<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;">GAME MANGLER<br/>_________________________________________________________________________________<br/></span></span></div><br/><strong>Harley</strong><br/><br/>The burly innkeeper, whose name was apparently Bart,  threw back his head and laughed as Harley accepted his challenge.  He slammed his hand flat on the counter, and grinned.  "Aye, lass, if'n ye win, ye ken not only have a room an' all the drinks ye ken stomach on th' house, but ye ken ha' me pouch besides."  With thick sausage fingers, he reached into his leather vest, produced a small bag, and jingled it to show her what was inside.  Then he plunked it down on the counter top.<br/><br/>A table was cleared, mostly by virtue of grabbing the nearest one and tilting it over, forcibly dumping all of its contents--including two surprised drinkers--violently onto the floor.  Then, two large tankards were produced from part of the shelving.  They were dry, so it was hard to tell if they had been cleaned in his typical way.<br/><br/>Sitting across from the girl, he grinned again.  "So, what'll it be, lass? Ale? Brandy? Rum? Grog?" He wrinkled his leathery nose. "Wine?"  He elbowed a bystander in a friendly manner, severely concussing him in the process.<br/><br/>"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" said a voice behind Harley.  It was the tall, thin man with the droopy mustache and the watery eyes.  "Bart Ender tests all of his swill on himself before he'll serve it to any of his customers--including the turpentine he uses to strip the paint from the walls."<br/><br/><br/><strong>Edmund</strong><br/><br/>The diminutive pile of clothes gaped at Edmund for a moment, and then giggled.  "You're funny," it beamed. "I like you."  It pondered for a moment, and then, sagely, added, "Bobby Jenkins is a doogie."<br/><br/>Having exhausted its supply of conversation, the child, or gnome, or halfling, or whatever it was, picked its nose and toddled away.<br/><br/>Poor Edmund seemed to be ignored by everyone else, although the cause of this seemed to be because of something brewing at the other end of the room.  Some sort of drinking contest seemed to be gearing up; the contestants seemed to be a huge, hairy giant of a man with an eyepatch and a slender young woman.  It shouldn't be hard at all to predict the outcome of such a contest in these kinds of situations, but you never knew--perhaps the massive man did have a chance, after all.<br/><br/><br/>