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West Commons - The Pale Horse
8:00 PM.

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Martin walked into the Pale Horse, one of his favorite bars. Sure, it was a healthy distance from his home, which was on the other side of the West Commons so that he had to want to go in order to actually get there, but not too far as to warrant it beyond a night's walking distance. It was a comfortable place and despite having an apartment and a comfortable place to lay his head when he slept the day's labors away, it wasn't uncommon for him to drop a few coin to simply sleep in the building's comfortable atmosphere. He never came to get drunk. As a Chupacabra, his liver and his body's metabolism functioned too well to actually reach that stage. He came for the company.

"Look at you, tall, grey, and handsome!"

Martin perked up somewhat and turned his head to get a look to the source of the voice that he knew all too well. Nessa, which was short for her full name that she had refused to tell him approached. She was average height but gorgeous, which was to be expected. She had an hourglass figure and wide hips and a large bust, a cute feminine face, large eyes and the most beautiful silver hair he had ever seen, which fell down to her mid-back. Her skin was an orangey color and her eyes were slitted and red. She more than likely had wings as well that were concealed under her clothing. Behind were was a thin, red tail that ended in a heart shaped spade. Out of her hair were two short slightly curved horns. Save for these few differences, she looked very human. She stepped towards him, flaunting her hips suggestively as she did so, and promptly poked him in the center of the face.

"You're starting to grow a nose! Going for a look that's less Martian Man-Hunter and more creep-ass?"

Martin groaned and have her the middle finger, to which she laughed. She draped her arm across his shoulders and got a bit closer than normal to him. "So what can I get for you?"

"Uh-water ple-" he began, only for her to quite literally disappear in a puff of smoke and reappear holding a glass of an invention hers.

Jack and coke. Based upon the recently invented soft drink titled "Coca Cola" and often shortened to "Coke". Jack was a whiskey and coke was just that. It wasn't that bad actually. "Enjoy, hun." Nessa said, winking at Martin and walking off. Martin in the mean time turned around and stared off into space attempting to figure out what the hell just happened. She ALWAYS did this to him, without fail. This was what, the thirtieth time now?

Dolce

---

Dolce nodded in response to his name. "Thomas..." she repeatedly watched in silence as the man spoke to his fellow engineer, then began his work. She eyes every detail intently, taking in every cut of viscera, every metallic clang, every push and pull needed to make things break to become unbroken. In almost full silence she watched, at times looking from the work to the worker. Regarding Thomas' face and motions. With a face made of wood it was often hard to read how she felt, though her monotone eyes to boot it was near impossible. After some time she broker the lack of speech. "Do you do this often? Is it enjoyable?" She was no longer looking at the man while asking this. Her eyes were looking for any reaction from the flesh golem, during his "treatment". She seemed to genuinely care for it' well being and comfort.

---

Kaja had a tail. Well of course he had a tail he was one of the cat-kin but... someone was following him. He was smart enough not to look back this would be easier if his little witness thought he hadn't noticed him. By quick glances out of the corner of his eye he appeared to be a child glowing with a pale light.

"Could be he's just interested in the tiger." Kaja thought to himself. Though years in Voldoa and as a thief have taught him to never take things for granted."I need to lose this kid." Kaja conspired to himself. So he took a right and started heading to the west commons and one of his clans many business partners establishments the Pale Horse. He needed to be there later to discuss the latest shipment anyways.

---

Baldwin patted at the breast of his new black coat, cane tapping on the ground as he walked away from his residence. He had returned to his residence a while ago to change\, but had chosen to go for a stroll for the day, having the day off had its benefits after all. The cockatrice woman from before, Xilipha, had been rather generous after he spent a few token minutes speaking with her. A young gal, naive to a point. Conversing with her gave him a longing for the older days, so he stuck around for a spell. Sometimes conversation, with no outside motivation, was soothing. He couldn't help but smile as he looked down at himself.

This coat was rather different. For the most part it was an ordinary tailcoat, buttoned on both sides and instead of a collar, it sported a hood. Strange but very well-made. He buttoned it so his badge beneath was completely obscured.

As he strolled into the West Commons, he passed a small brood of lizard-children, batting a wooden ball around the street with sticks. He smiled at the brood and kept on strolling. It wasn't long before he had arrived at his destination.

---

---

With a push, he made his way into the bar, his stride confident as he picked up his cane. The bar's environs were warm, inviting. It was pleasant enough. Looking around at it, every time he stepped into an establishment like it, he couldn't help but reminisce on his days of trawling bars and taverns for potential quarry. He felt slightly amiss without the leaves to brush at his back.

He pulled out a chair at one of the tables and set his cane between his legs, ready to simply enjoy the atmosphere. The crackling of the fire, the other patrons, the bustle of conversation. He smiled, as his stomach rumbled at him. The drink here was appealing, but the act of becoming drunk had lost its appeal many, many years ago. He would simply wave over one of the serving staff and order some food.

Something with meat, preferably.

________________________________________________
November 18 6:47 P.M.
West Commons, The Pale Horse

Morgan entered the already bustling tavern through a servants entrance to the kitchens, quickly sidestepping through the busy kitchen, the cooks with their hands full giving a quick nod of acknowledgement, while the rather industrious fellow with 6 arms and golden skin gave a enthusiastic wave, the Chef de Cuisine beckoning him over.

"Ah Jacque, I see you continue to run this crew ragged, even in my absence," Morgan said as he approached, a chuckle escaping his lips, "I fear the day you fellows decide you've little need of me here and take over."

Jacque chuckled at the now routine back and forth, " Oui, you can be assured that I would sir, but alas the madame, I fear Nessa may yet lash me soon after sir, but...perhaps soon, non," he responded, shooting Morgan a sly look and chuckling, before filling a tankard with the house's signature drink and passing it to Morgan. The Herald of Death joined the laughter, downing a good portion of the drink and patting him on the back as he made his way out of the kitchen

A twinge of pride swelled in him as he saw the merriment within the bar was well in action. There were a few long faces, but they mostly belonged the the poor chaps how decided to sit at the poker table full of cat-kin, whose games rarely came down to who had the better hand than who was the trickiest cheater, a game often with more moves than a chessboard. They'd learn the hard way. Morgan would have to keep an eye on that table for the sign to know when his business partner had arrived.

He finished his standard as he scanned the room, enjoying the warm feeling that spread over him as he put the mug on the bar, nodding to a few of,the patrons who noticed his arrival. As a rule he never got drunk on buisness time, a feat that would be something to see for sure, but people who drink love to see those in charge joining in.

He could see that Nessa was already torturing the patrons, an experience not altogether unpleasant as he knew from first hand knowledge. Her target of choice being that poor nurse from the old birds clinic, a rather promising fellow if low on self-esteem. Morgan had heard rumors he was in line to be the next Hand, but nothing concrete. He'd keep an eye on him through the night and make sure he left with a smile, just in case such tales proved true.

Speaking if Hands, a few seats down from him sat a rather dapper fellow, easily recognizable to Morgan. He decided he'd let the poor boy alone for now as his regular seemed to be searching for the staff. Morgan made his way, greeting the Hand with a tone of familiarity, "Well met Master Baldwin, as always it's a pleasure to see you once again, I'd be happy to offer you something from our menu, at the moment we've a nice glazed ham, Jacque has informed me is so tender, you hardly need chew, choice steaks as always, and a rack of lamb should you wish, and of course ambrosia and ichor available to those of specific diets, readily prepared how they prefer." He paused in his list before continuing on, "However, should you be yearning a taste of the old days, while our stores are running a bit low at the moment, I can assure you that we've a few choice thigh cuts as well as ribs left from a young hefer culled from a farm found on the fringes, served cooked or unaltered should you wish, of such quality I'm told the farmer was loath to be parted from her, though I fear we've only the common fare beverages to go with it," he said, waiting patiently for Baldwin's reply.

---

"I actually started a week ago." Thomas replied to Dolce, as he set up a few holding rings on either side of the leg's bend. "But I know enough about Flesh Golems already. I, uh... I used to help my mother build them."

He began setting a few of the rods the other Engineer had brought him, helping to straighten out the bend. Once all four were in place, he took the most peculiar tool the Engineer had brought him; a spraying canister of some sort.

"And I wouldn't say it's enjoyable, but... it's definitely safer."

He began spraying the Flesh Golem's organic segments with the faint red mist in the canister. Almost immediately, the meat began to quiver and stretch, creeping up and down the new components, overlapping them, reinforcing them.

Thomas stood up, and slowly but surely, so did the Flesh Golem. It rose up from the ground, bellowing lowly. And its leg was holding together nicely. Thomas and Dolce both stood aside as the Flesh Golem bellowed once more and began its stride through the streets once again. Dolce seemed to own a look of genuine gladness at the construct's repair.

Thomas watched the Flesh Golem wander off. After a moment he turned back down to Dolce and said, "Well... that's done. It was, uh... a pleasure meeting you."

"Likewise." Dolce replied, bowing her head ever slightly.

Thomas nodded. "Take care." He said as he turned, and the two parted ways.

---

Thomas had spent the rest of his afternoon wandering the other districts, getting a feel for places he'd yet to visit. The wonderful, enchanting greenery of Arboretum, the varied nonhumans of the East Commons, and the mundane but lively vibe of the Market. All good fun, but he eventually wound up back in the West Commons. Just seemed like the place to be for a lot of folks.

He was feeling a little famished at the time so, he searched for a place to have his dinner. And he found it in the form of a tavern that, given the very positive talk he'd picked up during his first week, seemed like he should finally visit.

The Pale Horse.

Hopefully the Voldoan population inside wouldn't mind having an Engineer among them. Thomas, only the slightest bit hesitant, walked in through the front door.

---

Marcel sat at his table, feeling rather content. He had finished off the last few sips of his ale and his egg sandwich, and was now simply enjoying the ambiance. He closed his eyes, bruxing loudly. The fire was warm, his belly was full, and the air was full of laughter and music. Marcel paused for a moment, twitching his nose. It also smelled of man. He opened his beady eyes, turning to his side. Sure enough, an engineer sat, checking a timepiece. He was surely an engineer. He had to be. There wasn't a single man in Voldoa who wasn't. Marcel clenched his eyes for a second, forcing a bit of anxiety out of his head. Marcel knew this man had to be an engineer, but it didn't stop him from worrying. Fortunately for him, something occurred to him -- If this man was an engineer, that meant he would've had to have gone underground.

Marcel stood, brushing the crumbs off of his overalls. "Bonsoir, monsieur." He said, taking the seat in front of the engineer, who was a bit startled by his intrusion. Before the man could say anything, Marcel turned and tapped the shoulder of a server who had been passing by. "Un café, s'il vous plaît." He turned back to the engineer, bruxing with delight. "You are engineer, oui? I 'ave always want to know, how you say," He paused for a moment, snapping his fingers as he struggled to find the right words. "What is it like down there?" He stared at the engineer with unblinking eyes and baited breath -- Marcel was legally not allowed to dig more than three feet, which tormented him immensely. If he couldn't go underground, he could at least listen to the stories of someone who could.

Lews VonHausser

---

The young starchild kept in pace with the cat and the cat. Taking in details about both he took his time in getting what he wanted. What he wanted was information of nearly any form, starting with visual. Sighing loudly he decided that was enough sightseeing. Quickening his step the young boy began to come up abreast to the cat-kin. "Sir? May I ask where you are going?" Stranger danger was not something Lewis had learned of. He smiled faintly up to the taller party, not aware of where he was or the possible danger he maybe in. Tripping nearly Lewis realized his pace. The man was moving much faster then he was used to. Some sense of pride would not allow him to show he was struggling to keep up though.

---

---

Jasper, having a delicious moment to himself, decided against expending extra energy to be sociable, and went for the common place alternate option. Shifting form in a shadowy haze from black feline, to spiffy human, he circled around the familiar building. Stretching and creaking into his new body he grinned self satisfied in front of the building. Fixing his bow-tie and sidling up to the door, Jasper prepared his entry. Bursting into The Pale Horse with gusto, the familiar waved his arms in a wide arc, having each hand open to each side. "Ladies and gentleman! I have arrived." His silky confident voice rang above the room, drawing eyes, some annoyed some amused. Yet another regular has appeared. He prowled the floor, sliding over to the bar on a cloud of magic and shade. "A martini so dry I should see dust on the olive." He grinned his Cheshire grin at the bar-hand. "Please." He added with a coy tone.

November 9, 11:34 PM
Somewhere in Great Britain

Oswald trudged through the field, the sound of hounds a ways behind him. He can't believe they found him, again. Damn Silver Battalion. The rows of corn towered above him, concealing him from the moonlight. Oswald stumbles out of the field, his eyes falling on a small farmhouse. He runs to the window, looking around him wildly before peering in. He saw a quaint dining room, a candle breathing it's last on the table. He creeps around the side of the house, spotting an old barn, a dark forest behind it. He glances back at the corn field, the sound of baying hounds getting gradually closer. Oswald sighs and jogs to barn, spying into it cautiously. It was mostly empty save for an ancient mirror propped up against the back wall. Slowly makes his way towards the mirror, he gasps at what is looking back at him. A hairy, graying, gaunt man in tattered clothes is looking back at him. Dear God, he looks just like someone who would turn into a werewolf. Oswald's head snaps back to the barn door, the hounds getting closer. He races towards the entrance, exiting swiftly and taking off into the forest.

Trees fly past him as he sprints through the forest, leaves flying away in his wake. Stutters to a halt, panting, his hands on his knees.

"Tired, are you?"

Oswald jumps back, his hand flying to a knife stashed in his trousers. A grizzled looking man in sliver armor steps out from the shadows, a hand casually resting on the hilt of an ornate long blade. "You have been running quite a lot lately, haven't you?" Oswald eyes him warily, he starts to slowly pull the knife out. The man's eyes flash and Oswald's hand is sliced open, the dagger flying away. Oswald yells and falls backward, clutching his now bleeding hand. The man sighs, the tip of his sword covered in Oswald's blood. "I am Commander Richard Boothman, of The Silver Battalion. But you most likely guessed my organization." Boothman sauntered around the downed professor, trailing the sword an inch away from his face. "I used to be a huge fan of your teachings in history, Professor. But that was before I knew, of course. Before I knew what you were."
Oswald glared at him, his mind working in overtime, trying to find a way out of this situation. Boothman shrugs, raising his long sword. "Oh well, it's been a long night, I think I'm going to finish this no-"

Boothman pauses, his eyes wide with shock. Blood erupts from he commander's mouth and he falls to his knees, slumping over on the ground. Dead. Oswald looks at the body with with surprise, then his head snaps up at the sound of movement. A man emerges from the darkness, a bow in hand. "Ello, you must be Oswald. I'm Henry, I'm here to take you to Voldoa."

---

Thomas was a little taken aback by the mole-man's appearance, more so than his question. Not the strangest Voldoan around but, still enough to startle him. And the question, bold as it was to ask...

"That's..." Thomas replied quietly, "I'm... not permitted to speak of that."

Marcel's nose twitched for a second. "Ah, yes, sorry." He paused for a moment longer, nodding to the server as he received his coffee. "Merci."

He turned back to Thomas, stirring the sugar in his coffee with one of his long, ivory-white nails. "But, would permit saying, how you say, story?" He sipped his coffee, staring intently into Thomas' eyes with his own unnervingly blank mole-eyes. "I miss the underground very much, you see. Do you see, in your "Undercity", eh... taupe personnes?"

"How about..." Thomas replied, raising a hand very slightly, "We start with introductions... and then I will tell you what I am allowed to tell you?"

---

Baldwin smiled at the familiar tones and manner of Morgan as he made his way up to Baldwin's table and listed off the culinary options available to him. So polite, Morgan was, as always. Baldwin briefly wondered if he would receive the same treatment if his Hand status was not as pronounced as the badge upon his chest. His smile did not waver as he tapped his cane upon the floor, Morgan now finished with his list of foods.

"Morgan, I would be forever grateful if you could just bring me something simple. Something fresh. Preferably without too many bones or fiddly-bits. Some thigh sounds absolutely divine right now. And bring me something strong to drink, I'm in need of a good, pure burn if you have it..."

Baldwin smiled again, unfaltering and warm. He did enjoy chatter, but his stomach was growling at him as if it had taken control of his vocal cords away from him. He began to fish some money from his coat pocket, a few notes should more than cover the meal and the tip.

---

---

Baldwin turned the key in his lock until the lock reported with a loud click. The creaking was as loud as ever before being silenced by a loud slam. A nice night out and a lovely meal, but his sleep had been restless and it was beginning to show in his manner. Slouching, groaning and shuffling of his feet had already begun to show as he crossed from the West to the East Commons and by the time he had turned onto his street, his body was almost ready to fall apart.

A full belly helped, but his stomach still turned as he looked around at his home. Even in the dark he knew what was there. He didn't even bother to light a candle. He knew what he would be met with. Furniture disheveled, draperies and carpets torn and bunched up here and there, clothing everywhere in piles. The air smelled heavily of musk and sweat. He stuck a foot out and pulled it back with a hiss as his foot slid a short distance. In the dark he could smell it. It was...

Metallic.

Blood. He still hadn't cleaned since this morning. His chest throbbed angrily, or so he thought. With a growl, he hung up his coat and cane before proceeding to his bedroom, undressing as he went. He passed the statue of the marble woman and man, both of their faces marred by deep scores like an animal's claw-marks. Past the severely torn oil-painting, faint scraps at the edges colored green and orange and brown. Leaves for every season strewn about the floor.

Baldwin fell to his bed, half-made and still stained with red. He could concern himself with all of his affairs before his work began tomorrow. Surely the people would need someone to speak for them, and that was more important than a little cleaning around the domicile.

His eyelids grew heavy and finally sleep took him.

---

The second wheel.

Kantus had entered through one of the house’s windows. Baldwin never cared to lock them, both because he always forgot to, and that he was so sure of himself being able to fend off any potential burglars. And oh, he could. But Kantus was not here to rob the Bergkonge of his ruined paintings or splintered furniture. No, he was here for what he was owed.

Kantus peered through the darkness and crept his way towards Baldwin’s quarters. His steps were silent, feet hidden by his robes. He creaked the door open and stepped inside, seeing the absolute mess that was the Hand’s room, and the man himself sprawled out over his blood-riddled bed.

Kantus had plenty of needles at hand in case a method of pacification was necessary. He stepped forward, avoiding the leaves and cloths, and loomed over Baldwin. He eyed his sleeping form for a moment before extending one of his arms and placing it on the sleeping Bergkonge’s shoulder.

“Baldwin.”

---

Baldwin's head throbbed as he turned over in his red-riddled sheets, tangled like a beast in a thicket. The scent of chemical cleaner and feathers hit his nose and his heart stopped for a moment, compelling him to spring back off his bed with a growl. The familiar silhouette of Kantus' avian form in the darkness put him at ease. He still stuttered and scoffed all the same, straightening his back with a series of loud clicks.

"K-Kantus, you fffffff-... fool of a bird! I've told you that skulking around is no way to my heart, have I not?" He said with a slowly lowering tone of surprise. He managed half a sigh before reaching for his ruined sheets. It had only just occurred to him that he was stark naked, and while he was comfortable, courtesy was to be remembered when addressing a guest. Invited or not.

Baldwin pushed his hair back and huffed, looking his company up and down silently. He held the concerned look for a moment before turning to his bedside and dropped the sheets once more to light a candle before sitting back down and covering up.

"Well, you've made your way in, so I am guessing you weren't in need of a cup of sugar. What reason do you have for calling upon me at this hour?"

---

Knox's steps were careful along the cold cobblestones, the street was nearly empty as he strolled down the sidewalk. His bright red eyes darted nervously between the ground, the street ahead and the package in his arms. His wings lay limp wrapped around his shoulders like old cloth, lightly swaying in the wind. Not quite to colorful and vibrant as before, more as if he were wearing a robe. No flying right now after all, he couldn't under orders from Mr. Franzetti. All that either of them knew about this package was that it was instructed as being very valuable and fragile, so extra care was to be taken with it.

In his ruined boots, he hopped from footpath to dirt path, just as the directions told him to. He looked up from the piece of paper tacked on to the parcel to gaze up at the house upon the hill. It was rather ominous up there, it almost made him not want to go up and make the delivery, but if it needed to be done at this time of night, then he would need to buck up and do his job. Like a good worker. Like a dependable worker. The package was heavy and solid, and it was beginning to tire his arms out.

Soon enough Knox had reached the front door of the ominous house. He straightened his uniform, adjusted his hat and knocked on the door.

---

Lounging to herself, Priscilla sat in her living room. Lavish with red and black furniture the room was dimly lit, a corner of the wall lined with bookshelves, another corner occupied by a dusty piano and an entire wall lined by tall thin windows. Her couch wrapped around a large dark oaken table, with coasters and two glasses partly filled with scotch. The spider woman had her legs crossed over another, a small black arachnid danced on her moving fingers in front of her face. "So you say..." She commented to the little creature, her sultry tone washing over the room in a hush. A knocking at the door drew her ebony eyes to the doorway. Around the corner the door apparently hid a new guest. "Busy today." She smiled at the mystery. Her small friend retreated down her arm and under her sleeve. Her usual black rustled she stood.

Opening the door just enough to show very little, she greeted the man behind it with a curious and cool smile. She looked him up and down, scanning him for what he was. A moth man, apparently. She wondered what a being of his nature could want with him. "How may I help you this fine evening?" She asked with a slight tilt of the head. She eyed the package in his hands. She hadn't ordered anything...

---

“My favor.”

Baldwin winced a bit. "The bloody favor?” He replied, “Well, I'd love to help you preen, but can't it wait until morning?"

Kantus didn’t bother responding to the joke. He simply spoke closer to the point. "Did you hear the announcement earlier regarding the Fifty-Eighters?" Baldwin raised a brow as he knelt down and picked up a few random articles of clothing. "Who did not, with that lovely voice sounding out from every corner and cranny in Voldoa?" He replied. Surely, if Announcer Amelia were here, she’d be outright disgusted with the Bergkonge.

“We have less than thirty minutes. We are leaving. Now.” Kantus said, “Dress warm.”

“For what purpose?” Baldwin replied, as he threw a heavy coat of fur over his shoulder.

“You will know soon.”

---

Kantus and Baldwin had both made haste for their destination, which Baldwin was still mostly left in the dark regarding. They stopped at a cluster of buildings being overlapped by vines and waited beside a wall. Kantus watched the Engineers’ watchtower in the distance while Baldwin kept an eye on their surroundings, making sure no one was following them, as per the Lord of Owls’ instructions.

“What…” Baldwin said, silently, “The bloody hell are we waiting for?”

“Our diversion.” Kantus replied, as the clock he’d been keeping track of in his head this whole time reached the thirty-second minute of the hour.

---

November 18, 11:32 PM
Between Overlook and Arboretum

Grob whistled "drunken sailor" as he set up his distraction in view of the Engineer's tower. When he was done, a pile of firecrackers and fireworks laid before him with a few flares littered about. "Good work boys!" He announced turning to his three Gremlin colleagues. "We're getting good money for this so you better 'ave wired this proper." He warned, knowing full well that the Gremlins knew what happened if they messed up. "Figg, count us down!" He said, pointing at one of the gremlins dramatically, lighting a match after. "Three!" The gremlin said. The two others set about lighting the flares. "Two!". Flares lit. "One!". Grob threw the match into the pile and immediately running and vaulting over a piece of scrap corrugated metal. The three other gremlins scattered away too. The fizz, bangs and whizzes that filled the air was like music to Grobs' ears, he and his boys did a good job. He laughed maniacally as he leant back and let the tools do their work.

---

“Now.”

Kantus made a sprint towards the wall bordering the Arboretum district, separating it from the outside mountain range. As he ran, his garb began to rise up from the fringe, and from both sides rose two wings of ragged black feathers. With one swift motion, he jumped and flung himself over the wall with one flap, cutting it as close as he could, landing on the snowy rock outside and immediately retracting his wings. He looked back towards the watchtower, seeing its lights still focused on the ongoing diversions.

Moments later, Baldwin had joined him. He landed beside Kantus and stood up, his hands reverting to their original form from a pair of meaty claws with bone spikes protruding from them.

“Might I ask why we didn’t just use one of the passageways?” Baldwin questioned, brushing some snow off his coat. “This isn’t a prison, old bird.”

“As far as the Engineers know, we are both sound asleep in our homes.” Kantus replied, “We cannot have our departure be put on any form of record.” He began moving forward, towards the bordering mountaintops, feet pushing aside the snow.

“Now come.” Kantus said, “We must descend.”

---

"Just interested in the tiger it seems, still I need him to think it's mine or he could rat me out." Kaja thought. "Well if you must know young cub, me and Aasiya were heading to the Pale Horse for some food and business. Aasiya won't settle for cheap Ambrose only wildmeat for my sweet." Kaja was hoping the kid was buying it he only had to make it to the tavern then Morgan or one of his fellow thieves could distract him.

Meanwhile the tiger seemed to be enjoying her new name.

____________________________________________________

November 18, 7:55 P.M.
West Commons, The Pale Horse

Morgan smiled as he relayed the order to Jacque, letting him know to grab the meat from the reserves. Morgan picked up the notes from the table and putting them in the till before excusing himself, returning moments later with an ornate glass bottle filled with an amber liquid. "This, my friend," he started, waving towards the bottle with a theatrical flourish, "is a little something a few associates of mine were able to procure from beyond the walls, I've been assured it's a rather stout drink," he said, placing two short glasses on the table, a few cubes of ice going in before filling them with the scotch.

"I've never been one to second guess my associates, but we may as well check their claims," Morgan claimed with a grin, a pop of his shoulder as he brought up his own cup lifting his head from it's resting space on his shoulders, seeming to slide down his arm in a practiced motion before stopping in front of him. A thin purple mist emerged from the hole, seeming to reach for it recently departed appendage, before being quelled quickly as he dumped the entirety of his glass in, blinking sharply as he felt his body take the drink, "Hellfire and damnation, I may have ripped the fellows off for the price I played." He said, shrugging as he poured himself another glass, "C'est la vie," he finished, seeing Jacque set the ordered food in front Baldwin. The food in front of him hardly resembled that of the aforementioned heffer, the coloration a light pinkish-gray.

"Do enjoy, I'm told she should be particularly succulent, the poor dear being quite young," he said, a sly grin on his face as he placed his head back upon its original place, " but I hear that's how the Lord of the Mountain has always preferred his meals."