirt who Marcus was always hitting on. She glanced at Squeek with a bored look, her blue eyes impassive below her fairly expensive and almost absurdly long fake cosmetic eyelashes.

“Little low on the fresh red Marcus” said Squeek calmly “thought I’d come check if you were in here now”. Marcus glared at Squeek, but rose his portly body up from the desk anyway, strolling to a strange looking tube on the wall. He picked up a large square steel bottle, with a gaping still skull with a shoot coming out of its mouth. Unscrewing the top of the bottle, he opened the tube and poured a thick blood red liquid in. Squeek looked away, feeling a little faint. No amount of exposure to blood seemed to truly get rid of a phobia, one he had carried with him for nearly two decades since the incident. “So what is it tonight?” he asked, trying to pass the time. “Cow” said Marcus shortly, “but don’t tell any of the minotaurs that. You can tell them that its sheep”. Squeek nodded knowingly. Minotaurs tended to have a thing about not consuming anything with cow in it, just as Satyrs tended to avoid goat. The fresh blood was theoretically mostly for old fashioned vampires who preferred it to the synthetic stuff, but a splash of it was the key ingredient of the bar’s specialty shot.

Screwing the lid on the bottle, Marcus handed it to Squeek with both hands. “Try not drop it” he leered, “now get out there and get moving”. Squeek nodded calmly, and headed back out into the hallway to take the bottle back to the bar. There had long been rumours that Marcus was a sympathiser of the Pale Legion and other human supremacist organisations. His love of gorgeous half-elf women had quickly dispelled that notion however. Sure, he despised ratfolk and goblins, and didn’t seen to care much for Minotaurs or Satyrs either, but in this town they were some of the most easily employable, and you couldn’t really pick and choose with wages this low.

Soon Squeek was back at the bar, ice stocked up from the walk in freezer and fresh red in its little low cooling fridge. Gorkil was busy chatting to Harry, getting ready to cash up day shift so that night shift could start. A shabby looking middle aged goblin slumped his way towards the bar. “Evening sir, what will it be?” said Squeek, giving his first customer of the night a toothy rat grin. “I hear the goblin grog is only 50 coppers?” he asked hopefully, reaching in his pocket for the copper covered steel coins. “I’m afraid that is only from midnight tonight sir” said Squeek, “they are only 1 Ageno right now though”. “Highway robbery” complained the goblin bitterly, but he dropped the cupronickel coin on the bar anyway, a silver coloured coin with “1 Ageno” was displayed upon its head next to an outline of Agenor, on its tail was an image of the tall walls of the mountain castle of the Knights of the Sacred Flame, a historical monument located in the Kingdom of Ignea. Satisfied, Squeek pulled out a pint sized square wooden cup and ladled the mixture in.

Goblin Grog was the cheapest drink for a reason. The base was a mixture of whatever cheapest rum could be found, mixed with water. Afterwards, whatever alcohol was wasted for whatever reason, whether it was Dwarven stout that had gone stale, or a wine that wasn’t cold enough for the customers liking, or a sugarfizz and vodka when what the customer had wanted was a sugarfizz and brandy, all of it went into the grog. From the look of it, quite a bit of the Gold Mountain Dwarven Stout on tap had been too stale for Ori’s liking, and clearly some of the Great Northern had been too frothy when it came out the tap for Harry’s liking. The frothy, beery, groggy mix sat in its trough, looking almost proud of its disgustingness. Drinking it required holding the often foul mixture down, but doing so was considered a right of passage and act of pride amongst many poorer goblins and students alike.

The goblin threw it back and managed to finish about half before he gagged on it. Coughing, he finished the pint in another two big gulps. Grimacing, he released a foul burp, and tilted his head in seeming pain. Then he reached into his pocket and placed another silvery coin on the table. “Another please” he said, without a hint of irony.

...

Moments later, Gladys arrived. A big, fat, slightly decomposing zombie who worked at the nearby home affairs office, Gladys always popped by the Silver Bullet, whether after a long day of work or on the weekend when she felt like some company. Her excessive makeup was slightly smudged, and her strong perfume couldn’t completely mask the stench of decomposition. She was a good tipper though, and that is all that really mattered to Squeek. “Evening Gladys” he said smiling, “your usual?”. “Start me off with a Silver Bullet would you please Squeek” she said, shambling over and collapsing into a stool “I’m having a rotting day”.

“Coming right up” said Squeek. He picked up a long shot glass from a shelf, and went to the nearby fridge to grab the Airag and the Nashzemlya Bear Vodka. Finally he brought over the skull topped metal bottle of fresh red. He poured the think white Airag in first, just under half way, a wickedly strong fermented horse milk imported from Sibur, where the Ghulians had drunk it for millennia. He poured the clear and bitingly sharp Nashzemlya Bear Vodka in almost to the top, where it sat patiently atop the thicker Airag. Finally, wincing a little as he did so, Squeek poured a splash of fairly fresh red cow blood onto the top of the drink. The red blood sank and rippled slowly through the vodka, leaving little red patterns as it went, settling atop the thick Airag.

“Cheers” said Gladys taking up the shot glass and downing it all in one go. Smacking her lips in enjoyment she said “good stuff. How much is that then?

“For a beautiful young lady like yourself, 2 Agenos 50” said Squeek with a grin. Gladys always enjoyed some flattery, even if she knew it wasn’t fully genuine. “Maybe I should have waited for your specials” she said, shaking her head before dropping 3 Agenos on the table. “Keep the change”.

“Many thanks” said Squeek, dropping the 3 Agenos in the till, dropping a 50 cents from the till in the night shift tip jar, where it sat alone and confused next to the far fuller day shift tip jar. By next morning however, Squeek hoped he would see it overflowing, so that he and his fellow bartenders could have a good share.

“What is the brain of the day?” asked Gladys, picking up a menu on the table. “This evening we have only the finest bovine brain” said Squeek with a flourish.

“Cow?” enquired Gladys.

“Yes cow” confirmed Squeek.

“I’ll have that then” said Gladys with a smile.

Squeek typed the order into the computer. “Half or full portion?” inquired Squeek.

“Oh I need to watch my weight” said Gladys, “better just make it a half”.

“With chips and onion rings of salad?” asked Squeek.

“Oh you know I can’t say no to the chips” said Gladys with a grin.

“Fantastic” said Squeek with a grin. “And fresh I take it?”

“Is there any other way to have them?” asked Gladys with a laugh. “What sort of self-respecting zombie cooks their brains? Yes, fresh as fresh can be”.

Squeek pressed the final button and said “will be here shortly” with a grin.

By the time Gladys was munching down on her raw cow brains (with a side of golden chips and caramelised onion rings), the night shift crew were all there. Gorkil cashed up and wished them luck, getting a decent tip from Harry and Simon before he left.

Marcus came bustling out of his office with instructions. “Alright, Joe and Morris, you are going to handle things here” he said, assigning the two 16 year old humans who had joined late last year as a way to get some extra money. As humans they shouldn’t ruffle too many feathers amongst the mostly older human restaurant regulars.

“Kamos, I want you on the main door obviously, make sure they pay up”. The huge minotaur bouncer nodded calmly. He would manage those entering for the party, and would intimidate any trying to sneak in for free.

“Aphrosia, stamps” said Marcus shortly, and the bored looking gorgeous half-elf went on chewing her gum impassively. She would sit in the party door office and take in the entrance money and stamp those coming in with tonights stamp to ensure they could go out and come back in again. The stamp needed to be changed night to night on the weekend to prevent students from not washing and trying their luck again however.

“Urgen, I want you on joining door, make sure no one who comes for food gets into the party for free. The uniformed zombie nodded blankly. It was a stereotypically dull job that the actually quite bright zombie was above, but some customers had a problem with a zombie serving drinks, and he could always threaten a brain munching any trying to sneak from the restaurant into the party area without a stamp.

“Stacey, Bark, I want you on downstairs bar”. Stacey was a fairly pretty but tough looking short female half-dwarf, whose experience and sharpness was matched only by her short temper. Bark was a tall, muscular and handsome natural werewolf, born the son of two werewolves and with the ability to turn into his wolfish form at will. He had worked as a bouncer before, but was equally skilled as a bartender. He and Stacey had dated quite a while, and they worked excellently as an efficient if not ruthless team. New recruits learned quickly to get out of their way when working a shift with them, least they get a chewing out on the need for speedy service.

“Buckley” I want you watching the dance floor for any commotion. The muscular Satyr bouncer nodded, his long horns glimmering in the light.

“Squeek, you take Erol and work upstairs bar”. Squeek nodded. Erol was a young and fairly new goblin bartender recruit. A student at UFU, the 18 year old student was an eager but forgetful bartender, but he had the makings of a great one, so long as you remained encouraging”.

“Orek, you act as DJ and music bouncer”. The heavyset orc bouncer nodded with a grin.

“Alright, snap to it!” barked Marcus.

The party side of the bar could be reached from a corridor between the restaurant, through the back kitchen way, or through the other door on the street. Squeek and Erol hurried along the kitchen corridor and onto the empty dance floor. This side would be locked until 5:30, enough time for them to set up quickly, but things should only really start happening at 8pm when the drink specials started at DJ R@tz began his 2 and a half hour routine. Marcus’s plan was to get the students and customers drunk on the specials before Exhallos started, having them fever pitch drunk and spending without thinking when they came on, and blowing their last few coppers on Goblin Grog from midnight to 3am. A fine plan to be sure.

Squeek and Erol marched up the steps. The party area was arranged so that people came in off the street and paid and got their stamps. From here the corridor lead left to bottom bar, and right to the restaurant. Go left and you enjoyed a large room with a wooden ceiling, tables on the left, the bar laid out on the right.The room opened up onto the dance floor. A large open space that became a chaotic mess of drunk dancing students most nights, but particularly on the weekend. With the Winter holidays done, and the second semester starting tommy, many a student seemed more interested in getting wasted and listening to good music than attending their first lectures of the new semester. Off the dance floor were the male and female bathrooms, an area that tending to fast become packed and full of drunk and vomiting denizens. A stairway led to the upper floor, were a upstairs bar sat atop bottom bar, its floor the ceiling of bottom bar. The tables continued in a floor that was the ceiling over the bathrooms, and which looked down as a balcony over the high ceilinged dance floor. Carry along here to the end and turn left, and you came to the stage. Positioned so that the DJs or musicians actually towered over the dancing crowd, out of reach, it gave whoever performed a God like status, literally looked up to. A single door connected the balcony of the upper floor to the stage, where Orek would be faithfully standing, ready and willing to crack some skulls of those wanting to get too close.

A baby cockroach ran across the bar in terror as Squeek approached. He brought a hand down on it hard, crushing it with a single blow. Working in this bar made you used to such occurrences. Turning to Erol he said calmly. “When you see these cockroaches hit them and kill them, and then” he threw his head back and opened his mouth, throwing his hand back before chewing loudly and smiling. “You eat them, good protein”.

Erol looked slightly shocked.

“Nah I’m just messing with you kid” said Squeek with a laugh, tossing the dead cockroach that was still in his hand in the bin. “Just a joke Gorkil told me when I first stared working here”.

They wiped down the bar for a bit, killing another baby cockroach or two, and checking the fridges to ensure they had enough booze.

“Now what?” asked Erol after a while, once everything seemed to be in place.

“Now” said Squeek, “we wait”.

[WhatsamattaU]

Exhallos called it, “The Shoe-String Budget Tour”. They were their own roadies, which in a way was fine because they felt they cared more for their equipment than hired hands would. Fortunately, tawny Equitizus and black furred Cretian were quite strong as they were, respectively a centaur and a minotaur. Faunsto, the ginger-furred satyr, was about as strong as a typical human. Omorfi, the dark-haired siren, without hands, wasn’t a lot of help porting gear, but with her flying ability she was quite capable of stringing electric cables up to high places.

Cretian placed Omorfi’s ‘travelling perch’ toward the front end of the stage. It gave the siren more mobility, from stage left to stage right, and some added height, so she appeared not quite so dwarfed, at least by Faunsto. Eveyone suffered in a comparison of height against a centaur and a minotaur, except, of course, other centaurs and minotaurs.

This gig, ‘The Silver Bullet’ bar, was a step up from the usual. It was bigger and the band suspected that it might have once been designed as a theatre or nightclub from decades ago, remodeled and put back together as time had passed. Adjoining businesses had been added and separated over the years until it was as it is today.

To the side of the stage, the technicians from the university radio station were preparing to broadcast the show. Typically, the student radio station played music and programs for orchestral lovers and interesting pieces that the professors wanted to expose the music majors to. However, some of the university music students had an underhanded and rebellious nature and took the opportunity, when they heard that Exhallos was looking to play in Forn, to describe the event as a chance to be exposed to ‘a gifted quartet from the Confederacy of Pholóē’'. There was, of course, a price that the guilty were forced to pay, once the university officials found out that they’d been hoodwinked, but the contracts had been signed and there was nothing else to be done without looking mean-spirited and stingy.

Soon, the speakers, cables, Cretian’s custom drum set were all in place. The drums had been designed for both the size and power of the minotaur. Equitizus removed the custom Diomedean Bass he called, ‘Flossy’ from it’s case and Faunsto pulled his Aethercaster from it’s case. The boys inspected, tuned, played a bit, rearranged equipment, played, listened to the sounds of each other playing from different parts of the room. After a small amount of time, they were satisfied that the room was suitable.

Omorfi, sporting a glittering Uberzombie and Lich halter-top, tuned her voice to the hall, sparingly. She soon knew effect of the hall’s curves and how her voice would play. At this point, she limited herself to some scales and trills. Unrestrained singing took a lot out of her and her voice could not be restrung like an electric guitar. Also, there was only so much room in to ice-cooler for her post-singing snack. It wouldn’t do at all to overeat before the show.

Satisfied that everything was ready, the band retired to the upstairs storage room that the bar sometimes used as a talent lounge. Omorfi caught sight of a ratman looking her way as the band left the stage. A fan, maybe? The siren looked at him, smooched the air slightly and blew the air kiss in his direction. Then she followed the boys to rest a bit before the show.

[New Socialist South Africa]

Squeek was most certainly a fan of the band Exhallos, having been introduced to them by his girlfriend Kayliagh, a cute and zany short little 22 year old Goblin studying in the Literature department with a love of music by up and coming bands. She often worked as a waitress, but was off today trying to read her way through the seemingly endless booklist that awaited Literature honours students, everything from "Ghulenghast" to the classic that was "Lord of the Things". Nevertheless, she would certainly come through tonight for the show.

Squeek was a little taken aback by the blown kiss, but certainly flattered.

"You see that Erol?" he said, turning to his fellow bartender. "No one can resist these whiskers".

The short young goblin laughed. "Nah, she blew it as me, no one can resist my nose".

The two laughed at their own jokes and carried on wiping down the bar. Exhallos would only start their gig at 10:30pm tonight, late enough to ensure all the people were out and suitably drunk. Add a band with a cult following to the mix, and people would be here in their droves, drunk enough to ignore just how packed the place would get, or the lingering smell of grime and old sick that seemed to perpetually cling to it. The Silver Bullet, particularly the "party" side of it, was the sort of place where a demon could emerge from the netherworlds on a night of intense partying and feel right at home. It was the sort of place you needed to be drunk to fully appreciate, as if you were too sober you realised just how scummy it was. As a bartender, Squeek realised this all to often.

Still, it had a certain chaotic debaucherous charm to it. Here all the lowlifes and students of the city seemed to come crashing together, and where they drunkenly partied and forgot about their troubles and woes for a while. Then, as the sun peaked its head over the city, they would shamble, stumble and crawl their way back home, to collapse in bed until midday.

Tonight in particular looked like it would be such a night.

DJ R@tz would be providing the music before Exhallos. A skinny, grimy looking ratman dressed in all black, perpetually wearing sunglasses and with fingerless gloves, DJ R@tz should be arriving at 8pm to replace the popular music playlist playing before with his own playlist of dark and chaotic songs, and terrifying and wild remixes of popular songs. A skilled local DJ, if not a little full of himself, DJ R@tz should get the crowd going before Exhallos came on.

DJ Fluffy was set to play after Exhallos ended their gig. A big confident bitten werewolf, DJ Fluffy played an interesting mix of popular songs and more cerebral remixes, along with a scattering of cult classic songs. He obviously didn't perform on full moon nights, when he would stay locked up in his apartment, sleeping with a large does of Wolfsbainium in his system, but he was a frequent local DJ for the Silver Bullet, where he had proved popular with the students.

He frequented top bar, especially just before his sets, were he proved himself to be a lover of Golden Mounten Dwarven Stout and a good tipper, reason enough for Squeek to view him very favourably.

Bartending is a lot of peaks and lulls. You can stand there for hours, wiping the table, chatting to idle away the time, checking and rechecking the fridge and serving the occasional customer, and then an hour or two later you can have a hundred arms waving at you and a cacophony of cries demanding a deluge of different drinks. For now it was a lull however, and Squeek and Erol chatted about university. Erol was studying philosophy, in particular a section on racial philosophy, and there had been an interests debate in the lecture on Friday as to whether the differences between the races was strong or weak, whether they should even be considered to be real differences at all. Erol was of the opinion that the differences were quite weak, one that Squeek shared, but had quite a different view on why they existed in the first place.

"Because that is the way the Old Ones made us" he said at one stage. "The Great Spider formed Goblins from clay, the Great Rat gave birth to the Ratfolk, the Golden One created the Elves from light and the Almighty formed the humans from dust. Sure the methods were different, but the breathe of life was the same".

"I'm not sure I agree with that" said Squeek, wiping down the bar. "All the evolutionary evidence points to us simply being adaptions that proved to be the most suited towards survival, and so we survived. Live underground for millennia and the shortest and stoutest survive best, hence you get dwarves. Live in dense forests all you life and the most athletic survive, and well as those who are a little shorter and cane move through the foliage most easily, hence you get elves. Live in a more dangerous and darker forest where your sense of smell, ability to see in the dark and ability to climb keep you alive, and hence you get goblins. Sure we ratfolk look very different because we originated from a different route, via the direrats, but its the same principle. Opposable thumbs and the ability to master fire goes a long way".

"What about werewolves and vampires then?" asked Erol, looking disbelieving.

"Anomalies that developed and became transferable" said Squeek, checking on the ice. "Some scientists over at the university think they have actually been able to discover the process. It looks like they are strange bacteria in the saliva of werewolves and the venom of vampires that, when a sufficient quantity gets into the bloodstream, may actually be able to slightly alter our DNA".

"Sure, but what created those anomalies?" said Erol, "the Great Wolf and the Ancient Pale One, that's who".

"Maybe" said Squeek, "but I'm not convinced, I think that is just us applying stories to scientific processes we don't fully understand yet and evolutionary adaptions that occurred over millions of years".

"Seems a little uncertain and sketchy to me" said Erol, still clearly not at all convinced.

They went on chatting as they waited patiently for the customers to arrive. The doors should be opening to the public any moment now.

[BettaMin]

Although it was 2018, for most, it was still uncommon, and even bizarre, for a well-to-do Vampire of clear noble disposition and a put-together Zombie to walk the streets, chatting on an equal footing. The number of age old class and racial boundaries being crossed was staggering, even for a city as open and diverse as Urbis Forum. It was for that reason, that the Baron Abel von Eisenberg, retired Captain of E Company, 1st Battalion, 47th Undead Infantry Regiment, and Mohammed Abdelmajid Othmani, retired Sergeant of the same, preferred to frequent younger neighborhoods, were few would pay any heed to their presence. For the very same reasons, they found themselves in Greytown, headed to "The Silver Bullet".

The Baron walked at a brisk pace, the tails of his blazer flapping behind him, with a newsboy cap pulled down to very nearly cover his eyes and white gloves over his hands. He very dearly wished to be away from the sun. Mohammed Abdelmajid Othmani, or "Moe", as he was generally referred to, limped closely behind him, seeming more interested in the conversation than the destination. "Moe", having the rare advantage of the friendship of a Vampire, was remarkably put together for a Zombie, giving off only the slightest smell of decay and having the great majority of his skin and bones still attached. Despite likely being three hundred years old, he appeared to most as a gaunt, grey, bearded Maghrebi who smelled strongly of lavender.

Looking ahead, the pair recognized the familiar alleyway that opened up to "The Silver Bullet".

"Looks a bit packed today, doesn't it? The line is peeking out of the bloody alley," said Abel, running a gloved hand through his neck-length mane of brown hair. "Some rock band is playing there tonight, with a Siren singer," said Moe. "Sounds - ," "Already have tickets," interrupted Moe, having anticipated his friend's inclination for any venue that might be filled with liberally minded young women. "Just for a drink, is all." "Right, mate, for sure."

The pair stepped into the line, looking very much out of place among diehard fans of Exhallos. The Baron, wearing a blue tweed suit, a brown vest, old leather shoes, and a newsboy cap, looked like a profoundly pale hipster or a young university professor, and Moe, in a denim boiler suit, looked like a factory worker. They took up conversation about politics, in their odd, uniquely foreign and antiquated accents.

"Bloody Pale Legion has been harassing undead folks out in Ignea now. Can't believe we're seeing that vileness south of Urbis Forum, can you?" said Moe.

"I'm not surprised at all. Ignea isn't Victorum, but it is mostly humans that live there. Not too hard to hate something you've never seen."

5:30 PM came around, and the pair passed through the doors and received their stamps, Abel leaving the waitress with a flirtatious compliment and a wink. The pair quickly took the stairs to the upstairs bar, sitting on stools. There was still a while before the music would start, but that left plenty of time for some drinking.

"Two Silver Bullets, extra bloody," said the Vampire placing down his cap, before counting out six Agenos and fifty copper and sliding them across the bar. "Keep the change, mate."

[New Socialist South Africa]

"Much obliged" said Squeek with a grin. He gabbed out the Airag and Nashzemlya Bear Vodka from the fridge, and poured them in with the heavy Airag in the bottom half and the pure vodka on top. He brought out the skull topped fresh red, and gave each two generous splashes, leaving a bloody top level to dance its way heavily down. He winced a little involuntarily at the red liquid, but pulled himself together. Placing the bottles away he pulled 1 silver coin and five little 10 coppers from the till and dropped it in the tip jar. Looking over to Erol he said "first blood of the night. Maybe we will have something to show for it after all".

The blood probably wasn't as fresh as it could have been, seeing as the cow had been killed some time this morning, before it had been sold and transported, blood and all, to the Silver Bullet. It was fresher that the "fresh red" usually was here though. Marcus had a habit of cutting corners when he could. With so many coming here tonight however, he had to do things a little more by the books.

"Still, blood is blood isn't it?" thought Squeek to himself.

[Corpus Magnus]

Žvende Grinz snarled bad-temperedly at the long line spilling out of the bar. It was nearly eleven and he was not in the mood to wait. In fact, he was never in the mood to wait. Or do anything else, for that matter; Žvende Grinz was not a happy goblin. As the line inched forward, Grinz began composing a list of things he hated about the bar to pass the time: the bar was too crowded, the customers were too loud, the neon letters spelling out "The Silver Bullet" were hurting his eyes, the vampire in front of him was too tall, the small group staggering nearby had obviously had one (or two or three or ten) drinks too many, his foot itched, he didn't like alcohol anyway, the bartender was a ratman, oh, and now his knee itched too... It only served to irritate him further. Grinz scratched the offending knee and glared at the vampire and werewolf chatting amiably in front of him. Talk less and move more, he thought, but did not say it. The line crept forward, agonizingly slowly.

After an eternity (or perhaps twenty minutes, in his book there was no difference), Grinz pushed his way into the bar and scanned the sea of bobbing faces for the dwarf Vargen Epshelm, the ringleader of a smuggling troupe and a frequenter of "The Silver Bullet". To his irritation, he was too short to see over his neighbors' heads, and was forced to clamber onto a table to spot the dwarf.

"Ah, look at the runty goblin, 'ee's gotta stand on the table to see!" laughed a dwarf from behind him. Grinz spun around, but it was not the dwarf he was looking for.

"Call me a runt, did you?" Grinz snarled, advancing on the dwarf, but someone from behind him slapped his back, sending him sprawling on the ground. He was painfully aware of the laughing spectators around him; gasping for breath, Grinz stood up and dusted himself off. "You'll pay for that, you know!" he barked, but his tormentors only laughed and turned their thoughts to other things. Grinz walloped the dwarf on the back of the head, but the dwarf gave no indication that he had felt the blow. Grinz growled deep in his throat and made his way to the counter, where Epshelm was downing a mystery substance best left unnamed.

"Grinz, there you are," the dwarf greeted him. "Beginning to think you got lost in the crowd... y'know, you being so short and all..." Epshelm laughed uproariously at his own wit.

"Epshelm," Grinz glowered. "I'd say I'm pleased to see you again, but I'd be lying."

The dwarf sneered. "Goblins. All the same, each and every dirty one of them. Yer as revolting as ever, Grinz. Oh sit down," he added, picking up the goblin and placing him on a stool. The dwarf downed his glass and belched loudly in Grinz's face. "Bartender!" he bellowed at the ratman bustling behind the counter.

[New Socialist South Africa]

Squeak was used to being shouted at for attention. Indeed it seemed a plethora of drunks were shouting at him at this moment. He had adopted a policy years ago to serve customers in the order in which they reached the bar. He quickly got the sweet vampire regular her can of Bloodhype Original and her lovely werewolf boyfriend a tall glass of Wolf Pack Midus. He quickly got the long waiting young female student three double vodka and sugarfizzes, got the drunk looking Satyr 1st year his 5 shots of Airag, and finally the the big Minotaur post-grad his flagon of Golden Honey Mead. Handing over the change to the Minotaur, and dropping the tip from the vampire and her werewolf boyfriend in the tip jar, he Finally made his way over to the dwarf and his goblin compatriot

Squeek greeted them with a grin. “Sorry about the wait gents, bit busy tonight as you can see. So what will it be?”

[Corpus Magnus]

The dwarf grinned. "I'll have a refill on that Golden Mountain Dwarven Stout Pint," he said, sliding his flagon forwards in an uncoordinated shove and slapping a few coins on the counter. Grinz winced as Epshelm belched loudly again and nearly toppled off his stool. Alcohol could turn even the finest of men into fools, Grinz knew, and Epshelm was by no means a fine man, even when sober. Grinz knew the effects of alcohol well: his own father, one of the few people whom Grinz had actually (dare he admit it) loved, had thrown him out one night in a drunken rage, calling him a runt and other much worse things. He had always suspected, but never let himself believe, that his parents did not love him. He had lived off the streets for months after that, hanging around his old home, always hoping his parents would call him back... It never happened.

"Nothing for me," Grinz managed to spit out. He considered himself a civilized goblin; he had promised himself for years that he would remain sober and never be the sort of goblin his father was. It had never occurred to him that there were things other than alcohol that could turn a man nasty as well.

[New Socialist South Africa]

"Right you are sir" said Squeek with a grin. He hastened over to the Gold Mountain tap and poured the dark liquid into the flagon up half way, let it rest and settle a moment before doing the rest. You learned the way different beers needed to be treated after not to long in this place. If you messed up, well that just went towards the goblin grog.

"There you go sir" he said, picking up the coins and quickly checking if it was the right amount, leaving whatever was over the amount on the counter and putting the amount that covered th cost away. He hurried off to go take the order of a rather pompous looking half-elf student who was glaring at him, seemingly failing to notice he had arrived at the bar after the Dwarf had called him over. Even if customers gave you more than the amount, it was best to leave it there a moment, just to ensure that they hadn't drukenly overpaid you and would grow furious if you took more than was allotted. If they left their extra coins after you had served another person or to, then they clearly were either being generous, or were simply to drunk to care at all.

He would have tried to push the goblin on getting a drink, even a soft drink if it had been a quite time, hoping for a little tip extra, but with things so chaotic and the half=elf seemingly trying to bore a hole in his head with his glare, he decided he had more pressing matters to attend to.

[Dalria]

Isaac Malone - Urbis Forum

Snip, the sound was followed by a thunderous round of applause as a well dressed man used oversized scissors to cut a large red ribbon. The man then waited for the applause to end before making a speech, "thank you everyone for being here today! Scarlet Industries and myself, Isaac Malone, are proud to be opening up our new research and design center here in the capitol! We pride ourselves on our wide range of pharmaceutical treatments to cure nearly any ailment, urge, or fix. This new R&D center represents the strong unity within our empire, my father's company went from selling an artificial blood substituent to being the number one seller in prescription medicine in Agenor! It has been a rocky path but one worth the struggle, hundreds of lives are saved because of the product's that are produced in centers just like these. So once again, I thank you all for attending this gala, our feast will begin soon and complementary wine will be served inside" Isaac bowed to the crowd as they cheered once again. He stepped off the stage surrounded by paparazzi whom he tried politely to get through.

"Right this way sir" one of his employees called as he hurried Isaac into a private entrance.

Isaac looked at the man, "I need you to cancel all my appointments after three o'clock Jeremy, ASAP" he called out as he entered a balcony room, several men surrounded a round table overlooking the gala event. "Gentlemen" Isaac smiled as the men stood up and greeted him, "take your seats. Cornelius why do you look so blue, cheer up! This is our largest gala event of the year, celebrating our success with a new branch in R&D, you should be proud" Isaac laughed at the man who shook his head in agreement and began to smile. "Now we must talk business as a board of directors must, Shiloh" he pointed across the table at a younger looking frail man, "you have the table".

"Well, I'm excited for what this year has in store for our glorious company. Our quarterly profits are almost up 40% from last year, our sales have skyrocketed as we branch out with household name brands such as RotAway and Chamalla Youth extract as well as our new line of vaccines such as AVL-116. Not only is consumer loyalty expanding but investors are flocking at the prospect of investing in the research and design team here at Scarlet Industries. As we are about to announce the release of our new anti-depressant, Condamine-895, investors are whispering about a possible expansion of our company to outside the borders of Agenor" he paused and raised his glass, "I would like to thank our benevolent and intelligent CEO & primary shareholder Isaac Malone for making this happen." the rest of the men toasted and clapped.

Isaac then retook as the center of attention, "now men, this journey has not been only carried by me. All of you in this room have also played important roles in building this corporation to the powerhouse it is today. Not only does the Vampiric race survive peacefully due to our progress in artificial blood products but now nearly eighty-five percent of hospitals in Agenor, strictly get their medication and tools from us. Now I have some more great news that I hope will excite all of you. First off, the Malone family will be acquiring Argo Arms Manufacturing. Acquiring this firm will provide us with one of the largest munitions plants on Agenor. We will thrive in a new and exciting industry, I am meeting with the owner of the firm tonight. My second piece of news has taken me a lot of time and consideration before I was ready to even make this announcement. After sitting down with some of my closest friends, advisors, and family I, Isaac Malone, have decided to put my bid in for emperorship. It'll be a hard journey but I hope I have the backing of the board for this endeavor. I believe I can help our damaged nation, that I can bring us together even stronger than the unity before us. I shall begin campaigning late this week, all buildings owned by the Malone Family and or Scarlet Industries will be sporting my banners. We are going to bring freedom and prosperity back to these lands, under the guidance of the minds behind Scarlet Industries" the men unanimously agreed with aye's. Isaac once again took a bow, "with that being said, I have business to attend too! Have fun tonight, represent Scarlet Industries with pride".

Minutes later

Isaac sat in his limousine, routinely scrolling through his emails with his dear friend and chief operating officer Xander. Suddenly one of the passenger doors swung open and a man took a seat near Isaac, sporting a revolver in his holster. "Mr. Malone, our mutual friends wish to speak about our agreements" he uttered, eyeing Isaac's friend with distrust.

Isaac raised his eyebrow at the man, "I should have you flayed for entering my private vehicle unannounced and in public" he said in disgust, "now speak crow" he spit.

"One of our warehouses was raided, we are in need of aid. Our mutual friends request more funding and..." he paused once again eyeing Xander "are inquiring about munitions to be delivered for our cause" the man flashed his fangs.

Isaac let out a chuckle, "ah the cause. Yes, there is already a shell-account set up for funding and I will have more cash transferred through that. I am working on the munitions situation currently, so I will get back to your superiors soon enough. Now in your case" Isaac began and like a bullet was at the man's throat with a letter opener, "if you ever approach me in public again I will have a steak through your heart quicker than you can pull that pistol. Now get the fuck out of my car, we will be in touch" Isaac reached over and opened the door. The man simply glared at Isaac and stepped out of the vehicle, having the door shut behind him.

Xander eyed curiously, "behind door business deal? I thought several years ago our public relations department announced that Scarlet Industries didn't support Vampire separatism?"

"Aye nor does the Malone Family, not to the public eye. The receive funding from several shell businesses, untraceable" Isaac winked, "Xander, conflict breeds profit. Profit breeds power. Who knows how many groups these shell businesses fund? Now we have an important meeting to attend too" the limo stopped and the two groomed men stepped out. The two looked around, this area wasn't their usual destination. A multi-racial dive bar with the glimmering neon lights covering the building, the organization they were supposed to meet specifically requested The Silver Bullet as the meeting place. Isaac and Xander made their way through the wall of security into the VIP section. Isaac had booked the nicest table in the building, overlooking the stage where the band began to set up. They awaited their guests patiently, ordering a round of drinks for the table.

Carver Neil - Republic of Victorum

The click-clack of horse shoes filled the air. Twenty men sporting traditional tan Pale Legion outfits followed three men who seemed to be local law enforcement. The group of men convened on a hilltop overlooking a large farmstead, the folks who resides on the land scrambled around as they noticed the legionaries approaching on the hill. "Are you sure about this sheriff" a younger deputy asked Carver, Carver simply nodded. He motioned with his hand for the legionaries to surround the area.

The three lawmen took their horses down the hill, approaching the farmstead. They were met with a man holding a shotgun on the front porch, he looked nervous as sweat poured from his forehead. "How can I help you sheriff?" he yelled out as the sheriff approach.

Carver jumped off his horse, setting his fingers upon his holster, "James McLough! Howdy, haven't been out here in years. Seems like your farmstead is doing well, how's the wife and kids?" the large and jolly rough-rider smirked.

"Priscilla and the little ones are doing good sheriff but what brings you to my little slice of heaven, especially accompanying a group of armed vigilantes" the man uneasily watched as the legionaries surrounded the farm with their weapons and torches.

Carver let out a chuckle and looked back at his two deputies who laughed along with him, "well James, I've heard some interesting rumors and seeing as you are sporting your own weapon, I simply brought backup and some of the local farmers agreed to come along. Now I want to hear your side of the story. I've heard you kicked both the Bennet and Cornston families off your property, who have been working on your families land for years. Some of your neighbors have said you moved in a group of Orcish immigrants to work your land after the Bennet's and Cornston's were removed. It sounding like to me, you removed two hard working human families and moved cheap Orcish labor onto your land. Two hardworking families" Carver paused, "who now can't feed their children while you are capitalizing on these green monstrosities. Now, do you have a permit to have these Orcish laborers on your land?" Carver looked around at the Orcish farmhands who shuffled their way into their huts.

"Look Carver, the Bennet's and Cornston's threatened me. They said that if I didn't pay them extra, they'd boycott and refuse to work. Now you know that for Yeshua's sake, I love them. But I have children to feed too! So yes, I kicked them off. The only labor available were some poor Orcish families in the county over. There ain't no permit needed to hire someone Carver you know that... you just enforce the law, you don't make it" the farmer held the grip on his shotgun, his wife slipped out the door and stood behind him.

"James oh James, your neighbor's have all decided that you do need a permit. So if you don't have one, I'm going to have to confiscate all the grain that you have harvested since you evicted your tenets and I'm going to have to arrest all these beasts" Carver motioned for the legionaries to start moving up.

"Carver don't do this! These Orcs haven't hurt anyone, just let us be. You ain't touching my harvest, you know its been hard for everyone. This has been my first decent harvest in nearly five years, my children are famished, baby Lucie is in need of medicine. I can finally afford to put dinner on my families table and buy the medicine my baby daughter needs. You want my baby to die? You want my kids to starve?" James pleaded.

The legionaries descended upon the farmstead, "gather all of them Orcs, secure them in the barn" Carver yelled. The legionaries raided the huts and by gunpoint led the Orc families into the main barn. "Put that shotgun away boy, before you get hurt" Carver focused his attention back on James.

"Fuck you Sheriff, you are scum! You and your legionaries are nothing but common goons, hurting innocent people" James spit on the ground in front of Carver.

"Bar the door" Carver yelled as the last of the Orcs were led into the barn, "torch it boys" he ordered. The legionaries surrounded the barn, setting up a line of hay, dousing it in gasoline, and began to lit the barn with their torches.

James raised his shotgun at Carver, "you deserve to die.." he muttered. Carver was quick, unholstering his gun and hitting James in the chest. The two deputies ran up, grabbing the injured James and dragging him to Carver's feet.

"You stupid man, you betrayed our kind. Now your kids are going to grow up without a father" Carver pulled the hammer back on his revolver and placed it on James temple. The screams of the Orcs could be heard miles away as the flames engulfed the barn. "Any last words?" as Carver asked that a shot range out.

The wife of James had grabbed the shotgun and fired upon Carver but missed, "don't hurt my husband!" she cried out. Carver quickly punched James in the jaw and raised the revolver, shooting the farmer's wife in the throat. As she laid in her own blood, James attempted to crawl to her, moaning her name. Carver put his boot on James, crushing his hand and putting a bullet in the back of his skull. Carver looked at his two deputies and then back at the bodies.

"He pulled a weapon on an officer as we tried to arrest illegal Orcish immigrants. In self defense I had to shoot him and his beauty of a wife, we attempted to smoke out the armed Orcs but they refused to leave the barn and burned to death. Clean this mess up, raid his grain storage and have the legionaries distribute it to some of the local farmers. We have a sermon to attend" Carver mounted his horse and rode off back towards town.

"Yeshua grants us happiness, he grants us love, he grants us life. In Brutan 1-9, Yeshua said that man must strive to be the best he can be, to push for his dreams. We must abide by this, we as man must strive to protect our society from those who wish to hold us back. Those who see man as weak, those who wish to see man exterminated. Our enemies are out there and..." the fiery preacher continued with his passionate speech until Carver entered the church room. His smile stretched across his face, "and we must band together to protect humanity, to protect the name of Yeshua. Now, next time we convene we will be speaking about Asha 3-4 but we have an important guest! The Covenant of the Purifying Fire welcomes Sheriff Carver Neil, how can we bless you today?" he questioned as the congregation of around one hundred turned their heads.

Carver, accompanied by his two deputies, tipped his hat. "I'm sorry to interrupt folks, I know how important sermon is".

"No need to apologize, Yeshua brought you here for a reason, you are a hero to mankind" a woman called out.

"I appreciate it ma'am. I came here today with an important announcement to my fellow countrymen. As much as it pains me to say, I will not be running for reelection for the position of sheriff this next season" nearly everyone gasped in the crowd, "but I will leave you in good hands. I have basically raised Deputy Carl myself and he is the single candidate running. Now you may ask, why sheriff? You absolutely love your job! Well lately I've been seeing things that I cannot remain silent on. We have a political system that is falling apart. We have a system that pushes for the destruction of human culture, a system that promotes Orcish immigration from other nations, a system that hands out cash to goblins and ratfolk for support but not decent and hardworking humans. I'm sick of it! I'm sick of these vampiric leeches, deformed goblins, and high-horsed elves thinking they are better than mankind. I will be running for the Imperial senate and I will make your voices heard. The Covenant of the Purifying Fire and the Pale Legion will bring the empire to its knees, we will bring back human cultures and values! Now I know ya'll probably have places to be, so I'll leave it like that. I want to know you will be in good hands, so this next election cycle, vote Carver Neil for senate" the crowd cheered and clapped.

A woman jumped on stage, "Sheriff Carver is a saint! Carver Neil has protected us for years from the tyranny of those who wish to exterminate us. My children can sleep tight knowing they are safe from the ghouls and freaks who inhabit this world. Praise Yeshua, praise Sheriff Carver. I hope my boys will grow up to be like you, a strong man who fights for what he believes in" she hugged the sheriff and then returned to the crowd.

After nearly an hour of meet and greet with his community members, Carver made it back to the priest. "That was an inspiring speech! You should think about priesthood" he joked.

"I am a simple servant of Yeshua and he needs me here preacher. Now I was wondering, your congregation grows everyday. With that being said, will you distribute these pamphlets to other priests?" he questioned as he motioned for one of the deputies to drop off the box of campaign pamphlets.

"Of course! By the light of Yeshua, everyone will hear your word. Your name will spread like wildfire through the local community. Yeshua bless your soul" the priest shook the sheriff's hand and was off to spread the word. Soon Carver was off again, the local leaders of the Pale Legion called for a meeting at the Silver Bullet. Although surrounded by inferior species that they hated, having a meeting here would prevent suspicion. The Legion's leaderhood consisted of powerful politicians, businessmen, and other occupations. The group was organizing, pushing for their Grandmaster, Carver Neil, to become the next senator of Victorum.

Hours later

Carver and several legionaries drove a convoy to the capitol to convene with their brothers. They had requested a private room in the bar and all convened within. Although disgusted by his surroundings, Carver hid it to avoid any conflict. The group of several humans set around the table and began too discuss important matters.

[New Socialist South Africa]

There were technically no private rooms in the bustling Silver Bullet, but the bar's manager, Marcus, had been all too happy to offer Carver and the rest access to his office. In all truth it was a storeroom, with bottles of wine lining the walls and a pipe with the last of the fresh cow blood inside. Marcus hurried them inside through the storage entrance, well away from prying eyes. Barstools had been placed all around the lone desk in the office, offering some space for those assembled to gather.

While his staff at "the Silver Bullet" had long joked that Marcus sympathised with human supremacist groups, his continued hiring of other races made it at least seem less likely (even though the real reason was simply because he could usually get away with paying them less).

"Sheriff its a delight to have you here, great to have a man of your calibre in my bar" he said, looking both excited and more than a little nervous.

"I really do try to ensure we hire as many humans here as possible. I really do. Got to keep the capital human you know. I mean if it goes then so goes the empire. Rats infesting our sewers, goblins in the streets, all that. I mean I end up hiring a few here and there, but I mean nothing by it. Just got to pander to them while they are here you know? I mean I would be delighted to hire more humans, but they always want more pay. Not that they don't deserve it of course! Of course they do. I mean, looking after our own you know? Rats and goblins lowering the state of the neighbourhoods. I mean, I've just got a business to run. But I'd love to hire more humans you know? Make this city human again".

He laughed nervously, and buried his hands in his armpits, a little tick he had when he got nervous. He ushered them into the office.

"I'll have you in my office of course. Sorry about the mess. I blame the rats hey. Haha. I'll watch the door of course, and bring you any drinks if you need them. Just shout you know. And of course feel free to make use of whatever you like in the office of course. Got some fine vintage Victorum wines in here. Humans always make the best wine, thats what I always say. Can the others even make alcohol? Tastes like piss to me. Probably is hey? Haha"

Sweating slightly, Marcus made to leave.

[BettaMin]

Abel nodded and gave a warm smile to the ratman bartender, chuckling to himself at the sight of the bottle of blood and its skull stopper. It was ironic, he thought to himself, that fresh blood, whether it be from livestock or more respected species, had such a macabre atmosphere about it. Many humans, dwarves, goblins, and orcs ate blood sausage or blood pudding as a staple dish. For a vampire, blood was no less associated with death and evil than a good steak. Of course, some, especially the more traditional, swore by the taste and health benefits of fresh blood straight from its source.

The two took their shots simultaneously, Moe following his shot with a swill of formaldehyde. "Bonum sanguine," uttered Abel, with a little admiration. Good blood. He was used to a fairly mediocre quality of blood at establishments like The Silver Bullet. While the blood wasn't fresh, it was a step above the artificial substitutes that made up his usual diet. "Oui," replied the zombie, looking to the vampire-werewolf couple. "Not too bad of a place - quite liberal, and tame for a - oh, now I see it," he continued, watching a little scuffle between a goblin and a dwarf."

"Nothing compared to the barracks, eh, Moe?" said Abel cheerily, flagging the bartender for another round of shots. "That was almost 200 bloody years ago, Captain, when a goblin and a dwarf walking into a bar was the start of a joke. Charles died on three separate occasions in our barracks and he wasn't even a zombie the first time he died. Everything's tame now compared to then." Moe stood up, cheerfully greeting an old, and quite dead friend.

Things were indeed different. Abel peered around, noticing the smattering of vampire students in the crowd. Compared to a heartland Vampire, the majority seemed to be relatively tame. Sure, many partook in more modern forms of ostentatious behavior. Here and there, one could spot a flash of fangs in a smile or laugh, coupled with a number of high price brand name clothes. But there were numerous exceptions. Even a left handed vampire with prescription glasses, where even sixty years ago, such characteristics might disqualify even the choicest selections for vampirism.

Abel counted out another six Ageno and fifty, setting them on the bar. He smiled again, unwittingly putting his pearly white, sharp fangs on full display. "Know anything about the band playing tonight? I must say, I really should've asked my friend what he was getting me in to."

[Dalria]

Carver Neil - The Silver Bullet

Carver was accompanied by eight other leaders within The Pale Legion, some of the most powerful and seedy men in Agenor. They were ushered into the bar owner's private office, to keep the prying eyes away from their meeting. Carver chuckled as the man tried to explain himself, he was obviously a nervous wreck. Who wouldn't be? It was common knowledge that Carver was the Grandmaster of The Pale Legion and he didn't care, he flew his colors in public. Carver was a ruthless lawman that always found a way to get what he wanted. The men examined the room as the bar owner continued to talk and kiss up to the group of Legionaries.

"A man of my caliber? I like the sound of that" he looked around at the cramped office space, "this isn't the worst shithole I've ever been in and as long as you keep those dirty beast in line, I have no problem with your establishment. Grab my a bottle of your top shelf whiskey, I don't want any of that cheap watered down shit you hear?" he threw several Agenos at the man. "I don't want anyone bothering us back here, understand that? We ain't having any more friends join us, so I don't give a shit if they say they are the damn emperor, I'll scalp 'em if they come in" Carver pulled a knife out and waved it around.

The men took their seats, "howdy boys, it has been awhile" Carver said as he shook hands with the other members.

"Why did you pick a place full of inhuman filth" one of the members spat out.

Carver rolled his eyes in annoyance, "unlike you and I, some men here want to protect their identities. If you have a problem, you can kindly screw off. Now down to business, Mark I know you had somethin' to say" Carver handed it off to an older man in his late eighties.

"Brothers, legionaries. We've had an influx of communistic influence right here in the capitol. I am sending three of my own legions to deal with it. A couple of Goblin's have banded together in the name of pay equality and they are trying to establish the 'UnderFolk Union'. Strike breaking has always been a specialty of mine. I know some of you boys from down south don't really deal with organized unions but they can be a problem. I'm asking if we can allocate a couple more legions to deal with this union. If we let them organize for equal pay and safer working conditions, they think they are just as good as us. I'm much older than most of you, I've seen the damage they can do" the old man began a wheezing fit. The legionaries turned their attention to Carver, awaiting his answer.

"I think we can do that. I want ten people from every chapter at least. Mark is right, we can't let them organize like this. If they do, it means death for human workers who are already way underpaid. Break this communistic rabble right in the center of the nation, If ya'll feel the same way, I'll send thirty of my own men" the legionaries nodded to agree.

"There having a demonstration tomorrow" Mark spouted out, still trying to catch his breath.

Carver smile, "then we will meet them with open arms. Now onto the next issue".

Another younger man stepped up, "I first wanted to say it is a pleasure to finally meet you Grandmaster Neil, I've heard many stories. I am the regional chapter head for the Tsardom of Nashazemlya. I just took over the position from my uncle, Jeremiah Peters. We got a bit of a problem, a half-dwarf preacher has been making waves in some of the smaller cities. I think he was sent by that fraudulent and corrupt organization of the Church of Yeshuism, he is planning on running as a district judge. He has been targeting local members of the covenant and brandishing them as heathens and speaking out against the legion" the boy was obviously nervous, being his first time in a leadership role.

"Ah, I remember Jeremiah. Great man, war hero. Now, usually I would leave this up to the individual chapter leaders to handle this. But I know this preacher, he is a freelancer who is trying to ignite some cultural revolution for equality. I will send some of my own personal guard to handle it, don't you worry. Now, I have something to announce that is very important. I am running for imperial senate this year in Victorium, it'll be a rough race but with the organization we have been doing in the city, it shouldn't be hard to win. I want you all to spread the word, let it be known that we are taking back our nation. Isn't that right Conner?" Carver turned to a man with jet black hair and brown eyes in his mid forties.

"Huh? Oh yeah boss, we need to take it back!" the man called back. Carver walked up to him, putting his arm around Conner's head.

"Come here, embrace me" Carver leaned in closer to Conner's ear, "you didn't think I would find out" the blade that Carver was carrying was plunged deep into the man's chest. "A fucking traitor in our midst, among our highest ranks. Unbelievable" Carver screamed as the body dropped lifeless to the floor.

Mark stared wide-eyed, "how did you know he was a traitor?".

"I've been following him for sometime. He was born a half-elf, trimmed his ears and any other physical aspects that attached him to elf physique. He joined the Pale Legion because we executed his father for the murder human, the undead judge declared that he was not guilty due to little evidence. Conner's father had been sleeping with the human's wife and when confronted, drove a knife into his chest. I remember hanging his father myself, I remember his face. I noticed him during our last leadership conference in Victorium and I could have sworn I had seen his face before. Some of my men tailed him, I was intrigued at first. A great speaker and very passionate, he gained a lot of respect from his men. Soon enough he became a chapter head. My men stumbled upon him meeting with local imperial agents, giving them information about various chapters" Carver spit on the body, "damn fucking elf. You can barely trust your own brothers... now back to business as usual".

[WhatsamattaU]

(This post moved down two posts)

[New Socialist South Africa]

Abel counted out another six Ageno and fifty, setting them on the bar. He smiled again, unwittingly putting his pearly white, sharp fangs on full display. "Know anything about the band playing tonight? I must say, I really should've asked my friend what he was getting me in to."

Squeek was still busy fixing a jam jar of Phoenix Sunrise for the half-elf, the vodka and White Cliffs Cider forming a punchy mix with the sugarfizz pure, but he was able to hear the question ad respond while he worked.

"They're a really good up and coming rock band. Got a sound that breaks away from a lot of the more mainstream pop stuff going around at the moment. And they've got talent. The lead singer is also a siren, and even by siren standards she has an enchanting voice. Just know if she wants o seduce you she probably could with a voice like that. In fact, they should be starting with their set any moment now".

Indeed, at that moment DJ R@tz was welcoming them on, and Exhallos were making their entrance.

Squeek delivered the jam jar of Phoenix Sunrise to the half-elf, and got the gaggle of 1st year female students (2 humans, a satyr, a half-dwarf and a goblin) their double vodka and sugarfizz orders. Returning to where Abel was waiting with the Airag and Nashzemlya Bear Vodka, he enquired "same again on the bullets?"

[WhatsamattaU]

As ten-thirty neared, the members of Exhallos ended their meditation. They found that it was a good way to clear their minds, which also allowed them to get more into sync with one another for a show. They believed they should play like every show might be their last show together. Like they wanted to impress Gods, or spit in the faces of Gods, before fate got around to tearing them apart. They left the storeroom with eyes so clear that if you could have looked into them you’d see the fire of their souls.

The curtain was closed, so the public couldn’t see Exhallos take the stage. The folks from the university radio station gave the band ‘thumbs up’ as they took their positions.

The canned music ended and the voice of D J R@tz announced, “Ladies! Gentz! And Everyone: Ex – hal – los !!!

The curtain was drawn away, as Cretian pounded out a beat, while Equitizus and Faunsto began the ’Lightning Storm Boogie’. A couple of bars into it, Omorfi dropped down from the rafters and landed on the travelling perch! The fans ate it up and even some of the underexposed were impressed.

Omorfi introduced each band member and each member played a solo for about a minute or so at their introduction. Then Omorfi introduced herself, “… and me, Omorfi, The Chirp!” At that point, Cretian and Equitizus carried the rock rhythm and Faunsto launched into a short but incredibly technical riff, after which Omorfi answered it perfectly with a series of staccato trills. Then, as if they were dueling, the vocalist put out another set of soaring, challenging trills for the guitarist to match. It was rockin’ beautiful.

After the boogie, the band made a medley out of ”The Hot Foot Shuffle”, “Coming to You”, and “Stompin’ the Turf”. The club patrons ate it up like hash brownies. The Silver Bullet bar was in full tilt party mode.

Then, Omorfi announced that they were going to play, ”Unearthly Fire/Rain Dance”. The band’s hard-core fans went nuts and the locals were swept up in the ride. The song was the band’s most commercially successful song, to date, and had received airplay on a number of rock radio stations.

One of Exhallos’ beliefs was that people didn’t come to hear musicians talk, so they didn’t, normally, except when they wanted to change the tempo.

“It is my honor,” said the siren, “to play with three extremely, and I mean ‘EXTREMELY’ ‘Gifted’ guys…, who also happen to be extremely talented musicians. This song is for those ladies, and they’ll know who they are in just a minute.”

The fans snickered, because they were in on the joke as the band geared down into ”The Small Female Blues”:

The small female blues, have got my goat.
I need just a little somethin’, to float my boat.
I’m a lookin’ for a strong little male,
‘Cuz a big strong male is just too much!

Bigger gals than me can ride, sun-up to sun-down.
I’m a tiny thing, ain’t made for horsin’ round.
I’m a lookin’ for a strong little male,
‘Cuz a big strong male is just too much!

Two point five muscled meters, from bottom to top
Would just tear me apart, like a bull in a china shop.
I’m a looking for a strong little male,
‘Cuz a big strong male is just too much!

After the applause, Omorfi announced the band’s final song of the night. “It’s something we’ve never played in public, before.”

Cretian’s drum beat silenced all other sound in the hall. It was the sound of the four-chambered mammalian heart, amplified. THUMP! Thump!-Thump! thump. THUMP! Thump!-Thump! thump. THUMP! Thump!-Thump! thump.

Equitizus harmonized the beat on his Diomedean electric bass and Faunsto’s Aethercaster provided undercurrent as Omorfi addressed the microphone… and unintentionally… unexpectedly… the legendary power of the sirens found it’s voice in her voice

’Rise up sons and daughters of the seas
Won’t get equal justice by bending knees
Let’s vote for people that we can trust
See hate and division ground to dust!

Rise up! Rise up! Rise up! Rise up!”

Nearly everyone, nearly everyone, in the bar began to rise and clap their hands to the beat of the music. The university radio emcee described the action as magic. A feeling of positive empowerment and unity with one another that was sweeping the hall. Unknown to him, there were people in the radio audience that were also swept up in the feeling.

The song continued.

”Rise up sons and daughters of the lands
This world belongs to newer and just hands
We won’t be set at each others’ throats
Don’t give a damn about bigoted quotes!

Rise up! Rise up! Rise up! Rise up!"

The audience in to bar, and those radio listeners, sang with them: “Rise Up! Rise up! Rise up! Rise up!”

“Rise up sons and daughters of the skies
Seeking out truths and scorning lies
Coming all together for a dance
Brothers and sisters giving peace a chance.

Rise up! Rise up! Rise up! Rise up!
Rise up! Rise up! Rise up! Rise up!”

The song ended and the stage lights dimed, and the applause was like THUNDER!

[New Socialist South Africa]

Once the last song ended Squeek found himself applauding wildly with the rest of the crowd. The earlier songs had been great as ever, and he had spotted his goblin girlfriend Kayliagh with some of her friends at a nearby table. She had winked at him and he worked away, and did so again as the band broke into "The Small Female Blues”, a personal favourite of hers and the first song of Exhallos's she had played for Squeek. He smiled in amusement as he watched her long black hair whipping around to the song.

When the new song, "Rise Up" started playing however, it seemed to capture everyone's attention. Even the drunk Satyr from before stopped from his missing to find his wallet to get yet another drink, turning instead, transfixed by the drum beat and entrancing voice of the siren. Squeek felt himself singing along as he kept on moving, preparing more drinks and checking the ice was still stocked, his body almost mechanical from hours of work. But he did notice that not a single one of the previously clamouring crowd seemed to want more drinks while the song played, but rather turned all their attention towards the music from the band.

It was a pretty uplifting and inspiring message in that heartfelt song, and Squeek couldn't help but shed a tear as he hummed along with it towards the end. As the song ended the bar was filled with thunderous applause that seemed to shake the very structure of the grimy old building, and the floor creaked with feet and hooves stamped in appreciation.

The spell seemed to have been broken however, and soon the customers were asking for drinks again. Leaning over to the vampire client who had asked him about the band earlier as he poured yet another Golden Mountain Dwarven Stout Pint for a big drunken Dwarf regular, Squeek asked:

"So, what do you think?"

[WhatsamattaU]

The final song finished, Omorfi flew from the stage during the first seconds that the lights had dimmed on the stage. Flew back to the storage area on the upper level, where the band had rested and meditated before the show. Fortunately, the door knobs were ‘panic handles’ and needed only downward pressure to open the door. She frantically pushed hard on it and straight way made her way to the ice-chest.

The post singing hunger was on her worse than ever before! In her haste, she knocked over the ice chest and the iced eels were thrown onto the floor. Grasping them in her talons, she raised them to her face and tore at them with her teeth. She swallowed chunks of eel, almost uncontrollably in the response to her stomach’s demands.

In the back of Omorfi’s mind, she hated this part of herself. She was a sentient being, not a lower animal! She was not some elaborate black widow spider, luring males to her and eating them when she was done with them! But this part of her mind was currently smothered by this curse that was tied to the sirens’ song and she gorged herself until she’d eaten about four kilos of eel.

And then, Omorfi was herself again.

Faunsto approached the storage room door. He was about to knock when he heard the sobs of the siren. It was safe to enter, so he walked in and held Omorfi in his arms until she’d finished letting out her tears.

[Corpus Magnus]

Grinz sighed and watched Epshelm disgustedly for a few moments, wondering what on Eris had possessed him to agree to meet in this filthy hole, instead of somewhere respectable; say, a sewer or a deserted back alleyway. He waited for a moment, then coughed awkwardly. "So. Epshelm," he began. "I get it. You don't like me - hate me, actually. Rest assured, the feeling is mutual (and for good reason), but we must put that aside for now and concentrate on the important thing: money. Quid pro quo, you understand? Give something to get something. Let's make a deal, right now: you get off my back, I'll get off yours, we both end up with a heap of agenos. Win-win." Epshelm's expression did not change. "Well," Grinz continued after a pause, "I'll take that as affirmative. You told my colleagues at Finé, Inc. that you have a good team of art thiefs..." His voice trailed off as Epshelm started a conversation with the minotaur on his right. Evidently the dwarven criminal had forgotten all about him and their clandestine meeting. Grinz sighed and slid off the stool, pushing his way through the crowd in the direction of the door. "I give up," he said aloud.

Grinz leaned on the door, letting a cool blast of midnight air into the bar - and froze. He turned around slowly, letting his hand drop from the door. His ears twitched, and he listened to the words of the song blasting through the bar for the first time.

Rise up sons and daughters of the lands
This world belongs to newer and just hands
We won’t be set at each others’ throats...

Grinz found his mouth moving along with the crowd, though no noise escaped: "Rise up, rise up, rise up!"

Žvende Grinz had never been a music appreciator; in fact, he could find a half dozen things he hated about the song and its singers immediately. The siren girl's voice was much too high (sopranos, ugh), the loud bass line hurt his eardrums, the clapping fans were irritating, to say the least, and he would never understand why on Eris anyone would enjoy this unearthly screeching they called "music"... but somehow, this song struck him to the core. It wasn't the singer, and it certainly wasn't the tune (if it could be called that, he thought), so it must have been the words. Grinz stood there, halfway out the door, for a solid five minutes until the song ended to roaring applause. He spat on the ground and issued a loud "Booo", as was his custom when hearing a song, but this time there was no feeling in it. Grinz's feet moved of their own accord to the stage. He slipped into the dark corner of the stage, unnoticed by the roaring crowd, and followed the siren girl into a side door. He paused at the sound of heaving sobs, and a man's comforting words: "It's all right, Omorfi, you're all right." Eventually the tears subsided and a man pushed his way past Grinz, leaving the goblin standing alone in the doorway.

He swallowed a few times and shifted from foot to foot as he watched the girl wipe her eyes and exhale shakily. Scattered around her feet were shards of ice and the remains of half-eaten eels in a haphazard mess. Grinz recoiled as a small bit of eel slid out of Omorfi's mouth, slapping to the floor. How barbaric, he thought, but did not leave. Quite unsure of what he was doing or why he was doing it, the goblin criminal cleared his throat and words spilled out of his mouth in a rush. "He-hello," he rushed. "I heard your song, that one you just sang, and I, well- I didn't like it, exactly," he clarified hastily, "but I, I..." His voice trailed off. "I wanted to know what it meant. Why it made me feel so... different."

"Rise up," he whispered to himself, and the two words trembled with power.

[Dalria]

Carver - The Silver Bullet


With the traitor lying dead in a pool of his own blood, the men convened back to their meeting. "Carver, how will we explain his death?" asked one of the men. The men cautiously eyed one another, awaiting the answer from their glorious leader.

"The man pulled a gun on a man of law, I was simply protecting myself. You all saw correct?" the leader's nodded in agreement. "Now, we need to speak about my campaign. I need all the men working day and night to get my name out. I want to set up marches and protests in the name of The Pale Legion and those running in the name of humanity and prosperity" Carver began, soon enough the music began. At first the men didn't make anything of it. They just continued speaking about the possible election outcomes and how they could push for a massive victory for the Pale Legion.

’Rise up sons and daughters of the seas
Won’t get equal justice by bending knees...

The men in the room soon clutched their heads, the song of equality and freedom filled their minds with thoughts of peace. Something these men hadn't thought of since their creation at hands of their parents. As soon as the siren's voice hit Carver, he knew something was wrong. When these images of coexistence with the various races, he flushed his head with images of his father's death. As the song continued, Carver became extremely frustrated and angry with the war that was going on within his mind. As soon as the song stopped, eyes met around the table in confusion.

One of the younger men began to stutter, "I-I-I can't do this... he didn't deserve to die. This is wrong, the enemy is ourselves, the hatred. I can see it in our eyes, Yeshua was speaking to us. Carver... he didn't deserve that death. Please, the Pale Legion has been corrupted" the eyes of those around him grew large. Carver stared at the floor, laughing.

"You spineless coward, that was work of the enemy! Clear these visions, Yeshua would not be proud at your confusion to his cause. You aren't fit for a leadership role boy, for speaking tongue like that I should you killed but I respect your family. Now git" Carver yelled.

"No Carver, I am not leaving. The man you just killed, he was my friend. Justice needs to be brought for all those who the legion has hurt... right?" he looked at the others who timidly shied away. Carver unholstered his weapon and put a bullet right in the skull of the boy.

"Traitorous scum! No, this can't happen" Carver immediately ran out the door of the office and into the crowded bar room, firing his weapon at the ceiling. "Everyone out, arrest that singer!" he cried.

[BettaMin]

It was almost unfair. Neither Abel nor Moe were with the times when it came to music. Moe's tastes were firmly cemented in the music of his youth, which was entirely composed of traditional Maghrebi music. Abel could recite a thousand poems, but had the faintest clue about the names of any modern song. Despite it all, the natural gift of the sirens and the singer's own talent had its effect on the two. Moe, a man who hardly ever smiled, nearly shed a tear. Abel stood on his feet from the first song to the last, finding himself pulled on by the music and the beat. The final song tugged at the heartstring of the pair, bringing life even to the dead eyes of the zombie.

"Oh night, oh beautiful night..." whispered Mohammed, in a quiet prayer, eyes still fixed to the empty spot on the stage where the singer had just departed.

"Marvelous. Just... marvelous." said Abel, in a far away voice, not particularly responding to the ratman. He looked down, shaking his head slightly as if to remind himself where he was. He flashed another broad smile to the ratman bartender and said "A round of drinks for the band and their crew, then. Compliments of - "

Bang.

Abel looked towards the sound of the gunshot, then quickly jumped over the bar, spilling a number of drinks and catching the goblin bartender in the chin with his elbow. Moe followed suit, surprisingly nimble for a rotting corpse. The pair drew their pistols - old double action revolvers, firing .38 Special, but well maintained nonetheless - and checked their ammunition, before sharing a glance.

"Came here specifically to avoid this, didn't we?" whispered Abel.

"I don't think either of us saw this coming, Captain."

[New Socialist South Africa]

The shot caused panic in the bar, but a panic that spread oddly slowly in large part due to intoxication. Those closest to the shot screamed, and several leapt away. Others turned in slow confusing, panicking as they realised what was happening.

Behind his bar Squeek muttered "almighty dammit, not again" before throwing the tip jar to Erol and leaping over the bar to go get Kayliagh and her friends behind the cover of a table. As he leap over he knocked the bottle of fresh red over, and the freshest cows blood spilled slowing from the bottle and onto the floor. Upstairs patrons were beginning to panic, taking shelter behind table or behind the bar. Many a more alcoholic patron making sure not to leave their drink behind.

The bouncers however were springing into action. The muscular satyr bouncer Buckley hurried menacingly down the steps, preparing to headbutt whichever idiot was in the downstairs bar area bringing a firearm into the bar. Upstairs the heavyset orc bouncer Orek forgot all about watching the DJ booth and went rushing down with an angry roar, pulling out his steel baton. The huge minotaur front door bouncer Kamos and zombie bouncer Urgen pushed their way through those of the crowd already fleeing, moving in on the area from behind.

Like storm clouds gathering, the four black shirted bouncers, with the clubs silver thread logo embroidered over the chest, closed in.

Admist the screaming crowd they simply looked like part of the mass, but get close, and whichever idiot had pulled a weapon was about to get tackled, and probably quite a head butting.

Back the hallway, Marcus the manager looked terrified. He had been sipping at his flask of fine Oileán Anársa whiskey for most of the night, to steady his nerves. The song had left him transfixed a while, fascinated by the song, twisted and turned by the message. Left feeling odd and a little guilty. The bullet inside the storeroom had dragged him violently back to reality. Carver had come rushing out, and through the open door he saw two bodies on the floor, one stabbed, and one shot.

"Oh fuck me no!" he whispered, and in a drunken panic turned tail and fled, stumbling for the back entrance. Marcus rarely stayed to help the bartenders and junior managers cash up, he was usually too drunk by then and off partying somewhere else. Tonight however he fled out of fear and panic, moving his heavyset body as far away from the bar as he could as fast as his stubby legs could carry him.

[WhatsamattaU]

Bullets tore through the lower ceiling and into the upper space of The Silver Bullet and the three other band members heard a voice shout, "Everyone out, arrest that singer!" They immediately sped towards the upstairs storage room they'd used earlier, to find Omorfi and an unknown goblin. First things first though, they entered the room, closed the door and barricaded as best they could. Then Cretian laid down on the floor, to add his Minotaur bulk to those boxes. Equitizus, the Centaur, made ready in the unlikely event that anyone broke through.

The shots had startled Omorfi so that the siren forgot all about the mess on the floor and the goblin visitor.

Faunsto, the satyr, turned to the goblin and held out his hand to shake, saying, "Hi," and "what's your name?"

X X X X X

The university radio student had been hoping for a post concert interview and the equipment was still on as the shots were fired. He ducked, but kept looking over the edge of the equipment and saw the human with the gun pointed upwards. The man looked insane. The student began relating the events, over the air.

"This is Homer Kayjack at the Silver Bullet! Shots have been fired! There's a human with a gun, demanding the arrest of the lead singer of Exhallos! The bouncers are closing in on him! Gods! Someone call the police!"

[Corpus Magnus]

Stupid, stupid, Grinz berated himself mentally, when his thoughts were shattered by the loud, unmistakable sound of a gunshot. His eyes widened; his first thought was that the shooter was looking for him - they'd found out about Finé's underworld operations, about the smuggling and forgery and everything else, they were here to arrest him (though he was not quite sure who exactly they could be), he needed to get out -

The goblin spun towards the door at the second shot and dashed out the door when a minotaur slammed into him, sending the goblin skidding back across the floor on painful shards of ice. Behind the minotaur, a centaur and satyr skidded into the room and slammed the door shut, barricading the door quickly and ensuring that no one could get in - but more importantly, Grinz could not get out. The goblin extracted himself out from under the minotaur and backed away on trembling legs. His back hit the cold wall, sending dread trickling down his back. His senses were painfully acute, and he could just make out the shouted words: "Everyone out, arrest that singer!"

It wasn't him. They weren't looking for him. Grinz repeated the words silently several times. He was safe. They were looking for the singer, not him -

No. Oh no no no. His head turned slowly to the side. They weren't looking for him, they were looking for the singer, and the singer was sitting right next to him. He was going to die anyway, whether anyone knew about his illegal operations for Finé, and he lamented briefly on the dismal existence that was life, wondering simultaneously why he was clinging to it so strongly.

The satyr turned around with a friendly smile and grasped Grinz's hand, shaking it firmly and paying no attention to the fact that Grinz's arm was limp and slick with sweat. "Hi. What's your name?" the satyr asked, and the friendly words sounded so alien to the hostile atmosphere that it took Grinz several moments to comprehend the question.

"G-Grinz," he replied shakily. "Žvende Grinz. Who- what - why -" He paused, slowing the pace of his thoughts. "Who are you? What was so - different - about that song? Who fired that gun? Why are they all looking for her?"