The Styx Oarsman (Lower Ward)

*An inferno of energy enshrouds a particularly blemished portion of the Inn's ceiling, even as obsidian formed thorns the size of shortswords screech out from the newly created pocket to another reality.

A thunderous column of air follows the portals opening, as do the two forms that spill out from the window as it closes behind them. The first to enter (err, fall) into the tavern is a dangerous seeming but contemplative clueless with an assortment of tatoos running along the backs of his hands and what you can see of his collar bone, though the rest of him is covered by an odd assortment of clothing. His pants seem to have come from a desert world, they're stark white, and formed of loose fitting cotton tightened at the waist by another red band of cloth. His shirt is black with a glyph inscribed mantle stitched in. A close observer would note that while most of his outfit shifts in the wind current the part with the mantle stays rigid as iron. His face is clearly human, though it depicts depth and a barley concealed sense of grief.

The creature that follows is much more insectiod then mortal, with four pincer claws and the head of a scarab emerging from a chitinous but humanoid shaped body. It screeches a threat to the tavern as it attempts to drive it’s pincers into it’s fellow traveler. Fortunately for the humanoid the monster bubbles and melts now that it's out of it’s environment, turning into a rather nauseating pile of goo on the floor of the inn. Startled by his sudden loss of an adversary, the human looks around the tavern in a kind of stupefied awe as he slips his rune covered spiked chain into a pack, he has the very picturesque look of a clueless primer.

Undettered he looks around the bar- “Can anyone tell me what gate I have wandered into?”

*Still looking Rather quizzical at the eerily silent bunch of monstrosities, Kabiel taps one of the tatoo's visible to catch the mental persausions of the strange place in which he'd found himself. What he gets is much more then for what he bargains.
The bar shifts and blurs under a rush of information, Kabiel's vision swimming as doubles over and spews his breakfast onto the floor of Styx Oarsman. Thoughts and Sentience unlike any he had before witnessed or sensed flood his mind, rushing over his mind as a tidal wave. Kabiel slowly gets up, and shaking the nausea from himself he meekly walks to the bar, nearby a what appears to be a man in a brown cloak.
He glances at the cloaked figure sitting next to him, covering his mouth as he feels more alien psychich impressions waft from the patron and the strange inn. He dispatches the affect when he notices several of the patrons glaring at them, obviuosly disliking his inspection of their aura. He looks twoards the barkeep and orders mead, though fully expects that there is no such comfort in this place. At last coming out of his sickness the human turns to the figure in the brown cloak.*

"Where in the hells are we?"

Froggy McCroaksalot stares intensely at the 'zerai for a minute, then walks over to the waiting Tanar'ri. Still hungry from all the running around the city it found itself in, it decides to start chewing on the chair sitting around Rule of Three's table.

ooc: If I don't hear from Chaotic Myth by Wendsday nite EST - then we'll move on without him with you two. There's still three even if I have to count myself.

*A little taken back by such a direct question, Kabiel still answers quickly and respectfully, using an alliace picked up during one of his last escapades.*

"I am Tallis of the Ninth String, warder of the fifth gate at Antigedda. If it is not to presumptuous to ask my lord, where am I?"

The gith smiled into his mug, then frowned down into it and slammed it on the edge of the table with a loud cracking sound. Presumably this was some sort of call for another round - as the quasit currently chained down behind the bar sneered in the direction of the table and poured another drink to be delivered.

"You are... here. Maybe there. Likely Sigil. Do you know where you are?" Rule-of-Three smiled widely at man.

"Clever." The gith said shortly, eyeing the Slaad for a long moment. He then shook his head, "I may have a use, a need, a place for you. There is a task that needs doing, a man that needs dying, and a message to carry. Are you interested?"

Rule of Three glanced up as the new one stumbled through the door, then looked back to the two he'd just proposed a job opportunity to. "... three works better. That one will be good to bring, perhaps. Perhaps not." He shrugged, nodding across the room to the newcomer before he looked back at the two at his table, "Are you interested?"

"I might do it, but if you want me to hurt blue Slaad, I won't. They are big and strong and like to hit me."

The gith seemed to twitch at first at the telepathic touch, but he tilted his head slowly as he 'listened' to the man's speech, then nodded minutely, responding in kind. "Very well, your deal... is made. To survive here, three things needed - wits, blade, respect. Wits and blade get you money. Wits and respect get you friends. Blades and respect get you followers." The gith smiled toothily as he leaned forwards with the last piece of advice.

"Always, always, always have respect for Ladies with blades."

He sat back with a smile, as if he'd delivered the most pithy wisdom of the gods. "Satisty you? Fill your craving? Complete your thoughts, no?" He shrugged, "A map of the city, a well known tout, and gold to pay for both will solve the rest."

The gith smiled, nodding to the red slaad as it volunteered.

Unfortunately the gith at the table was smiling his way with a gleam in his yellow eyes. Lifting a knobby hand he very exageratedly looked at the slaad, lifting one finger. Then at Kabiel lifting a second... then directly across the room at Orendil lifting a third, as a wide smile crossed his face. Rule-of-Three held his hand out and curled the three fingers towards him in a summoning gesture, his hand passing over the empty third chair in invitation.

ooc: Hop on in, the waters fine!

The githzerai smiled widely. "You make three." He said, at first as if this was all that truly needed to be said. Then he continued, "You are lost, confused, wandering seemingly?"

"I am Rule-of-Three. You have employment. If you're available?"

The gith smiled slightly, "It serves a cause, myself, and your belly... if you plan to keep eating in the future." He then smiled at the three gathered around the table, gestured to the bar for another round of drinks - recieving a glare from the server he had been running back and forth all evening.

Propping a foot up against the chair the slaad had been crunching on he leaned back. "The task that needs doing. A box must be delivered unto a man, unopened, for his eyes only. The man that needs killing. The one who recieves the box will tell you the location of our doomed one." He paused, glancing at the peel beside him, and added for the man's benefit. "A slaver, seller of flesh, and men." He then looked to the slaad, "And the message to deliver... feel free to eat the body. Leave enough to be identified, destroy the rest."

He paused, looking around the table. "Agreed?"

ooc: My apologies folks, a bit of real life got in the way. As I recall the topic on the table : An assignment to go take a box to a fellow, hunt another, and "make an example outta him"... with (hopefully) three takers on it.

The gith smiled, and leaned forwards - light gleaming off his yellow eyes for a moment. "*Three* tasks, Kabiel. An example to be made - makes it three." There was a peculiar emphasis on his words... He then leaned back in his chair, returning to the relaxed smile he's had on his face for the entire conversation.

"....I may, may not, perhaps. We shall see." He lifted a hand, signalling to the barkeep across the room. An unheard message seemed to pass between the two before a set of key were thrown in the gith's direction. He slid them across the table to Kabiel.

"And you two?" The gith looked to the others, curious to see their price.

*Waits. And Waits. Aaaannnnndddd, waits.*

OOC: Sorry for being lost, it's a long story..................I wasn't sure we were continuing.

"Well," The bumbling fool now spoke, after a long pause and staring at his own thumbs, "I need no price but merely wish to know where I am and to find a way to reach home. But if this deed be good then I need not ask for much payment."

The clueless sod gave in as he slowly placed his hand on the table and lowered his head. "To put it shortly.......I'm in."