Choose Your Poison! Vol.2 [Sovereign Charter Only]

Where nations come together and discuss matters of varying degrees of importance. [In character]


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Posts: 332
Founded: Nov 27, 2015
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Asgareth » Wed Sep 04, 2019 8:58 am

The pub had come alive again. The fake fire roared in the corner, while rain rashed on the roof above. Madeline had emerged under a load of coat – something that had come as a surprise to Tim, who had assumed she and Marcellus had left, or else died. She’d run off to the bathroom, mere seconds before a man came through the door. The man made his way towards Tim, and asked him if he had seen a woman who very much resembled Madeline. Tim gave the man an ocular pat down, and upon establishing him as a threat, slowly moved his hand moved towards his pistol, which was hidden under the bar. He did not draw it; hoping to resolve the situation peacefully. Instead, he peered at the image of the woman before shaking his head.

“Nope. Never seen her. Have you tried the Goblins Head? It’s 6 miles east. She might be hiding out there…. Whoever she is.”

It is worth mentioning, at this point, that Tim would never lie to the legal authorities. He was a law abiding citizen, who always cooperated with the law enforcement. Fortunately for Tim, this man had no authority in Asgareth, and so Tim had little reason to answer the question truthfully.

Tim paused for a moment, as he studied the unconscious body of Marcellus. He smirked, and began to talk again.
“Mind you… that man there?" Tim stated, pointing at Marcellus' unconscious body. "Yeah… I’ve heard rumours about him kidnapping young pretty women for his own sadistic purposes. You’ll probably want to talk to him… I do hope it's not too late...” He smiled at the man, before grabbing a dirty glass and wiping it with his dirty cloth.

It was at this point that a young man approached the bar. He appeared to know Tim, but Tim had no recollection of him. In fairness to Voss, Tim met many different patrons from around the world, and made a sincere effort to forget each and every one of them.
Mezcal? Tim thought. What was that? Did he sell that as well? He had no idea. Instead, he merely smiled and nodded at the young man. “Yes… yes, business is well. The kidney market is particularly strong right now, thanks to the Harrense Civil War. Loads of poor troops needing kidneys; they don’t care where they come from. The trafficking side has more than doubled; I’ve brothels on 4 continents now, and only 3 of them are illegal. And of course –”

Tim stopped as he realised what he had been saying. He gave off a hearty laugh and boomed "Just kidding! The bar is going well. Ignore all that other stuff. I don’t do that. That’s the other guy. Eyepatch, bald…. One leg, you can’t miss him! Yep, not me. I’m just your friendly neighbourhood landlord. Bar's going great. Making lots of money! Too much money! So much money!”

Across the bar, a man laughed heartily. Parolin Yeltsin had been watching the conversation eagerly, and tapped Voss on the shoulder. “If you’re looking to make some extra cash, I know a guy.” He slipped a business card across the bar. It read:

Nelvarn Yeltsin

For all your totally legal smuggling and trafficking needs

Call: 0118 999 881 999 119 725 3 Today!

Member of the newly revamped The Fourth Sovereign Charter. Member of the original Sovereign Charter 17.12.2015-10.03.2019
Drekhi: Asgareth is not a place, it is a vintage

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Romae in Perpetuum
Posts: 249
Founded: Mar 14, 2016
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Romae in Perpetuum » Thu Sep 05, 2019 5:09 pm

Just as Tim pointed to the lifeless figure in the corner it slowly began to stir, as it slowly revived itself.
Fuck me, Marcellus thought, the fuck did I drink last night? He lay they motionless for a few minutes, trying to piece together what small fragments of memory he had left.
There had been a girl, quite a pretty girl…or at least he’d thought so at the time, a drink thrown over him? Then a lot more drinks, then…mostly blank he had to admit. The smell of (probably) expensive perfume all round his blanket of… coats (he must have passed out in the fucking lost and found bin again) coupled with the fact he was stark naked was normally a good sign, however.

Deciding that it would be better to find out straight from the horse’s, or barkeep’s in this case, mouth and following an extremely half hearted attempt to find his tunic (which he soon gave up on) the young man got up, shamelessly stretching in full view of the pub and ambled over to the bar.
"Fuck me, Tim.” He began with a cheer that was hard to maintain given his monstrous hangover. “Where's that bloody cat gone?"
“You ate the cat.” Responded the barman grouchily, not even bothering to look up from his ‘cleaning’.
"I mean the one that shat in my mouth! Ah he’s no fun in the mornings…” The Roman said to the man in the uniform and the one in a suit with a wink.
"It's 9pm! You've been asleep for 168 hours! And you need to buy me a new cat!" The barman said, clearly serious.
"Start serving decent food then!” Marcellus retorted, reasonably (but not entirely) sure he hadn’t actually eaten the cat. “Speaking of which, I’m famished. I'll take my usual."
"Absolutely not!” Tim said, with an odd glint in his eye. I'm not serving another young princess to you! Not after what happened to the last one!" This last comment seemed to be directed to the uniformed man, but the Roman’s head was too fuzzy to be sure.
Leaning back slightly in confusion, the young man creased his brow. “What in Pluto’s name are you on about? Have you been eating those mushrooms that grow under the barrels again?”
"That was a onetime thing dude! And you did it with me!" The older man made an effort to compose himself before adding "You know... that woman.... Matilida, was it? Looked like a man? Bit of a drinking problem."
"At least I stopped after four...who? Drinking problem?” He quickly went pale as he recalled a woman throwing glasses about. “Jupiter Maximus! Don't say I shagged Thora! She said she'd castrate me if she ended up at the clinic again..."

"Thora's dead." Tim replied grimly. "Show some respect!”
“Chlamydia is fatal! Since when!?” Shouted Marcellus, panic in his eyes.
"It's only fatal if you die!" Tim yelled back. "Now tell me! Where did you hide the body?"
"I didn't eat your fucking cat...I think...ask my man, he handles the food."
"You've grown whiskers man! WHISKERS!" The barman exclaimed, pointing a filthy finger in the Roman’s face.
"It's called a beard and it's fashionable, you syphilitic donkey of a man!" Marcellus responded in the same tone, with as much dignity as a hungover nude man standing in a bar can muster,
"Fashionable? Don't make me laugh! You've still got cat flesh in it! And your ears! They're all pointed!"
"With all that organ harvesting, I'd think you could afford your caterax surgery, you blind fuck!"
"Woah! Respect the house rules!" Tim pointed to a blackboard in the corner of the bar, which proclaimed; Rule 1: Patrons are reminded not to discuss recent rumours pertaining to the barman's side business. "Besides, I had the surgery. I had it reversed after seeing your ugly mutt."
"Rumours! You've put up a poster over the booth!" The young man retorted incredulously while gesturing flamboyantly to said poster, clearly advertising 'discount organs, 8 for the price of 7, inquire with Tim.'"
"Yes! Organs!” Tim announced, eyes darting side to side. “You know, massive pianos! Have you never been to Church boy? Are you a sinner?"
To this Marcellus said nothing, merely pointing to the illustration of a man in a barkeeps uniform removing a liver from a corpse.

Tim looked at the illustration and smiled. "Ah, you've noticed. Yes, yes. That's me. 1346... what a terrible plague. Only way to stop it spreading, you know. Remove the liver from the dying. I saved countless; you know. Even had a ballad written about me." Tim looked wistfully into the ceiling, before stating "So then, about the cat. Will you be paying in full, or will you be taking out an instalment plan?"
"Put it on Alvora De'Lance’s tab, she owes me a favour." Marcellus said, feeling too rough to mention that the picture below that showed the barman selling the liver then rolling around in a pile of money. "Now are you bringing me breakfast or what?"
"Whose tab, sorry?" Tim enquired. "And I'm afraid we're out of cat liver. You'll have to have some Vorka cheese."
Going visibly green at the prospect of that biohazard the Asgarthian’s called cheese the Roman shook his head violently, giving himself a (somehow) worse headache. “Forget breakfast…I’ll take the Valrisk special: four vodka shots and four bumps of coke and stick that on Alvora’s tab as well. I know you know her! She damn near burned this place down a few months ago…”
Tim shook his head, while he began to pour. He had never heard of this Alvora woman, though she clearly irritated Marcellus greatly. He was already a fan. Tim tended to his client with great care, and swiftly provided the order. He smirked as Marcellus took the tray. The Roman simply did not realise that the vodka was actually water, and the coke was actually salt.
Looking down at his order Marcellus idly wondered if it was washing powder or rat poison the old man was trying to give him today. Either way, he wasn’t going to try it first. Turning to face the two other men at the bar, still as nude as the day he was born, he gave them as close to a winning smile he could manage with this headache.
“Well gentlemen, I appear to have some going spare. Join me, won’t you?”
Last edited by Romae in Perpetuum on Thu Sep 05, 2019 5:11 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Quidquid latine dictum sit, altum videtur.

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The Natufian Nation
Posts: 39
Founded: Jul 09, 2017
Benevolent Dictatorship

Postby The Natufian Nation » Wed Sep 11, 2019 9:22 am

A series of events then took place that had Voss dumbfounded, looking around to make sure he was in the right pub. Tim had always been a bit of an odd duck but his erratic behavior and seeming obliviousness to the fact he had been selling Natufian mezcal left Voss at a loss for words. Was Tim suffering from some sort of dementia or mental disorder? He had heard a rumor that Asgarthian ale was laced with formaldehyde by the government to inflict slight brain damage to better control the population. He never really believed it as he heard it from a goblin he met in Auruum. But perhaps there was some truth to it?

His rising anxiety was assuaged somewhat when a large man in Heartfilian livery entered and began asking Tim about someone named Madeline. Although the man was clearly not here to socialize, Voss did feel some sense of relief. With the recent trade pact between the Natufian Nation and Heartfilia, he was looking for contacts in the government to help him get preferred docking and shipping rates for the Natufian ranchers he represented.

Before he could gain any sense of the situation, a grown, naked man with surprisingly little body hair emerged and drew Tim’s attention into a confusing conversation about a cat. Voss tried to follow the dialogue but was interrupted by a very shady figure, who was apparently eavesdropping, coming up to him and proffering a business card for very suspicious services. Voss politely thanked Parolin Yeltsin with a noncommittal reply and pocketed the card, making a mental note to discretely discard it first chance he got.

Momentarily, the naked man, who Voss pegged was probably Roman by the nose, accent and complete lack of modesty, offered he and Parolin to share in what appeared to be a meal of dirty water and table salt. Voss looked around the pub for an alternative encounter and considered heading straight for the door. But the pub was livelier than he ever remembered it and worth a quick review. Nearest to him, a large, bearded man with an eye-patch was sitting with a glass of Dragnian vodka. He had just been talking to Parolin before the shifty character had turned to Voss.

There was also a tall, self-important and haughty man drinking champagne, leaning back on the bar and surveying the crowd with a mix of amusement and contempt. The green sash gave him away as being from Haja-Mishu. When his eyes met Voss’s, a sneer crossed his face that said “Keep your dark skin away from me, beast.” Best leave him alone, Voss thought.

His attention then turned to a well-dressed man with reddish hair, a goatee and obsidian tipped cane who suddenly winked out of existence as his nation ceased to exist. Voss gave a startle, but that oddity was nothing compared to the companion he had just been talking to. He couldn’t believe he had missed it before, but towards the center of the pub stood a tall, ominous figure in a heavy purple robe. He couldn’t make out the face but he caught sight of pink-bandaged arms as it recovered a gold coin it had been presenting. As it pulled back the folds of its robe to pocket the coin, he could see it's entire torso appeared to be bandaged. Poor creature, Voss thought, must have been horribly burned. But how brave to be out on the town anyway.

Sitting at a nearby table, Voss then spotted a masked man in what looked like traveling clothes. At least, Voss assumed they were traveling clothes as there was a large backpack on the floor next to him. He had the last swallow of a dark drink in a glass in front of him and was unobtrusively watching the bar. There was something about his demeanor that intrigued Voss. There must be a good story, here, he thought. He made eye contact and gave a slight nod of acknowledgement then motioned to Tim to deliver another round to the man’s table. “I’ll have to make my way over there shortly” he thought to himself.

His more immediate need was to extricate himself away from the nude man inviting him to eat salt. Being unclothed revealed an odor to the man that said he had not washed in at least two days. His attention turned back to the bearded man sitting close by and Voss noticed he had a postcard on the table he must have just displayed to Parolin. It said “Come visit Arcryskia!” and the face of the card was divided into 4 smaller photo squares apparently highlighting the attractions. Voss could see photos of a statue of a stern and unpleasant-looking man, probably a founder of the nation; a large bear-like creature; smiling children aiming assault rifles at a shooting range; and a facility that Voss took to be a gulag.

“Ah, Arcryskia! Looks like an interesting place,” Voss beamed, concentrating his attention on the man and ignoring the obscenity behind him. “I have never been but it looks…lovely. A very industrious nation, I am guessing. Let me get you another drink.” And he motioned to the barman for two more. “Please tell me, what line of work are you in?”


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