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As far as beaches went, this one wasn’t the aesthetically pleasing kind. In fact it reminded him of the shores of the Lighthouse and consequently of the way he had felt last time he was there, despondent and quietly longing for something he had no way of reaching.

That Tower. It’s gravity was intense. Interesting, and familiar in a way he did not care for. Perhaps it was fate's cruel irony, but on the other hand it might have been a turn for the better. He reserved judgement for now and attempted to cut through the air with his left hand, an action that would usually open a portal to wherever he willed it. The movement produced nothing, but he didn't find himself surprised. For now at least, there was no discernible way home.

The Tower was also inaccessible for now, and while it was a concerning level of effort to put it out of his mind, he was successful in pushing it to the back of his mental checklist.

There were other questions to answer first. "Are those creatures hostile" was the most pressing one, since several lobstrosities were making their way toward him. They looked to be similar to scorpions and lobsters. Potentially venomous.

“Dad-a-chum? Dum-a-chum?”

“Yes,” He answered, unsheathing his bowie knife rather than drawing his handgun. In an unknown situation, conserving ammunition became a priority.

“Ded-a-chek? Did-a-chick?”

If they’re hostile, incapacitate only.

As a group of them drew nearer, surrounding him, he assessed the situation and planned his sequence of attack. The nearest lobstrosity launched, swiping at him with a crushing claw which shattered the rock behind him as he evaded. He countered, attempting to slash at it to test the thickness of the outer shell. His knife didn’t cut through the carapace and another of the creatures now swiped at him. He dodged low. It’s claw flew over him and hit the first creature, smashing part of it’s armored side.

They seemed unintelligent, despite the use of language. Still without knowing the etiquette of this new place, he would not harm them any more than needed to get away. They didn’t move too quickly. He could evade the last one and outrun them.

As a third one approached, Yorolaie ran at it, weaving out of it’s way at the last moment in a feint as he ran past and sprinted away from the beach, toward the city.

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The sound of angry buzzing soon replaced the querulous questioning of the lobstrocities. The source was soon evident: a huge blue and orange wasp was beating its wings over the hunched over body of some twisted beast. There was a person crouched over the creature, one hand on the thorax of the giant wasp, peering down at the mass of tangled fur and claws.

"Everywhere I go, it's mutants," Crom sighed, his voice low and heavy. It was bloody cold as well, but his mantle was warm enough for now, though he knew he'd need to find shelter soon. He pulled it a bit more closely around himself, burying into the thick foliage of moss, ferns, and mushrooms that sprouted from the heavy garment, making him look even more like a hillock than normal.

This action made him catch a glimpse of something in his blindspot, and he got to his feet. His staff was at the ready, and he felt the skin at the nape of his neck itch, ready to fruit.

"Coo-ee! Who's there? Are you bird, beast, or otherwise?"

Anthracite's wings buzzed in a hellish cacophony. Her stinger was at the ready, knife-long and glistening with blood from the creature she had already stung.

"Otherwise," Yorolaie answered as he approached them slowly. A quick assessment of the situation led him to several presumptions. He noted the wasp had recently attacked, evidenced by the fresh blood on it's stinger likely from the felled creature. The person in the mantle (potentially Drow), was undisturbed by the wasp. They were likely travelling together, though he was unsure if they were trying to assist the fallen beast, or not.

"I have no intent to harm either of you," He stated clearly, hoping he would be heard over the sound of the wasps great wings.

Crom put a hand on Anthracite's leg. She twitched, but he gathered her into her arms like a large cat. An extremely large cat: she was huge now, nearly as big as his own six feet and six inches tall. He grunted a little, and the three other wasps rose out of his mantle, buzzing in annoyance before settling again.

"That's good to know," he said, "It takes my dames a bit of energy to make their venom, and I don't like tiring them out. Do I, dear?" He kissed her large head, between her bright eyes. She clicked her mandibles at him, and he released the spell. She shrank down to her usual size, and he supported her on his hand before he let her crawl among the moss and mushrooms to get warm. The chill here wouldn't be good for the dames: he'd need to find a more permanent solution soon.

Crom sagged slightly, leaning on his staff, and looked back to the newcomer. Shorter than he, and distinctly white and black in colour. He sighed: jumping between worlds was the least favourite thing he had to do as part of this awful job, and to make matters worse, his spark wasn't working here.

"Have you ever seen something like this before?" He nudged the man-eater with his foot. It lay there, a dead weight, with just the barest discernable movement from its chest to indicate breathing.

Yorolaie observed the stranger with a quiet studious eye as he interacted with his "dames." On initial observation it appeared to be a nurturing and loving relationship between them, with the Drow as caretaker.

At the mention of the venom, Yorolaie nodded in acknowledgement, accepting the warning without taking offense or feeling threatened. It was fair. He was a stranger to them so it made sense for the Drow to exhibit his abilities and let him know what would happen should he attempt to harm them.

When asked a question he decided to move closer, taking the unsaid invitation to examine the creature more closely before answering. He visually scanned the scene. The creature he identified. It was not yet dead, but potentially dying or paralyzed.

"Yes," he answered. He had seen something like this creature and this situation before.

"Have you?"

Edited 2021-09-06 16:34 (UTC)

Short of words. Crom had met a few like that. Travelled with them, even. It made that same ache stab in his chest, thinking of her, and how much he loved her but how deep her betrayal was. Typical, that the first person he'd run into here would remind him of that.

He knelt down over the creature again. It was a mass of teeth and fur, with claws and extra limbs. He sniffed, taking in the rank odor of animal that was not impeded by the cold at all. His nose wrinkled.

"Once or twice," he said, getting to his feet. "Not quite the same, but all sorts of mutations happen in the Swarm. The last one I saw had more of an alligator base. This one I'd guess... bear, perhaps?" He shrugged. "I could get in deep about it, but I'd rather not get closer when it's this cold and my dames are so chilly." He felt them tickling against his skin, burrowing against both it and the vegetation on his mantle for warmth. Ganache's sharper legs had already done the same.

He reached back and scratched the nape of his neck. The bodies were ready to fruit, and the itch was getting a little irksome.

The Swarm. Yorolaie notes that as something he can ask about when conditions are more favorable. He also notes that this person knows of alligators and bears, fauna from the sixty forth realm. Perhaps that indicates that like himself, this man is not from here.

That doesn't matter for now. Nor does the dead beast, at least not yet. Being aware such things are close at hand is knowledge enough at present. He can further investigate later. For now the priority is finding out where he is, and where the nearest source of water can be found. Water is paramount.

From what he observes, the stranger has a priority as well. Finding warmth in order to better care for his companions. It would be wise to see if their wills align in order to best achieve both outcomes.

"I've just arrived here, and intend to go toward the City. There may be somewhere warmer there if you and your dames would care to join me?"

"Don't forget the gent," Crom sniffed, but it was all in good fun. He cracked his back - and for a moment, the uneven curve of his spine was visible - before he nodded to the other. He gestured towards the small selection of building, raising his brows.

"Do you call that a city? It looks like a town, to me." But then, not everyone was from Ravnica. Nhijha's friend was enough to show that. He still remembered her clipped, accented tones as she taught them how to use their sparks. This man sounded nothing like that. Then again, neither had anyone from that other world.

There really had to be lots. Crom's head ached to think about it, the frustration of being forced to look at the massive when he cared about the tiny pressing at his temples once more.

But, his dames were cold, and his gentleman too. Small things first. These wasps and that beetle had given over their natural proclivities to help him; the least he could do was keep them comfortable. If going towards those meager ruins meant keeping them warm, he would. Poor Anthracite in particular would need a good long rest.

"Lead on, by all means. I'll follow after."

"Pedantic, aren't you?" Yorolaie responds, an attempt at returning the light humour of the stranger with some teasing of his own. If the man intends to let him lead, so be it. Before setting out, he checks he has everything he came with. Pistols, ammunition, survival knife... Hmn. His hands stops as he runs it over something foreign shaping his pocket pants pocket. Whatever it is doesn't belong. He goes in and withdraws a sleek black cell phone. Curious.

"My name is Yorolaie," he then offers, allowing time for the other to respond in kind with his own name, and those of his friends as he examines the phone.

"No," he said, genuinely surprised at the rejoinder. He liked the humour, but it was an odd thing to say to him. What he saw was a town, to him. At best. Ravnica was a massive city, true, but he'd not seen anything approaching its size. It was like calling something a world when it was a bit of land, to him.

Well, despite the odd question, Crom found it easy to fall into step behind the other. He made sure his dames and the gent were secured in his mantle, as warm as could be.

"Hmm? Crom. Cromdhú if you're nasty."

"Well met, Crom," he says. He is not nasty, perhaps socially awkward. "What about them? Do you care to share their names?"

Crom's face lit up. Taking an interest in his dames and his beetle was a surefire way to his heart, and this man had just stumbled into it. Crom gestured to his mantle. He could feel them getting comfortable within it, pressing close to his skin for warmth. Their tiny claws pricked his skin.

"They're all very cold, so I can't introduce you properly! But with me I have Anthracite, Rafflesia, Virosa, and Fungal Disposition. Joining them is my very large and strong lad, Ganache."

He smoothed the mantle down, making the moss and the ferns shake. The mushrooms under it moved slightly out of time with them, as he gently nudged the mycellium along with some message from his own. He wanted to keep his little passengers as comfortable as possible.

"The rest of us are still Crom."

That was a very nice face. Yorolaie hadn't realised he was feeling a little unsuccessful in his approach until the stranger light up like that. Now that he has a basis of comparison he decides he much prefers the current atmosphere.

"Anthracite, Rafflesia, Virosa, and Fungal Disposition, it's my pleasure. Also to you, large and strong Ganache."

He nods toward the mantle, since the creatures are a little too small for him to really see he hopes he is introducing himself correctly.

"And to the rest of Crom. I look forward to being properly introduced, once you are warmer."

What an interesting relationship. Perhaps symbiotic? He wonders how long they have been together. It is comforting to be in so much company so soon.

"Beautiful names. Though I admit, the name Ganache appeals to me the most."

"Ha! A man of taste." He winked at the bad joke, knowing what he was saying. A little bit of discomfort twisted in his gut at being so pleasant so soon with someone, but nevertheless he enjoyed it. It was nice to have someone interested in his companions. Too many people thought of wasps and beetles as disgusting.

Regardless of his discomfort, he stepped away from the man eater and gestured for the other to follow. There didn't seem to be anything else out in this little slice of the suburb but snow and dark, so he wasn't too fussed about attacks. He'd keep his ears pricked for untoward noises.

"I'm the one that named him," he explained, "so I'm pleased to meet a like minded soul. My co-workers named the dames. Well, except Virosa. She was another of mine."

"Taste has a lot to do with it," Yorolaie replies. He too is keeping his eyes and ears sharp, but the rest of his attention is on the conversation and he too is enjoying it.

He takes a moment to decide what to say next and which avenue of conversation to peruse. There is now the option to ask Crom what it is that he and his co-workers do. There is also the option to peruse conversation on the topic of naming things. Then there is Virosa, he could open a line of enquiry there as well.

"What solidified the name for you?" He asked after a moment of consideration. "Is it that he's sweet by nature?"

"Oh, no no no. As lovely as they are, insects don't really have the capacity to be 'sweet' the way we mean it." He said it with affection in his voice. Though he wasn't necessarily chiding Yorolaie despite the words, it was something he felt very strongly about and he wanted it said. His wasps seemed to like him, but that was pheromones secreted by his spores, and the warmth his body and clothing offered. The same went for his elephant beetle. Crom believed in respecting the animals for what they were, and not anthropomorphizing them. It was respectful of their little lives.

He could only hope the abomination had gleaned that from his mind, whenever it batted playfully at his thoughts.

That was another thing to worry about, and his guts clenched with anxiety considering it. He could only hope Dionaea would go to it and make sure that it wasn't taken by anyone else.

Despite those thoughts, he answered Yorolaie with a smile and a shake of his head.

"I just like sweet things. Good energy in them. So I theme named my beetles!"

Yorolaie nodded. From what he understood, Crom made a lot of sense. He too had observed that people tended to impose personalities on things, stuffed animals, the moon, clouds etcetera. He was wary of making such attachments himself, he was a person who saw clouds as clouds. In light of Crom's words he actually felt some clarity on the subject. He felt as though he were a student, listening to expert by experience. It was appreciated.

"I like sweet things," He offered before continuing. "So, you have more than one beetle in all?"

"Oh, yes. I breed them, as a matter of fact! They have such wonderful life cycles." He hoped they were doing well. Some, he knew, would be taken off to be turned into food for the hardworking members of the swarm, but that was part of their production. Others would stay to breed further chains, and be reintroduced to their own ecosystem out in the wilds. He was quite passionate about all the ways they could help.

"You know, I could ramble to you about my little sweetlings all day, but I think it's a bit too chilly for that. And, if I'm honest, the snow plays hell on my eyes. Shall we find a place to hunker down?"

He was very engaged by the conversation, but understood the need to break it for the sake of practicality. His new found companion and their companions needed shelter immediately. The priorities were clear.

"Of course," he nodded in agreement, scanning the area visually. It was dark, but he could see perfectly well. The snow, while biting, did not bother him the way it might others. Yorolaie had always found the cold to be to his liking. It was ingrained in him, likely a gift of his Stygian heritage. Aside from Thanatos, he was the only one in the family who cared for snow.

He let out a short breath, pushing thoughts of family from his mind for now. They had been aiming toward the City, or Town as Crom had described it. It was possible that it would be too great a distance. He would clarify.

"It's probable that there will be something to suit our needs beyond that wall. Too far?"

Crom shielded his eyes and squinted through the white. The only saving grace here was that the sun was that low, warm orange of a near sunset. With his back to it, he wasn't dazzled by its reflection in the snow. It was still hard on his eyes, however, and he did have to squint.

"I've walked further," he said after a while. "Let's go. My girls are cuddling against my collarbones, and those aren't the warmest things in the world."

He set off. It was strange to lead the way: normally Anais went in first. The thought caused a pang of grief to shoot through him, but he refused to dwell on it. What was important was getting out of the cold and finding out where he'd been dragged to. The town over there could help.

Yorolaie nodded and accelerated his pace. It occurred to him to offer his own body as warmth, but he dismissed that idea. If Crom needed that kind of help, he would ask for it.

Instead, Yorolaie focused on what had been requested. He placed great importance on their finding somewhere warmer in efficient time so as to spare the wasps any discomfort. The way he set off with purpose gave him the look of a hunter who was homing in on the target.

Once they reached the wall he honed his senses to stay alert to risks. Settlements were often more dangerous than the surrounding areas in many ways, though he had hoped that this one would accommodate them. Just past the wall he could already observe a large number of buildings that looked at a glance to be in a state of disrepair.

"Will any kind of cover suit your needs, or do you prefer to hold out for a public establishment of some kind?"

"Oh, I'm not fussy." His own home was set a little ways apart from the main knot of people in his section of the Swarm, and Kirrick had lived at the center of a maze. Crom had grown used to the comparative solitude; the rooms at the offices were the closest he'd lived to others since Ostarr.

Ostarr. He hoped... oh, he didn't know what he hoped. Best to put it out of his mind for now. He needed to find shelter.

"But people might help us get a grip on where we are and what we need! What do you think?"

"I think that a public house would be optimal. Let's press on quickly. If we find nothing in the next ten minutes, we will take whatever is available." He hoped it was the best course of action. If they came upon a restaurant, or inn, there would be a high chance of information, warmth and maybe more. If there was no such thing, they would make do with what they had even if that turned out to be an abandoned husk of a building.

As they moved on, it seemed more and more promising that this settlement would afford the best case scenario. Toward the center of the city the empty buildings gave way to occupied ones, there were even figures on the streets who paid them little to no attention as they passed.

Yorolaie nodded toward a relatively new building that seemed less run down than most. People seemed to be going in and out. "Shall we?"

The people on the streets were either hurrying to and fro, or moving in an energy-saving gait that suggested patrol to Crom. It led him to believe that even this close to the center of the city, attacks from beasts like the one he'd had his girl sting were common. Perhaps they were even worse, for all he knew: the throng of people living so close could give larger, dumber beasts an appetite.

Danger was danger, however, and though he smiled and nodded to the people who came and went, his gaze was sharp, eyes flicking to and fro as he looked for anything that would stand out. This wasn't his city, but he still knew the most usual signs to look out for.

Fortunately, they were unmolested as Yorolaie pointed out the large, cleaner building with a bustle of people. Crom shielded his eyes again, squinting up at it. The stonework was a mess, like several different styles of building had been jammed together, but it seemed sound. He nodded after a short scrutinization.

"It'll do. Enough to get our bearings! Shall we?"

He pushed his way inside.

"Coo-ee! Anyone home?"

He got one or two odd looks. He raised his hand and crooked his fingers in a little wave.

Yorolaie took a moment to note that he liked that entrance, and he liked Crom. He approved of a person with confidence enough to enter a strange place in such a way, without compromising or altering themself for the comfort of others. Many would play themselves down out of fear. Of course, he had already discovered that his new companion was capable enough to back up his actions if needed. He had no reason to fear.

Yorolaie too entered the building with confidence, a solid shadow backdrop to provide contrast to his flamboyant companion. If anyone made eye contact with him, he answered it with a curt nod only. His eyes were busy elsewhere, assessing the interior of the building which he now noted was a bar.

It was dark, though the lighting, which seemed to come from beneath the loudly patterned carpeting, is enough illumination to keep the place from looking too eerie. The chairs and tables appear gothic in style as do the sculptural arches and pillars within, almost as if they were once part of a church or temple. The large neon sign above the bar reading “The Gates of Hell” seems both appropriate and ironic. Yorolaie has a feeling there is more behind that bar than he can register at present, but that is something to pursue later.

There is a stage, and several metal poles which he assumes are for dancers to occupy in night hours. This bar likely exhibits entertainment then. For now however, it is fairly empty, which is perfect for their needs.

There is no fireplace that he can see, which is unfortunate. There are curtains acting as backdrops to many of the walls which look to be good insulators to retain heat within. Perhaps a warm or fiery drink could be procured as well. That would be a start toward warming up Crom and his companions.

Yorolaie approaches the bar with Crom at his side, his eyes finding the bartenders through the large man’s sunglasses as the group draws closer.

The huge man behind the counter looked at Crom and Yorolaie from behind dark shades. For a moment - just a small one - Crom felt like he was looking at Rakdos again. The elder, infernal power radiated from him in waves. Yet there was no feeling of charm, no instant desire to worship the mad muse.

Crom raised his chin, and thought of his mycelium spreading slowly and inexorably, twining through nerves and brain to make him more than he was.

Dionaea would have loved this guy, he thought, and smiled.

"Hello! Hello hello! We're just new and weary travellers, recently arrived in this strange place. My name is Crom, Cromdhu if you're nasty, and this is Yorolaie!" He clapped the other on the shoulder, grinning. "Can we lean on your hospitality?"

A smile cracked the serious face of the demon behind the bar. It wasn't friendly, but it was amused, and Crom took that as a good sign. He didn't mind if he was laughed at - who cared?

"Heh, lost little lambs comin' to my place." He raised a closed fist, thumb outstretched. The thumb caught fire, and with his other hand, the demon put a cigar between his lips and let it catch. "Sit down. Buy a drink. You've a lot to learn."

Crom looked at Yorolaie and shrugged. He took a stool by the bar, and leaned forward to peer at the selection of booze on display.

"I normally drink my own... so why not just fuck me up, my good man? Whatever you like!"

He could resist most poisons, after all.

Fire magic. Noted. Reference to “lost lambs” possibly biblical and in keeping with the general theme of the establishment. Yorolaie checked his thoughts, logged them then set about taking a seat beside Crom, nodding to the barkeep respectfully and then passing Crom a knowing smile. He found it was easy to smile with the druid at his side. In fact that clap on the shoulder had made him feel quite jovial.

The bar stool was tall, and it actually gave Yorolaie height when he was seated, which was welcome in the face of such a forboding bartender. His feet no longer touched the ground, but rested firmly on the structure of the stool.

“Chocolate milk, if you have it,” he chanced. His order may have seemed out of place in such a setting, but Yorolaie did not fear that. He shared Crom's sentiments on being laughed at. Such a thing was of no consequence.

"Providing you accept First Realm credits."

Rodin looked at Yorolaie like he knew he was something important, but ultimately not enough to act like it was the case. I see you, and I don't care, his silent regard seemed to say. It was underlined by the way he smirked and said, "Comin' right up," before turning to get their drinks.

Crom reached into his pouch and drew out a Ravnica Platinum piece. He knew that this was far too much to pay for something as simple as a drink, but he didn't care. Money was a necessity, sure, but he didn't care about it. He set it on the bar, and then reached up to take off his mantle. The room couldn't be described as hot, but there was a warmth to the muggy lights and smokey atmosphere. His girls would be able to snuggle into the folds of the mantle and shake off the chill.

Gently, he prodded the lethargic wasps into place, almost tucking them in among the moss and ferns. Without the mantle, he seemed much smaller, slight, and with a promiment crook to his spine.

"There we go! Now we can get situated. It seems like we showed up early in the night, but a bar's a good place to gather gossip!"

Yorolaie gave Rodin another nod of gratitude before turning his attention back to Crom and offering him the same nod with added fondness. It had been quite some time since he was bought a drink in a social setting. He made a mental note that the next one would be on him. Good social etiquette was important.

"I agree," he said, "we've a lot to learn, as was stated." He lingered for a moment on that, his senses tuning back in to Rodin as the demon moved behind the bar. A lot to learn indeed.

"The sources of our education will be variable in a place like this. Will you all be comfortable here for the duration?"

The question was for clarification. Anthracite, Rafflesia, Virosa, Fungal Disposition, Ganache and the rest of Crom were all of equal importance here. For his own part, he could be happily situated for quite a while.

Edited 2022-04-11 10:07 (UTC)

"Hm? Oh, yes! The girls and my boy will be nice and cozy. Don't worry." He lightly folded the mantle over in one spot, to offer a little buffer of warmth to the wasps and the beetle if they needed it. He did it all in an absent-minded sort of way, as though this handling was second nature to him.

There was a twinge in the back of his neck. He could feel the fruiting bodies eager to erupt from there. He absently scratched it and set his hand back down on the table.

"First thing's first: where are we? I know this place is called The Gates of Hell, but where might that be?" He knew it was another world: nothing of this place felt like Ravnica. Not only was the 'city' too small to be anything other than a suburb by Ravnica standards, but the very air felt wrong. The earth underfoot didn't feel healthy.

"That is the question," Yorolaie mused, gently watching the mantle as the wasps and beetle settled and stilled. Crom himself seemed much smaller without the garb, his skin now exposed to the rooms dark and tepid air. Yorolaie hoped he would not be cold, nor feel vulnerable. He assured himself there was no need to be concerned. Crom had removed the mantle by choice. He knew what he was doing and could handle any problem that may arise.

As Rodin reappeared with their drinks, and hopefully change from that platinum piece Crom had so nonchalantly set down, Yorolaie engaged eye contact with him again, hoping that they might question him a little more.

"Here's a choccy milk, and this is what we call a 'Rip Tire'," Rodin said, placing both drinks down on the bar. Change for the platinum piece did not appear, but Rodin did set it behind the counter. He then leaned over, lit his thumb on fire, and set the 'Rip Tire' alight. "Kanpai."

Crom looked at the layered mass through the glass. "Ooooh," he said, and could practically feel his insides already sighing as they prepared to process an onslaught. He grinned and blew out the flames. "Slainte!"

He picked it up and took a swig. He instantly knew it was highly alcoholic, but he persisted until he had chugged down the whole thing. His stomach lurched, but he set the glass down with a loud "Ahhhh!"

Rodin's face was impassive, Crom decided to act like the man was impressed. He winked at him. "Good for a first! And how's yours, Yorolaie?"

Yorolaie wondered briefly what kind of meaning currency might have in this establishment, and whether the same applied to others? He then observed Crom and his theatrics with the drink in good humour. His new friend appeared fearless in regard to the Rip Tire and seemed at present unaffected. Rodin may or may not have been impressed, but Yorolaie made no secret of his own amusement and confirmed so with his expression. A useful experience indeed. If they ever wanted to start a fire, they knew where to find a flammable liquid.

Several of the other patrons who had been watching them were now paying closer attention to the strangers than before. Whether that was because of Crom, or because the bartender had said "Choccy Milk" one would never know.

He took said chocolate milk in his left hand and lifted it.

"To your health,"

He had set his expectations to 'average' or below. As such, he was pleasantly surprised when the quality exceeded expectations. This was a pretty fuckin' good chocolate milk. Not worth an entire platinum piece, but still, it was pretty fuckin' good. What a relief. Such things were available. That in itself ticked a very important box.

"It's excellent," he complimented in answer to Crom's question and toward Rodin in thanks.

He had thought then to ask Rodin his name, while there was opportunity to do so. However, in that moment he felt another body take a seat close to them. Another larger figure, cloaked, with a distinct rodent scent to them. They were staring quite deliberately at the two with a sneer from their snout like protrusion.

"I reckon' y'can't do that agen," they chattered huskily toward Crom, "Twisty body..." They smirked, absently beckoning a drink from Rodin with clawed fingers.

Rodin set about mixing another drink, impassive at the opening insult one patron had given to another. Crom looked at the rat-person, and deliberately hunched his shoulders more. He wasn't shrinking back: he just did this whenever anyone pointed it out. It drew more attention to the shape of his spine.

"I reckon I could," he said, and reached up to scratch the back of his neck. He could feel the fruiting bodies want to unfurl from under the skin. Not in here, he told himself. He could let that happen later, when they were somewhere private and equally warm. "But I don't have to. It's fun to process a poison now and again though, wouldn't you agree?"

Two glasses were set on the table, and both of them were lit on fire. Crom watched the hellish flame catch from Rodin's fingers onto the glass, and wished that Dionaea were here. She would have been dancing up on those poles by now, her wild laughter spilling out onto the snow, and the fires of Rakdos dancing in her eyes.

He sighed and picked up the glass.

"But, well, why not? Let's give it a shot. Yorolaie, do you want to keep count?"

He threw the drink down his throat. This time it wasn't as easy, but he still kept it down and felt it dissipate from his blood stream. He tilted his head back and breathed out the poison in a long stream of golden spores.

"Better clean that up," Rodin said mildly from where he was pouring Yorolaie another choccy milk. Crom sighed, leaned into the cloud, and breathed them back in. He could process them outside.

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cw: mild body horror / symbiosis

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rolled a d20, with modifier got a 19 lol

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Got an 11