<strong>Name</strong>: Spade<br/><strong>Location</strong>: The Bar<br/><strong>Action</strong>: Determining the drink of the day.<br/><strong>Wearing</strong>: White dress shirt, navy-blue vest & slacks, a tie that mirrors the ocean and a golden button holding the heart of a star.<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: N/A<br/><br/>--<br/><br/>Perched on a space between realities, where time was warped around various interlocking pathways and invisible roads, the Green Lion Inn sat alone with no other buildings of note surrounding it. A charming three-story structure of weathered wood and stone, the building was its owner’s pride and joy and not even the strongest divination magic could pinpoint exactly how old the establishment, or its main bartender, was. Rumors and stories about the Inn stretched back countless centuries, woven in between mythological tales and legendary epics.<br/><br/>Beings of all shapes and sizes frequented the tavern and Spade took pride in being a refuge for the weird and the metaphysical; those who did not quite belong anywhere else were welcomed to spend their time at the Inn if they adhered to his rules. Rule-breakers were dealt with promptly, and repeat offenders found themselves with no recollection of the Inn at all, restricted from traversing through its magical doors ever again. The raw magic that flowed throughout the Inn was ancient, powerful, and capable of dealing with even the most stubborn customers with a wave of Spade’s hand.<br/><br/>The silver-haired gentleman was tending to the bar as he often did, humming a tune to himself while he cleaned his glasses by hand with a soft white cloth. He was dressed luxuriously; a flawless white dress shirt tucked into dark slacks with a navy-blue vest buttoned over it. His tie was an unusual shade of blue as well and upon closer inspection, one could see and hear the waves of an ocean there as if the fabric were a window to another world. A brilliant golden button was pinned on the right side of his vest with a glass case in its center holding a small flaming sphere: the heart of a dead star he once gazed at now tucked away against his chest for personal reasons.<br/><br/>His mouth was plagued by a sudden thirst, so he placed one of the clean glasses down in front of him and turned around to idly browse the labels from the bottles on the shelves, some readable, others in languages long forgotten or never spoken. He reached for a slim silver bottle and uncorked it – a fruity scent lingered in the air with a hint of mint leaves. He poured its contents into the glass to reveal a liquid similar in color to its container, though it shined as if embedded with twinkling stars and swirling nebulae. Spade took a long swig from the glass and grinned at the pleasant taste; he extended his free hand outwards and the words ‘Drink of the Day: Dirty Nebula’ appeared written neatly on a chalkboard that sat next to him on top of the wooden counter.