Categorizing the distinctive scent that hung over the Harlot's Crotch tavern was fairly impossible. This watering hole in the center district of Nexus was home to all sorts, from tired workers throwing back a pint after a long day to Guild employees discussing business to exceedingly wealthy entrepreneurs indulging their perverse tastes to God-blooded prodigies with blades of too-bright gold hanging from their belts and equally-bright amulets and pieces of jewelry pretending to play Gateway. There were hints of alcohol, opiates, smoke, sex, sweat and smuggled herbs and medicine mixed in, to name a few of the odors that could be identified in the Harlot's Crotch.<br/><br/>Today, 4th of Ascending Wood, the bar was busy as ever. Being ideally placed in the center of Nexus and its reputation for discretion ensured the place was always packed, which only encouraged more people to come. The incessant chatter of the mass of people in the main floor created a constant buzzing sound, effective white noise that all but ensured it'd be impossible to eavesdrop on someone's conversation without getting caught. That was how everyone liked it.<br/><br/>Of course, the slight drawback was that there was very little walking room in the tavern, so anyone who wanted to get anywhere would have to elbow their way through the crowd. Across the entrance, past the mass of patrons was the  main counter that took up most of the wall. On one side, the tavern's owner, a grizzled, bearded old man called Ivory Hammer and two of his children tended the bar, while on the other patrons sat on stools, drinking and talking. On one end, two friends chugged ale and discussed a recent tragedy: the murder of several members of the Council of Entities. The victims had been found barely recognizable, their corpses in various states of mutilation in their bedrooms, their entrails scattered all over, shortly after passing several insane Civilities that effectively ground the economy of Nexus into a halt, more or less killing the city until the surviving Council members and the Emissary were able to scramble and counteract those decrees.<br/><br/>At the other end of the bar, a young man, barely an adult, managed to spill his drink over the man next to him. Unfortunately, said man was the infamous mercenary Mighty Tiger of the Venomous South, who took great offense at the boy's mistake. The tall, ebony-skinned man hoisted the boy into the air by grabbing his hair, bringing up to eye level.<br/><br/>In another corner of the tavern, a trio of merchants chatted about the recent mass desecration of tombs in Sijan, and how the matter had still gone unsolved, though hints pointed against necromancers and other servants of the Deathlords. Nearby, notorious drug runner Tsunami Wolf shot first, lodging a crossbow bolt in his would-be murderer's head, as the man fell over the table and the sword dropped to the ground. Fortunately, Wolf had a friend who witnessed the event to testify on his behalf.<br/><br/>Around a table near the stairs, a group of Lookshyan soldiers spoke in hushed tones, informing each other about the raid on an important workshop-manse in Lookshy. The manse was damaged, its workshop ransacked and a large stock of artifacts stolen. Lookshy has been in an uproar ever since the incident, especially since the Realm keeps coming up as everyone's most likely suspect, because of a ring left in the manse bearing the crest of House Mnemon.<br/><br/>Today, the Harlot's Crotch seems the same as ever. But today is the day a group of exceptional individuals were told to meet here by an individual called Perfect Orchid of the Starfall. The note they received said to ask the owner for that person. To those of you who do so, Ivory Hammer gruffly informs you that Perfect Orchid rented the third floor of the tavern, and that you're not the first exotic-looking people to parade up there. He nods at a hallway to the right side of the bar, telling you the stairs up are that way.