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Salvra, half-Elf, three-fifth’s-Halfling, foursixteenth’s Dwarf, exiled Princess and sixth level thief sidled up to the bar, where she tried to catch the eye of the one-third Orc, but otherwise pretty human bartender, Logo Longlegs.

The bartender gave her a baleful glare, his eyebrow furrowing in disgust.

“Here to clear up your tab?”

“I’m good for it,” Salvra replied nonchalantly.

Longlegs grunted.

“Give me a mug of your best Aelvish Ale,” she said confidently. “I’m a bit hung over, and I need a pick-me-up. On the tab.”

“No.”

“Dwarf Mead then,” she said, “the good stuff!”

“No.”

“Regular Dwarf Mead,” she said.

“No.”

“Beer?”

“No.”

She sighed and gave him a cold look. Something that tried to convey ‘If I weren’t so hung over, I’d pick this place clean.’

It didn’t work.

She sighed and felt through her purse. She thought she’d had more in there. Someone must have picked her pocket while she’d been drunk. She found a lone bent coin. She looked at it in disgust and slapped it on the bar. Longlegs eyed it doubtfully.

“What will this buy me?” she asked.

“A flagon of drunken Orc’s piss,” he said.

She wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic, but she decided to give it a try.

“I’ll take it.”

Longlegs grunted once. Using tongs, he tossed the coin into a small register, then he grabbed a mug and turned his back to her, fiddling with his trousers.

“Is this going to take long?” she said.

“No more than a minute,” he called back to her. Then he sighed deeply, and she heard the hissing sound of the mug being filled. A second later, he turned back to her slapped the mug on the bar in front of her, careful not to spill any of the thick green liquid in it.

She eyed the mug critically. There was a good head of foam on it, which meant it was fresh. And there were things swimming in it. That was a good sign. She grabbed the handle, threw her head back, and quaffed a deep draught, gasping as the foul liquid slid down her throat. There was a moment when the rest of her stomach contents, appalled at this new visitor, tried to escape. But she’d been down this road before, and held her nostrils closed and lips sealed until everything, including her liver, had resigned itself to fate.

“I’m starting to like the taste,” she said conversationally.

Longlegs gave her a long baleful look.

“There’s work for you,” he said.

She made a face.

“I’m a ninth level thief,” she said, “and an exiled princess. I don’t clean outhouses.”

“Not what I meant.”

“Not that either!” she said indignantly.

“No,” Longlegs said. “That guy.”

He pointed.

She looked. In a corner of the bar, a figure was hunched over a table.

“Nah .. .” she said, after a long look. “I don’t hook up with mysterious strangers in a bar, unless they’re paying up front.”

She hesitated.

“That didn’t come out how I meant,” she said apologetically.

He stared blankly at her.

“Oh all right.” She swallowed the rest of her mug with one deep draught, and when she could breathe again, she ignored his horrified expression, and staggered over, plopping herself into the chair.

“I hear you’re looking for a thief–” but her announcement trailed off as she got a good look at the stranger.

The being in front of her was gray. All gray. Its skin was rubbery. Its head was immense with two huge black almond shaped eyes. The rest of its facial features were tiny, the mouth a mere lipless slit, two tiny notches for nostrils. The rest of it was also incongruously off proportion with its head, the chest narrow, the limbs mere sticks, ending in hands with incredibly long spidery fingers. The sight of those fingers gave Salvra shivers. She wondered if other parts of him were as long and spidery.

“What the hell are you?” she asked breathlessly.

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Drunk Slutty Elf and Zombies