Please Enter The Name Of Your Adventurer:

The tavern is in one of the seediest districts of the Capitol, the kind of place that local constables refuse to go. They reason that it isn't quite worth it and, speaking objectively, the tavern itself manages to take care of any riff raff that threatens its existence. In an almost perverse vigilante style.

You find yourself in this dank hole looking for a certain individual who might have some information you can use with your current search. You had picked up a rumor that said gentleman would be here on the great eve of the fall harvest celebration. No one gives you a snots lick of attention as you enter.

The Choice is Yours...

You wander, in what you hope is a nonchalant manner, over to a gruff gentleman serving as the bartender for the denizens in this pit of a hole. You wait, patiently, for the gentleman to come over. A crude and lewd joke is told to your right. You laugh heartily in hopes of further cementing your camouflage and gaining some civility from these people. Enough to be successful within your task. The barman waddles over and inquires about your drink preference. Less sophisticated, "What's it to be?"

"Actually, I was looking for Smith."

The barman shakes his head. "I think you've got some confusion there. Don't know who that is and don't know why you'd think we'd have that information." The barman seems to be feeding you a line, trying to dissuade you from pressing further.

You are frustrated with the barman's lack of help. You remember where you are that these people, these derelicts of society only respond to one thing. Force. You reach out and grab the bartender's arm and pull him toward you. He is startled and his body moves with a minimum of resistance. You release the arm and grab the back of his head. In a moment you have slammed it into the thick wooden counter. His nose is broken. This is not the first time blood has slickened this surface but it is a first for the bartender. The raucous atmosphere becomes muted at the display and you sense, no, you know you have made a mistake. This was apparently too much. A regular to your left pulls a dagger from inside his jacket. It looks like you will have to fight a lot of people now.

You have no choice here. You must fight. Will you live?

You, with surprising quickness, break a bottle over the knife wielder's head. He loses his balance and you plant a foot into the side of his knee. He lets out a teeth-gritted yelp and falls to the ground and is removed from the fight. You spin around and throw a blind yet educated punch. Thankfully you connect with the next defender. The sudden surprise buys you a couple seconds to land a kick to his testicles. His eyes go wide and he falls to the ground, also defeated. Before you can reassess the situation, a larger grunt grabs you in a bear hug and squeezes. You gasp as air rushes from your lungs and you spot a fourth person rushing at you with shiny knife. You have the smallest of windows to act in and if you gauge this wrong, you will clearly be skewered. He is just outside striking distance and begins to pull back to stab when your foot is planted square in his chest. You use the force to push your wrestling partner into the growing crowd. He stumbles and lessens his grip. You are able to free yourself and hit him with an uppercut. He falls unconscious to the ground and you take a split second to make sure you can relax. The scene is clear and you catch your breath. After half a minute, you straighten up and look in the direction of the barman. He is nursing at his nose when you make eye contact. When you get close he whispers the information you had originally desired.

Success. You live and have what you need.

You smack the knife from the man's hand and place a stare upon his face that you hope; firmly states, "Stop!" He recoils and you turn quickly to address the other people who you can hear shuffling towards you. There are three rough looking individuals standing just outside of arm's length away. "What? Shall we do this?" They look momentarily unsure but only momentarily. Before I can try and wrap my head around the difference, a wooden chair is broken over my back. All my brain can do is scream at me, "Oh, Shit!" Sadly, the group is on me before I can recover. I feel a knife slide between my ribs, I feel punches, I feel boots, and at first I feel pain but then I pass out. A couple hours later, I briefly wake in an alley. I look down and know that this is the end.

You have died. You received no information of value.

You slide a moderate sack of coins across the bar towards the difficult gentleman. He lifts it slowly off the wood and sets it back down. You are suddenly aware that this is the real conversation and you have said exactly the right thing. He grabs the pouch firmly and tosses into a crappy looking bucket well behind the counter. He indicates you should wait a minute and wanders up and down the bar; taking some orders and refilling some drinks. He pauses and talks with some gentlemen before wandering back over to you. He hands me some rank piss of a beer and tells me where I can find Smith. One might doubt the info but I am sure he would never trade the bad.

Success. You have lived and received the information you needed.

The pouch of coins clinks and looks as if it even bounces onto the counter. The barman looks down upon this bag with both a physical disappointment and disdain. He reaches out and massages the coins through the worn leather. It is here that I learn the disappointment was just the beginning. He motions for me to come closer and a small part of me still hopes there is a chance this is all an act. "You bring me this?" Hopes dashed. "This meager bag of coins? You think I would, what? Give you info for this scrap? Get out of here now. GET OUT!"

Failure. You have lost your bribe and do not have the information you need.

You wander around the outskirts of the bar; moving between tables and around gatherings while trying to gain insight or a clue. Trying, repeatedly, to make eye contact with someone or to find someone I can talk to about Smith. No one will speak with me, no one knows what I am talking about, I can find nothing of value at this bar.

You have Failed!