{{I recommend using character names in descriptive text, as it makes things clear to the reader.}}<br/><br/><br/><br/>"Huh?" says Jess to the blue-haired girl. Law is not her forte.<br/><br/>"Ah, sorry." says Soma. "I think you're stuck." Unlike Alyssa she feels no guilt about the PCs' predicament, only slight embarassment for not warning them.<br/>"The only way around the fine would be to run--" she indicates the doorway "--or...eat every bill collector that they send."<br/>Jess likes this latter idea. Soma shakes her head to dismiss it.<br/><br/><br/>[of the Armellian law Alyssa remembers from her studies, not one bit of it is useful to her now. Probably because in those books (written under Khorjael and the Pact), slavery was outlawed.]<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><span style="color: #FF0000"><br/><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-weight: bold">*POP*</span></span></span><br/>With a flash and a mushroom cloud of sulfuric smoke, a pale youth pops into existence facing the bar on a nearby barstool. At 5'3" and 100 pounds and cloaked with gossamer indigo feathers, she appears innocent and fragile quite like a child. A thin spade-tipped tail wraps around the stool's base.<br/><span style="font-size: 85%; line-height: 116%;">[identify as erinyes: religious or planar knowledge DC=19]</span><br/><br/><br/><br/>Soma shudders in surprise, her tanar'ri blood stirring in her veins. Her body language is of disgust muted by learned fear; she detests devils, but she hasn't broken any rules and plans to keep it that way. She looks at Mindy, whom she suspects is most aware of the danger, then to the others.<br/>"<span style="font-style: italic">No funny business.</span>" she whispers those around her, "<span style="font-style: italic">That's one of the Management.</span>"<br/><br/>The acrid smell of brimstone irritates Jess's sensitive nose. Knowing that she is clueless in legal matters (and broke anyway), she takes a cue from her wise companion and says nothing, only watches.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>The youth turns on the stool to face her customers. Under her wings she wears a layer of jeweled trinkets and thin metal chains over what are essentially sturdy undergarments. Her build is slim, her face sharp, her eyes coal black and empty.<br/>"<span style="font-weight: bold">No.</span>" she snaps at Alyssa in accented Common, her voice a composite of a petulant girl's and something deeper. "<span style="font-weight: bold">There are no loopholes."<br/>"You enter <span style="text-decoration: underline">our</span> domain, you go by <span style="text-decoration: underline">our</span> laws."</span>She points above the bar, to the clearly posted plaque.<br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"It's very clear. Spill blood, or <span style="font-style: italic">take</span> meat, or break Inn property, and you pay us.</span>"<br/>She looks to the other rule-breakers, then stares pitilessly at the hapless drider.<br/><br/><br/>Leska groans; regardless of whether or not the victors pay their fines, she is done for.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>The erinyes looks over the crowded main hall with a smug professionalism. If she is surprised or impressed by anything she sees, she doesn't show it.<br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"You wish to know your balances."</span>she says flatly.<br/>The erinyes sends a mental command with a nod.<br/><span style="color: #FF0000"><span style="font-weight: bold">*pop*</span></span>An avian imp appears between Mindy and Alyssa, hands over scroll, then flash-pops away.<br/>On the scroll the party's dues are quilled in still-wet red ink, courtesy of fiendish telepathy:<blockquote><div><cite>The Management wrote:</cite><span style="color: #800000"><br/><span style="text-decoration: underline">Monies to be Collected</span><br/>(All Amounts in Gold Coin of Jejunian Standard Mint)<br/>From the Bear or Sapient Owner of said Bear: 100 for the breaking of one longtable.<br/>From the Angel: 1,200 for three counts of tresspassing in the upper floors, 500 for fighting, 250 for taking one head.<br/>From the Goblin: 120 for the interruption of 6 servers in their duties.<br/>From the Rabbitfolk: 500 for fighting.<br/>From the Human of Large Hair: 500 for fighting.<br/></span></div></blockquote><br/><span style="font-size: 85%; line-height: 116%;">[those with the Scent ability notice that the "red ink" is actually blood, and the erinyes also reeks of blood]</span><br/><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"Oh, and the room you requested."</span>Something glimmers in the pale girl's dark eyes, and on the parchment a new line of writing scratches itself into being:<br/><blockquote class="uncited"><div><span style="color: #800000">Lease of Imperial Suite for Thirty Hours: 1,600</span></div></blockquote><br/><span style="color: #FF0000"><span style="font-weight: bold">*pop*</span></span>The scroll imp reappears and hands over an ornate gold key.<br/><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"We accept all forms of payment."</span>she says helpfully, her smile an empty formal gesture.<span style="font-weight: bold"> "The imps will see to its appraisal and collection. Enjoy your stay."</span><br/>And like that, the strange encounter approaches its end as abruptly as it had begun; the pale fiend, her bureaucratic duty discharged, makes as if she is about to flash-pop back to where she came from.  (she stays only if addressed)<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>Among those in the main hall of the Inn who had watched the brief fight, many now lose interest and return to their own conversations.<span style="font-style: italic">Another skirmish, another one goes down; business as usual.</span><br/>A few grinning watchers continue to observe the scene, hoping to see Leska become a<span style="font-style: italic">tremendous</span>bulge in something higher on the food chain.