The Situation at the Slippery Whip

"Do you think the doors and windows will hold?"  Shax gestured at the window in Elias' room above the Slippery Whip Tavern.  His end table had been placed crookedly across the window, and nailed into place.

Elias, hammer in hand, cocked his head to the side.  "For awhile, at least.  Long enough for us to gather some information from all those glorious miscreants in the bar downstairs, and come up with some sort of plan."

Percinius had a distasteful look on his face.  "Am I to believe you have taken up residence with ladies of carnal commerce?  That you live under the same roof as whores?"

Bastille chuckled.  "All the better to tend to their tender souls.  What better way to heed their plaintive cries for the loving attention of a knight, most holy?"

Percinius scratched his head.  "I hadn't thought of that.  If you can't get the whore to come to church, bring the church to the whore.  Good show.  Unorthodox, but I'm guessing effective."

Bastille smiled a wolf's grin.  "I'd like to think so."

Murdock looked from one paladin to the other, and then changed the subject.  "So...we've got the windows and doors secured, top and bottom...I think its time we started canvassing the survivors downstairs.  No reason to waste time."

Elias walked toward the door.  "It didn't look like any buildings on this block were on fire yet...but it might just be a matter of time.  Let's get to this."

------------------

As our heroes descended the stairs from the rooms-for-rent to the bar, they took in the scene below.

Lily was seated at the bar, speaking with the day-bartender, Jacko.  Lily's green dress was torn, and stained black in places with blood.  It was other people's blood.  Elias had checked on this as soon as they had arrived, and had played off his concern as soon as he realized she was uninjured.  Jacko's standard level of grooming perfection had failed him.  His clothes were marred with soot and smoke, and his hair was windblown and wild.  They seemed to be conspiring about something together.

The night-bartender, Smythe, was placing a few more nails in the benches he had hung across the front door.  His already grim face had achieve a new level of grimness, and he appeared to be trying to lose himself, and his worries, in busy work.

Plavo the bard sat upon a stool on his shabby stage, his lute laying on the ground at his feet.  He was cradling his right arm, the right sleeve of his multicolored shirt soaked with blood.  His face was covered in soot, except for two clean streaks where his tears had run.

Fine Phil sat in his regular booth, not a speck of dirt of blood on him.  He had a glass of imported Whiskey, from the Empire of course, in his right hand.  He was taking in everything happening in the bar, in that easy manner of his.  A smile played across his lips.

Bette sat at a table by herself, both of her hands outstretched on the table.  She looked awkward sitting there.  It occurred to Shax that Bette had spent a lifetime eating scraps in alleys, and had probably spent very little time sitting in a chair at a table like this.  Bette had run into our heroes just a block away from the Slippery Whip, and had come with them for shelter.  She looked tired and scared, but no more tired and scared than she always looked.

There were 4 Takti children crowded around a prone figure on the ground on the other side of the bar.  A puddle of blood had gathered around their bare feet.  Through the gaps between crying children, it was evident they were mourning a dead Takti child on the floor, an improvised dagger sticking out of his face.

At a nearby table, three merchants, of Imperial stock, sat blankly staring into their untouched mugs of beer.  They were alive, but they had the look of men who had lost everything.

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PART TWO - OUTLINED BY MARK SIMON AND FLESHED OUT BY MARK STINSON

As our heroes descended the stairs down into the bar, Shax stated matter-of-factly, "If any of them have been infected, we'll need to kill them...quickly." 

Shax parted from his friends, and went to check on Bette.  She looked up at him with a wary eye, but when she saw who it was, her look softened.  Shax leaned on the table, to bring himself down to about eye level.  "I'm glad we ran into you in the street.  You truly are a survivor, aren't you?"

Bette brushed her dirty hair out of her eyes.  "I...I guess.  Sure beats the alternative."

"How about the other kids?  Did they make it?  Have you seen any of them?"

Worry and sorrow filled Bette's eyes.  "I was alone...alone when the dead began flooding the streets.  I managed to scamper up a drainpipe onto a roof, and started making my way here.  I wasn't that far away, and I figured if I could find you guys I might have a chance.  But...I don't know about the other kids.  They are survivors too, I suppose...but I'm just not sure.  Gods...I hope..."  Tears filled Bette's eyes, and one ran down her dirty cheek.

Shax put a scaled hand on Bette's shoulder.  "Where would they go?  Is there some way we could find them?"

Bette shook her head.  "If they are alive, then they are lying low.  Likely scattered, and went to their favorite hidey-hole to wait things out.  I doubt I'd be able to find them..."

The Dragonborne gestured to the Takti children across the bar.  "What about them?  Do you know them?  What's their story?"

Bette looked their way, and then back at Shax.  "Street urchins, like me...but organized.  Takti are tribal...and those kids are chosen family.  Call themselves the Wilasha.  The one with his hand on the chest of the dead one...that's Kwame.  He's their leader."

Shax looked over at the boy Bette called Kwame.  He could not have been more than 12 years old.  But, there was something in his eyes and the expression on his face that made it very easy to believe he was the leader of the Wilasha.  Shax put a hand on Bette's shoulder.  "Get some food...and some water.  Have them put it on my tab.  You'll need your strength in the coming days."

Shax walked over near the Wilasha boys.  "If he was your friend, I'm sorry for what has happened."

The boy Bette called Kwame looked up at Shax, and nodded.  But said nothing.

Shax stepped a little closer.  "Had he turned?  Was it you that put him down?"

Kwame grimaced with inner pain.  "Shelako, me bae.  Rwarnata ata dead."

Shax recognized the language.  It was Dasha, a street language in Daruth, and an odd mix of Imperial Common, Takti, and the Aeruni languages.  "Do you speak Imperial Common?"

Kwame nodded.  "Some little.  He hurt.  Took death when we shelter in bar.  Then awake again, but bad.  I...I kill."

Shax shook his head.  "Well, I am sorry you had to do that.  But, it showed great foresight and maturity making that decision.  You likely saved lives by stopping him from attacking others in the bar.  I am sure he was a good friend...a brother.  And he would not have wanted to hurt any of you...or to be like that.  To be bad.  So, you have honored him this day by giving him the peace of his natural death."

Kwame reached down and pulled his improvised dagger from his friend's head.  "Ukabonga"

Shax turned to everyone in the bar, and in a voice loud enough for them all to hear, but not so loud to attract attention from outside the bar, he said, "We should all eat, and drink water.  We will need our strength.  We will need our heads clear, and our wits about us."  He turned to Lily and Jacko.  "If you are charging for the food, put it on my tab.  I'm good for it."

Lily shook her head.  "No, no.  The foods on me.  We have a stew being prepared, and bread to dip in it.  We'll all share a meal, and ready ourselves for what comes next."

Shax returned to Elias, Percinious, Bastille, and Murdock.  "I believe Plavo is injured.  No one else seems either injured...nor diseased.  But, Plavo's arm appears to be blood and he's cradling it as if in great pain.  How should we handle this?"

----------------

PART THREE - OUTLINED BY JAY, AND FLESHED OUT BY MARK STINSON

While Shax was talking to Bette and the Wilasha boys, Percinious went to the bar.

"My good man.  Can I impose on you for a cloth and a bowl of water?  I'm covered in the fluid and vitals of the dead, and would see at least my face and hands clean."

Jacko hesitated a second, as though Percinious accent or demeanor seemed odd to him.  But, then he filled a bowl with water and fetched a cloth and laid it on the bar.  "There you go, Sir.  Though I'm not sure it will make much of a dent.  How many of those things...did you kill?"

Percinious dabbed the cloth in the water and dabbed at his face, staining the cloth red and black.  He looked upwards, as though calculating the number.  "Well, I'm quite sure I wasn't counting, and if I had, I imagine I would have lost count.  But, let us say...I killed just enough to make it here alive, but not nearly as many as I would have liked."

Jacko seemed not quite sure what to make of the answer, and responded simply, "It must have been a lot."

Percinious cleaned off most of his face, and then washed his hands in the bowl, and dried them on the now bloody cloth.  He then turned and walked toward Fine Phil's booth, where none other than Phil was sitting.  Stopping short of the booth, Percinious introduced himself.  "I Sir, am Percinious Godwin Thelonius Armitage Pelonby.  Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

Phil eyed the gore soaked paladin, with his moderately clean hands and face, and answered, "Phil.  Friends call me Fine Phil."

Percinious gave a slight bow, and took a seat at the booth.  "I'll call you Fine Phil then.  It is so nice to see a man of quality caring for his appearance in times such as these."

Phil smiled.  "Its all in the name."

Percinious was slightly confused.  "What's in the name, Fine Phil?"

"Fine.  Fine is in the name.  It wouldn't do to be called Fine Phil, and be caught slobbing about.  Now would it?  Bad for my reputation, and what's bad for my reputation is bad for business."

Percinious reached out his semi-clean hand, still stained red by the blood of the undead.  "Well, nice to meet you Fine Phil."

Phil ignored the offered handshake.  "Nice to meet you too.  It was quite rude of me to not say something before."  Phil leaned forward and whispered, "But that seat is taken."

Percinious looked around the bar, hoping to see who had gotten up from the seat and might return to claim it.  Was it one of the merchants?  No, they seemed to have a table already.  Perhaps the beautiful woman at the bar?  No, she had a drink in front of her, and seemed quite involved in a conversation with the bartender.  And then it dawned on Percinious that he was not welcome.

"Ah.  I see.  Well, I appreciate your efforts to spare my feelings.  Seems I was right about you.  A gentleman through and through.  I'll leave you be."

Phil lifted his glass as if to make a toast.  "Nice meeting you Percinious.  Ask Lily or one of her whores to draw you a bath.  They might even do some scrubbing, if you pay them enough."

-----------------

PART FOUR - WRITTEN BY CHRIS, AND FLESHED OUT BY MARK

Meanwhile, Bastille the Bastard approached Plavo the bard.  "Tell me what you know of the rest of Daruth?  How fares it in other parts of the city?  Are the docks overrun?  I'm in need of news, Bard."

Plavo looked up at Bastille with his tear-streaked soot-covered face.  He was cradling his right arm, the sleeve of which was soaked in blood.  "I'm...I...I...don't know.  I barely made it...barely made it here alive."

Bastille was undeterred.  "But what did you see, man?  You have eyes...and you have a mouth.  Use the mouth to tell me what the eyes saw."

Plavo looked lost.  Pathetic.  Ready to just crumple in on himself.  "I saw mother's eating their babies.  I saw the moldering corpses chasing down children and tearing them apart.  I heard desperate screams coming from burning buildings.  I...I saw hunger in their eyes.  Dark...unyielding hunger, as their black teeth gnashed and chomped a living flesh.  I saw the end of the world, Bastille...and it was worse than I had ever imagined."

Bastille was a bit taken-a-back.  "Well, yes...there was that.  And more.  By the way...are you hurt?"  Bastille gestured at the bard's right arm.  "Did one of those things take a chunk out of you."

Plavo began sobbing, his final mental resolve draining away.  He pulled up his bloody sleeve revealing a large bite mark taken out of his right arm.  The bite went down through the flesh, and muscle, and Bastille thought he saw a bit of white bone showing in the depths of the wound.  "She...she bit me.  This little nine year old...maybe ten.  Hard to say.  But so young, and petite...I hesitated to shove her away or strike her with my lute...and she...she just bit me."

Bastille stared at the wound.  "You should have someone bandage that up for you.  That's going to leave quite a mark." 

Plavo looked at Bastille with fear and disbelief.

Bastille not the Bastard reached out and placed his hand on the bard's right hand.  Divine power passed through their connection, and Plavo's bloody wound closed up and scarred over.  Then Bastille requested that everyone be inspected, for the safety of all. "Percy, come help please. I'm low on power."

And with that order issed, Bastille walked away and went to the bar to talk with Lily.  He arranged to purify food and drink, and prolong the available provisions.

When the spell had been cast, HeadBeShrunken gave an dark premonition, "Doomed are those without conviction. Step forward and take your place among the dead." He repeated it randomly over the next few minutes, and in a voice most foul.

-----------------

PART FIVE - WRITTEN BY BERT

Elias took the party’s brief respite at the Slippery Whip to clean the blood and gore off of his leather armor.  He tried, in any event.  He looked down and sighed.  It may be a lost cause, he thought.  Perhaps the stench will make these creatures think I’m one of their own.

He reached behind the bar, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, poured himself a generous helping, and quickly downed it.  He noticed his hands trembling as he brought the glass to his lips.  He shrugged.  It’s been that kind of night.

He glanced surreptitiously at his companions.  Shax was consoling the beggar children.  Bastille was trying to get information from the blubbering bard.  And Percy was busy trying to annoy Fine Phil.  Elias shook his head as he downed another glass of whiskey.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set the glass down with a thud.  He gathered up the other three by eye and motioned them to a quiet corner.

“I’ve got a small errand to run,” he explained as they gathered together.  “But I’ll be back.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Shax asked.

“Don’t be so glum, brother,” Elias said, smiling.

“Wh-wh-what? Percy sputtered.  “This is a very serious situation.  Grave, even.  I mean, the dead coming out of their graves.  As well as the ordinary meaning of the word.  I only mention it because it doesn’t seem like education is a priority in this horrid place.  I wanted to make sure you understood the words I was saying.”

Elias raised a hand in a placating gesture.  “Yes, it’s a terrible situation.  But it’s also a wonderful opportunity.”

Bastille scratched his stubbled chin.  “Opportunity you say?”

Elias smiled to himself as he saw the avarice gleam in the knight’s eyes.  “Absolutely!  Think of all the merchant shops, the trading posts, the jewelers’ shops that are probably abandoned.  Just waiting for someone to stop by.”  He gave a snorted chuckle.  “Hell!  If we could get into that Lysander Trading Bank, we’d be set for life!”

“Now see here!” Percy exclaimed.  “That sounds an awful lot like burglary and theft, and stealing.  Which is also theft, I suppose.  In any event, what kind of despicable person would even think of exploiting such a tragedy for personal gain?”

Bastille gave Elias a knowing wink and put his arm around Percy’s shoulders, ushering him away.

“No, no, lad.  It’s not like that at all,” he explained.  “We will merely be safeguarding their valuables to prevent thieves from doing anything so vile…”

Elias laughed as he went upstairs, climbed out a window, onto the roof, and disappeared into the night.

-----------------

Who would you like to talk to first?  What would you like to do first?  Post in the comments.

Comments

    • Mark Stinson

      I added Bert's portion of the story as a "Part Five" above.  FYI.  Feel free to write stories about what your characters do between now and the next game.  Resource-gathering missions.  Soul-Searching.  Saving someone.  Robbing someone.  Whatever you'd like, and a special eye toward revealing something about your characters when and where you can.  :-)

      • Bert Godding

        Elias took the party’s brief respite at the Slippery Whip to clean the blood and gore off of his leather armor.  He tried, in any event.  He looked down and sighed.  It may be a lost cause, he thought.  Perhaps the stench will make these creatures think I’m one of their own.

         

        He reached behind the bar, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, poured himself a generous helping, and quickly downed it.  He noticed his hands trembling as he brought the glass to his lips.  He shrugged.  It’s been that kind of night.

         

        He glanced surreptitiously at his companions.  Shax was consoling the beggar children.  Bastille was trying to get information from the blubbering bard.  And Percy was busy trying to annoy Fine Phil.  Elias shook his head as he downed another glass of whiskey.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set the glass down with a thud.  He gathered up the other three by eye and motioned them to a quiet corner.

         

        “I’ve got a small errand to run,” he explained as they gathered together.  “But I’ll be back.”

         

        “Are you sure that’s wise?” Shax asked.

         

        “Don’t be so glum, brother,” Elias said, smiling.

         

        “Wh-wh-what? Percy sputtered.  “This is a very serious situation.  Grave, even.  I mean, the dead coming out of their graves.  As well as the ordinary meaning of the word.  I only mention it because it doesn’t seem like education is a priority in this horrid place.  I wanted to make sure you understood the words I was saying.”

         

        Elias raised a hand in a placating gesture.  “Yes, it’s a terrible situation.  But it’s also a wonderful opportunity.”

         

        Bastille scratched his stubbled chin.  “Opportunity you say?”

         

        Elias smiled to himself as he saw the avarice gleam in the knight’s eyes.  “Absolutely!  Think of all the merchant shops, the trading posts, the jewelers’ shops that are probably abandoned.  Just waiting for someone to stop by.”  He gave a snorted chuckle.  “Hell!  If we could get into that Lysander Trading Bank, we’d be set for life!”

         

        “Now see here!” Percy exclaimed.  “That sounds an awful lot like burglary and theft, and stealing.  Which is also theft, I suppose.  In any event, what kind of despicable person would even think of exploiting such a tragedy for personal gain?”

         

        Bastille gave Elias a knowing wink and put his arm around Percy’s shoulders, ushering him away.

         

        “No, no, lad.  It’s not like that at all,” he explained.  “We will merely be safeguarding their valuables to prevent thieves from doing anything so vile…”

         

        Elias laughed as he went upstairs, climbed out a window, onto the roof, and disappeared into the night.

         

        • Mark Stinson

          Chris, I edited that addition into the story in Part Four.  Thanks for adding that!  :-)

          • Chris Snevets

            Bastille not the Bastard cures the bard's disease, not a spell. It is 5 points of Lay Hands. Then requests everyone to be inspected, for all our safety. "Percy, come help please. I'm low on power."

            • Mark Stinson

              I've added PART TWO, PART THREE, and PART FOUR to the story based on what Mark, Jay, and Chris posted as comments here.  Please read over those new parts for all the details.  Thanks! 

              • Chris Snevets

                Bastille word banters with the bard and gets his update on the rest of the city. Are the docks overrun? He will also purify food and drink, making the supplies go much further. 

                HeadBeShrunken gives another premonition, "Doomed are those without conviction. Step forward and take your place among the dead." He repeats it randomly and in a voice most foul.

                • Chris Snevets

                  I almost called him Mad Murdock during the game! I didn't want anyone to know that was one of my favorite shows in the 80's. Outed 4/13/2021. (I like cat videos too.)

                  • Jay

                    Percinious will ask the man behind the bar for a cloth and a little water.  He will then proceed to clean himself up.  Once he has done so, he will ask Phil if he may join him and comment on how nice it is to see a man of quality caring for his appearance in times like these

                    • Marcus Auerilius

                      non sequitur, but in my mind's eye, I keep seeing Murdock as a 3-foot tall version of Howling Mad Murdock from the A-team :)

                      • Marcus Auerilius

                        Shax will state as they descend the stairs..."If any of them have been infected, we'll need to kill them...quickly." Shax will then go check on Bette. See how she is and get her story of what's happened so far, then ask her if any of the other kids survived, or where she thinks they would go for safety...and if she knows the Takti children. Then he'd go check on the Takti kids. Find out who they are and get their story. If it seems apparent that they killed one of their own because he was infected, Shax will mourn with them, but acknowledge the foresight and maturity it took to make that decision. Then suggest to the whole group we get food in our bellies...we might be on the move soon and who knows when we'll get the chance to eat. The whole time, Shax was also looking for signs that any of them had been cut or infected by the undead. Lastly, Shax will reconvene with Elias, Bastille and any of the other party members who are in on the plan, and discuss who he or anyone else found that was infected and how they will handle that situation.