Joe McShoots pushed open the large black door, which creaked like an old dying hag. “Well, here we are, Skell. The Black Mage Inn. And it only took us three specklehoots to find it.”
“Aye, sure it did, lad. Come on.”
They both entered the inn, and were greeted by the smell of some sort of stew cooking in a large pot near the fireplace. Long whisps of smoke and steam emanated from it, and the air smelt like thyme and roasted meat. “By god, man,” said Joe McShoots. “Look at that damn crockpot, Skell! That’s flipped me bloody belly right the hell around, that ‘as.”
Skellian’s mouth was wide open, and a long piece of drool fell from it and hit the stone floor beneath them.
As they walked further into the inn, they could see people and creatures of all types. Sitting. Joking. Drinking. Eating. Fuc-
“Ah, barkeep!” Skellian shouted.
An elderly balding fellow behind the bar turned around, and stared at the two of them with a manic expression on his face. He had one eye, and about three whisps of hair on his head. “Weeelllllll? Hmmmmmmm?” he asked, turning his head nearly upside down as he struggled to inspect them.
Joe McShoots slammed his hands on the counter. “What do you got for us, barkeep?” We’re thirsty from long travel and such, and are wondering what sort of ale or whatnot you serve in this place.”
The barkeep laughed. “Ahhh, ye do, do ye? Well, look no further, because ol’ Stoogey-one-eye is gonna blow ye mind with me beverages, I’ll have ye know! Now, what are yer preferences, big knight looking bloke, and small pathetic sidekick? Hmm? Do ye prefer ale, or somethin’ stronger?”
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