Helix: The Foul Pheasant

[subaltari]

Elbart

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Though Rooster may have ignored his muttered inquiry, Elbart soon assembles the truth about The Foul Pheasant from various clues: red lamps at daytime, the tawdry decor, the servers' dress, the noisy ceilings, and the innuendo of "pheasant plucking." Finally he stops and frowns down at the halfling Perni in her garish attire. "Are you the proprietress, madam? And am I to understand you employ women of loose morals here? ...One should rather think The Brazen Strumpet would be the place of such goings-on, hmm?"

[Spearmint]

The Foul Pheasant

"I own this fine and respected establishment young Sir," Pernicious replies, "Fine and respected which goes for both the reputation of the building and the 'furnishings' within." She eyes a nearby velvety dressed wench in bunny tailed outfit and fishnets.

"We pay our liabilities and tax dues as any good citizen business, why our esteemed gentlemen's pursuits are patronized by Lord Krothos himself. He keeps his cock bloodied in the arena outside and no doubt soothed in the wrestling grapples above.

That could be him now ..." she eyes upward a floorboard creak.

The Foul Pheasant, part brothel, part gaming den and 'speak easy'. Many a rogue has tried to infiltrate its management hierarchy but so far no Thieves guild affiliations are known. You take a complimentary glass of poured spirits and can nibble from the saucer plates of salted nuts and dried fruits. "On the house" she says,

"All other 'nibbles' get paid for."

Apart from (behind the scenes) wenching, there are other entertainment options in dice or card games, a solace for contemplative fellowship with hookah pipes and assorted patrons lounging in post-mercantile or adventure discussions.

[subaltari]

Elbart is now a bit taken aback, not only by Perni's poise and confidence in the face of his rude accusations, but beyond that her generosity. He makes no move to take the offered drink, though he does cast an observant glance at the clarity of the glass and liquor within.

"A kind offer, but I will leave it for the nonce. I must be honest, I passed by your competitor on account of the 'brazen' name on its sign. Is competitor the right word? Tell me, does it too offer 'strumpets'‒ ahem, the same sort of amenities as you? I am equally curious why your Lord Mayor should prefer your establishment to that other one. And I'm inferring that pheasant isn't quite a reference to your kitchen's speciality."

[Spearmint]

The Foul Pheasant

Pernicious, "Ma and Pa Bublé supply the cuisine, many Halfling specialities sourced via Clive the butcher and abattoir owner. Wild game and woodland delicacies are one of a number of 'house specialities'. Things you won't find over at the other, more common fayre, establishment.

I must confess though they pine for a prodigal son, lost in the forests by all accounts, it ill flavours their normal culinary delights."

She knocks back the rejected drink.

"Lord Krothos is heir to the Duchy seat after his elder Perafin succumbed to some unknown poison. While Duke Kell remains hale; and thank Ygg that he does, his wastrel son enjoys his heir in-waiting leisure."

Apart from 'horizontal pursuits', the Foul Pheasant is licensed for gambling games, of cards and dice, as well as importing the more exotic drinks and tobacco or snuff spices. Though officially banned, Cockfighting takes place quite openly in the exterior courtyard with LK currently top breeding champion for the fighting spurs.

"No loaded dice, no marked cards. Everything above board. Haven't got coins you can hawk any trinkets at whatever face value the other players assess. Even gamble your shirt or sanity, most keep to a handful of silvers and a night away from stresses."

[subaltari]

Elbart nods down at the little matron, admitting to himself that whilst she talks somewhat around his questions, she is at least as generous with information as with her complimentary nibbles and drink. "Since you invoke St. Ygg, any sound Pastor would tell you that gambling will bring a man to ruin as surely as indulging the passions of his flesh. A 'night away from stress' can be fleeting if one has no no silver, no shirt, and no sanity to bring into the next day. For now I shall keep what little of each of those I have, but I bid you health, landlady."

With that, the tall man dons his green cap and turns to retrieve his possessions from the bouncer. As he departs into the midday sun he remarks to no one in particular: "Strange names on the tavern signs in this village. Speaking of St. Ygg, what shall I find lurking in yon church-house bearing his name? Perhaps a cult of Arawn instead... or ORCUS?"