[OPEN ROLEPLAY] The Spinning Skull Inn & Tavern

[Cramulus]

Ahh, come in, come in! Welcome to the Spinning Skull Inn & Tavern! I'm surprised you found it, given that it doesn't have a sign, only a pixelated, spinning skull. We're the last friendly house on the road to Blood Gargle Canyon, so you'd better get your comforts while you can.

Pull up a stool. We have Dwine, Ale, Haunted Spirits, and a mead brewed with precious gemstones which we call Dragon Cum. Have a drink and describe your heaving breasts, maybe tell me a bit of your sexy back story. Are you on some adventure right now? *leans in closer* Do you want to be? *wink*

[altered]

Put out a big wide basin of old milk. I am Fraudulence. I have no home, I am a Beggar-Knight of Eris Militant. You might have heard of my ventures, mutating the innocent and unsuspecting into rampant, delirious many-headed freaks from the meat-painted palaces of Elgym to the Weird Shores of Goroth.

I'm cursed to be a bad omen, and the calamitous twin stars of Damocles's Sword and The Other Shoe hang over my head.

I'm here to stink up your bar and disgust your customers into leaving.

Listen, I want that milk chunky, you hear? And that basin had better be a damn bird bath. I have to soak my ass in it.

[Cramulus]

*looks you in the eye as he slowly pours chunky milk into a chalice. The warm milk makes semi-liquid plip-plop sounds as it splashes into the basin.*


"A curse, ye say? Well I know of only one way to cure a curse. It's to go into the Dank Forest, on a new moon, armed with only a doobie. You must seek out the Weresax.

If you are pure of heart, it will appear as an innocent forest creature. But if you have any doubt, or sin, or alt-right tattoos, you will instead encounter the monster in it's Crinos Form--that of a dire saxaphone!

And oh ho, the hagravens weep for any who run afoul of the dreaded weresax in its Crinos Form."

[Freeky]

bellies up to the bar, saggy tiddies distressingly unsupported 'lo barkeep. can i get a, uh, oh what'd you call it, that thing you say is good that you offer? i'm in rough shape. i've been damned by a um. shit whatr- demon! damned by a demon, to be always forgetting what words i need in the uhhhh short period of time when words come out. it's a real.... squints angrily thingy, possibly starts with an H.

[chaotic neutral observer]

Yah, I'll have a mug of whatever they're havin'.  *Waves vaguely*.

And a bowl of that--gawd, it smells like a lizard's bunghole.  Yah, and a bowl of that lizard-arse stew.  Don't be stingy with the meat, hear?

You don't get too many imperial types round here, yah?  That suits me fine, just fine.  Not that I'm wanted or nothing, just me and them don't get along.

So, how'd you get that skull going like that?  Hidden wires, or what?  Y'know, lots of things that folk thinks is magic, is just done with wires.  Why'd you think them wizards wear them long robes?  It's to hide the wires.

[altered]

Fraudulence drops trou and settles ass directly into the chunky milk.

Ahhhh, there we go. I think you misunderstand, barkeep: this is no hex of witchcraft or 80s music. This is a curse of nature. The very stars themselves are actually overhead, beaming terrible fortune down on my head.

It gives me a hell of a racket as a prophet, since if I stay somewhere long enough all sorts of terrible things are sure to happen. Take this milk: fresh as from a goat's tit after some time soaking my ass in it, but now what do you do with be-arsed milk? You throw it out, no one will drink that. Next, that roof will protect you from a comet, and you won't even have to pay for repairs. Soon people get to talking, and it's all downhill from there.

No, this is a mighty curse. My quest is far simpler: finding honest work, instead of scamming people with false prophecy.

[Cramulus]

bellies up to the bar, saggy tiddies distressingly unsupported 'lo barkeep. can i get a, uh, oh what'd you call it, that thing you say is good that you offer? i'm in rough shape. i've been damned by a um. shit whatr- demon! damned by a demon, to be always forgetting what words i need in the uhhhh short period of time when words come out. it's a real.... squints angrily thingy, possibly starts with an H.

*slides a Crystal Pepsi & Coke down the bar - the foamy head sloshes over as you catch the mug*

Ah yes, you're not the first to complain of the Harry Potters. They have been terrorizing the roads recently, some say they are ruled by some sinister force or screen actor's guild, hidden deep within the Dank Forest.

A Harry Potter only has like 4 hit points, but mercy, there are a lot of them. Their danger is their numbers. Be on your guard.

[Cramulus]

Yah, I'll have a mug of whatever they're havin'.  *Waves vaguely*.

And a bowl of that--gawd, it smells like a lizard's bunghole.  Yah, and a bowl of that lizard-arse stew.  Don't be stingy with the meat, hear?

ONE LIZARD ARSE STEW, COMING UP

that will be 41 crumpets

You don't get too many imperial types round here, yah?  That suits me fine, just fine.  Not that I'm wanted or nothing, just me and them don't get along.

Nae, the Empire mostly ignores us, as long as we report on the criminals that come through here.

*looks at the wanted poster right next to CNO's head*

Hmm.....

[Cramulus]

Fraudulence drops trou and settles ass directly into the chunky milk.

Ahhhh, there we go. I think you misunderstand, barkeep: this is no hex of witchcraft or 80s music. This is a curse of nature. The very stars themselves are actually overhead, beaming terrible fortune down on my head.

It gives me a hell of a racket as a prophet, since if I stay somewhere long enough all sorts of terrible things are sure to happen. Take this milk: fresh as from a goat's tit after some time soaking my ass in it, but now what do you do with be-arsed milk? You throw it out, no one will drink that. Next, that roof will protect you from a comet, and you won't even have to pay for repairs. Soon people get to talking, and it's all downhill from there.

No, this is a mighty curse. My quest is far simpler: finding honest work, instead of scamming people with false prophecy.

ah, I see. Count yourself as lucky that you don't have to tangle with the WERE SAX -- As for work? well, maybe have a gander at THIS


*the bartender hands you a rolled up paper. When you unroll it, you see the words WANTED: DEAD OR ANNOYED, and then a picture of Chaotic-Neutral-Observer. Underneath, it reads "FOR SCAMMING PEOPLE WITH FALSE PROPHECY"*

[altered]

Fraudulence eyes the paper suspiciously.

Is there meant to be a payout on this? Or is is just volunteer work? I have to eat somehow, barkeep, and people don't take kindly when I turn them into screaming gorgons so I can eat all their snake-hair — stage whispering (it's like meaty spaghetti.)

Besides, there's no way someone this ridiculous looking exists in these lands. That, that there, is like a kobold playing Saint Elvis the Illithid in a third rate production of Little Shop of Vore. This is, no doubt, a prank.

[Cramulus]

(( ))


A reward?? Oh yeah, that

*the bartender unrolls the paper a little bit further, it reads*

REWARD: 41 CRUMPETS AND A ROOM AT THE SPINNING SKULL INN & TAVERN


oh, hm. Well that's interesting. I guess the Emperor will reimburse me for that...?

well never mind that for now... tonight you'd best keep your sword sharp. And your wits sharper!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*the bartender bellows out a belly-laugh which carries on significantly longer than is appropriate*

[Freeky]

bellies up to the bar, saggy tiddies distressingly unsupported 'lo barkeep. can i get a, uh, oh what'd you call it, that thing you say is good that you offer? i'm in rough shape. i've been damned by a um. shit whatr- demon! damned by a demon, to be always forgetting what words i need in the uhhhh short period of time when words come out. it's a real.... squints angrily thingy, possibly starts with an H.

*slides a Crystal Pepsi & Coke down the bar - the foamy head sloshes over as you catch the mug*

Ah yes, you're not the first to complain of the Harry Potters. They have been terrorizing the roads recently, some say they are ruled by some sinister force or screen actor's guild, hidden deep within the Dank Forest.

A Harry Potter only has like 4 hit points, but mercy, there are a lot of them. Their danger is their numbers. Be on your guard.

vigorous nodding, followed by somehow clumsy slurping fuckin harry potters, man.

[Frontside Back]

A gush of wind and a noisy thump betrayed the door letting in yet another poor soul. In the doorway stands a boy, maybe 11 to 12 of age, unkempt black hair and round glasses only barely holding together with some tape. He's wearing red and yellow striped scarf and a ridiculous looking black robe, both stained and scruffy. In his forehead there's a very visible scar shaped like runic "s".

Excuse me, I was looking for the platform 9 3/4 and got terribly lost. Do you mind if I use the bathroom?

[Cramulus]

*the bartender takes cover*

[Doktor Howl]

The Yawning Portal has better beer.

I want to talk to the skull manager.