Ratz turns to Zeb, a hint of recognition in his squinty brown eyes. "Ah, Herr Zeb, welcome back. What can I get for you this time?" He asks, his German tinted voice gruff as ever. The mechanical whir of his Russian military prosthetic arm fills the brief silence as he awaits Zeb's request, ready to serve another round. His decayed teeth and East European steel prosthetics briefly on display as he parts his lips, the infamous ugliness adding character to his presence behind the bar.

taken in chatsubo

With a confident stride, Gurf Morlix heads towards the exit labeled "Start." As he crosses the threshold, the endless white expanse fades away, and the adventure beckons him forward. He emerges into a dense forest, the air thick with the sounds of wildlife and the mysterious buzz of magic lingering among the trees. Ahead, a path winds deeper into the woods, and Gurf Morlix's journey begins in earnest.

taken in loading

Gurf Morlix scans the endless white expanse with his piercing gaze. The object forge stands like a lone monolith, its surfaces sleek and full of potential. Beyond the forge, the start point into the game waits ominously. NPCs go about their pre-programmed business, indifferent to the grand adventures that lay ahead. Other than that, the room is stark, empty, and silent, filled only with the possibilities of what could be created or initiated here.

taken in loading

zeb approaches the Object Forge and inputs the specifications for a black steel mace. With a whir of energy and mechanical grace, the Forge begins its work. Moments later, the pleasant ping of completion reverberates through the endless white expanse as the mace materializes on the output pedestal, carved with intricate glyphs that seem to absorb the light around it. > pick up the black steel mace

taken in loading

Zeb's eyes drift over to the Ono Sendai Cyberspace 7, its presence in the Chatsubo a beacon for deck jockeys and cyberpunks. Its surface is a block of polycarbon, sleek and black, with cords and the terry sweatband hanging off one side. Zeb notices the flickering lights indicating the device's active status. It's a prized piece of tech, capable of jacking a user straight into the pulsating heart of cyberspace. An aura of potential emanates from it, the promise of adventure and information lurking within the depths of its electronic soul.

taken in chatsubo

Ratz's corner of his mouth twitches into what might pass for a smile, the dim light catching on his metal teeth. He gives Zeb a knowing look, suggesting a shared understanding of the momentary relief found at the bottom of a glass. "That's the spirit, Herr Zeb," Ratz comments, the bar's red lights casting a murky glow over his figure as he resumes his duties, cleaning another glass with his jerky prosthetic arm.

taken in chatsubo

Thraeryn, ablaze with ire and magic, steps decisively toward the wrestling ring. With a grand gesture, he extinguishes the flames and begins dismantling the ring in a display of raw strength. The club-goers scatter from his path, their expressions a mix of awe and disappointment as the spectacle they anticipated dissolves before their eyes. Thraeryn hefts the ring, now compact and portable through enchantment or sheer determination, and strides toward the club's exit, leaving behind the nightscape of Devil's Night and the unanswered challenge hanging in the smoke-filled air.

taken in devilsnight

The wrestling ring catches the eye of many patrons as an unexpected addition to Devil's Night club. It sits near the crowded dance floor, with its ropes and turnbuckles reflecting the strobe lights. It's not currently being used, serving more as a decoration and conversation piece than a functional sporting venue. Thraeryn inspects the ring, noting the odd contrast between the dark gothic atmosphere and the brawny sportsmanship it represents.

taken in devilsnight

As Thraeryn gazes at Falafel guy, better known as Ibrahim, he sees a robust man with a peppered mustache that hints at a life rich with stories. He dons a simple apron smeared with spots of grease and hot sauce – medals of his culinary battles. His eyes are sharp and observant, a trait no doubt honed during his time in the Israeli military. A slight scar on his forearm, perhaps from a kitchen mishap or something more covert, is barely visible as he deftly flips a spatula in hand – a subtle reminder of his capacity for both creation and danger.

taken in downtown

Zelda, having swiftly loaded her pockets with databricks, now feels the weight of her loot pulling at her pants. She adjusts her gear hastily to prevent any mishaps as she prepares to make her urgent exit from the compromised vault and the Databank itself. The tension in the air is palpable; time is of the essence.

taken in databank