Eric stood at the bottom of the small flight of steps leading up to the unmarked building. He studied the men that faced him., although, perhaps 'men' is not an altogether accurate term. One figure, on closer inspection , appeared to be a golem. Twice the size of an average man, and carved completely out of iron. The other guard was only slightly smaller than the golem, and could be distinguished as a living being only by it's raspy, laboured breath. Both were heavily armored (quite redundant for an iron golem.) and both weilded large black halberds. Neither of the guards paid was paying him much attention, so Eric started up the steps.

"PASSWORD!" boomed the living guard. His arm shot out to bar Eric's path, and his other hand tightened around his halberd. The golem remained motionless.

"You've got to be kidding. Nobody told me about a password."

"WRONG!" belowed the golem.

"Let me in or I'll gut you where you stand." spat Eric.

"YOU MAY ENTER." said the guard as he lowered his arm. "WELCOME TO THE PAN-DEMONICA."

Eric continued upwards, and knocked on the heavy iron door at the top of the steps. The door opened inward, and Eric's ears were assualted with a familiar cacophoney of sounds. He had never been to the Pan-Demonica before, but he recognized a pub when he heard one.

He stood on a large balcony, from which more steps lead down into a huge rectancular pit. The balconey was cloaked in shadow, but Eric could tell that it went all the way around the inside edge of the building. The pit served as the main room of the pub, and several iron doors lead off into other areas. Eric smiled, wondering what went on behind those doors. Huge iron golems, even larger than the one outside, stood guard in each of the four corners of the pit.

Bouncers thought Eric.

The bar, which was at floor level directly accross from the main entrance, occupied the entire length of the wall. The floor area was crammed with sturdy wooden tables, chairs, stools, benches, and even a few couches. Nearly every one was occupied. Thieves, assassins, cut-throats, mercenaries, pickpockets, pimps, ... every concievable criminal act was represented here. All were busily drinking, shouting, arguing, telling lies, and generally doing whatever underworld scum did when they weren't out...well...being scum. More than a few men, and women, had already passed out on the floor.

Very few of the patrons looked up to acknoledge Eric's presence. Those who did, quickly went on with what they had been doing. Eric took a deep breath. The air was smokey, with an almost imperceptible hint of brimstone. As he stood and enjoyed the ambiance, Eric felt a sudden tingling vibration in the front pocket of his pants...where he kept his knife.

"Damned mages." he mumbled. Eric looked around, trying to find out who was scanning him for weapons, and almost jumped when he realized he had been standing so close to...something.

The thing was perched on a small pedastle about three feet off of the ground. It was shaped roughly like a small man, but that's as far as the comparison could be taken. It's bright red leathery skin and wings were coated in some kind of disgusting oil, and it's long, pointed teeth glistened with saliva. To Eric, it looked like a shaved, winged, red-skinned baboon with fangs. The thing wore a tiny loincloth around it's waist. Eric wondered if it was male or female.

Eric's knife suddenly stopped vibrating.

"Just checking for weapons..." said a voice. A tall man stepped out of the darkness behind the creature.

"You can keep them, of course. We just like to know who has what."

"Who are you?"

"Leonardo." the man lowered himself in a over-dramatized bow.

"What is this thing?" Eric jerked his head toward the creature, who as currently licking it's own underarms with great zeal.

"That's the Imp. Ever been here before?"

"No."

"Be sure to read the rules." Leonardo poined a bony arm at the wall above the bar. Hanging there were two impossibly large stone tablets. Into each tablet were carved five 'rules.' Together, they made up the '10 Commandments' of the Pan-Demonica. Eric took several steps away from the creature, and read the tablets:

1. No Fighting - Take it outside.

2. No Telepathy

3. Pub closes at Dawn. No Exceptions

4. Stay Away from the Golems

5. No Spitting

6. Curiosity Kills - Mind Your Own Business.

7. Living Only - Undead, Stay Away!

8. Don't Stare At the IMP!

9. You Steal...You Die.

10. Mages Welcome, But Keep Your Spells to Yourself.

"No spitting?" said Eric.

"None."

Eric suddenly had the most uncanny urge to spit. He resisted it.

"I think I can deal with that." Eric started down the steps and into the main pit, but he couldn't help looking back at the Imp. The ugly mini-demon was staring at him hungrily . Eric looked quickly away and continued down into the pub.

He sidled up to the bar where the white-haired bartender greeted him with a blank stare. Eric stared back, wondering if the man was alive. Maybe the pub's ban on the zombies only applied to customers, not employees. The bartender looked like an older, undead version of the club's greeter, Leonardo.

"Lookit 'dat!" a rowdy patron pointed in Eric's general direction, "ee's havin' a starin' contest wit' da 'tender. You're gonna loose, mate! Ole Slim's jus gonna look at ya 'til ya order sumpin'"

Eric mumbled an oath. He obviously wasn't going to find out anything about this place from the bartender.

"Okay, barkeep, what do you got?"

The bartender simply stared back.

"They got everthing, " offered another patron, "Everything you want and a lot of stuff you DON'T want. Heh."

"I thought one of the rules was to mind your own freakin' business!" Eric jerked his thumb at the commandments on the wall.

"Sorry," said the man, and he returned his attention to drinking.

Eric turned to the bartender: "Spiced Ale!"

The stone-faced barkeep walked off, drew Eric's ale, and then returned to place it in front of him. Eric tossed the barkeep a coin. It bounced off the man's head and landed in a glass behind the bar.

Eric turned and walked away, prefering to sit at a table instead of having to stare at the bartender as he drank. He noticed a few scantily clad waitresses making rounds, and was glad that he wouldn't have to return to the bar any time soon. Unfortunately, there were no empty tables, so he sat down next to a large, barrel-chested man with a neatly trimmed red beard. The man glanced at Eric, as if apprasing his worth.

"Problem?" said Eric.

"No yet." The man turned away.

Eric drank his ale in silence. As he turned the tankard up to drain it, his eye wandered up to the balconey, where the imp was looking directly at him.

"Gods! Is that freakin' thing ever gonna stop starin' at me?!?"

"Don't mind her," said his table-mate, "She likes to keep an eye on the newcomers."

"She?"

"He. She. It. Depends on the day of the week. It's a 'she' tonight, I think."

"Why is she staring at me, then?"

"Likes to watch the fresh meat, make sure you obey the rules and don't cause no trouble. It's okay as long as you don't stare back. She don't like that."

"What happens if I do?"

"You don't want to know." The stranger offered his hand to Eric, "Name's Hars."

"Eric Hood." Eric shook Hars's hand reluctantly

"Hood as in 'cloak'?"

"No. Hood as in 'I'll slice your freakin' eyeballs out and feed 'em to that freakin' Imp.'"

"Nice attitude."

"uh-huh."

The two sat in silence for a few moments, trying to ignore each other.

"So what's with the bartender?" asked Eric after a while.

"Who, Slim?"

"Yeah, what's his story?"

"Don't really know. Haven't gotten around to askin' Leonardo about him yet. Ain't much for small talk, that's for sure."

"And Leonardo?"

"He works here. Greets people at the door. Walks around and mingles. Tells stories, answers questions. Pretty helpful fellow...for an assassin."

"Assassin," repeated Eric.

"So he says. Retired, of course."

Eric sat quietly, taking in the surroundings. He liked the place more and more with every passing minute.

"Nice place." he said finally.

"You ain't seen half of it yet. See that door over there..." Hars turned around and pointed to a huge iron door set into the stone wall behind him. "That there's the Velvet Palace. Best dancin' girls in the city. All shapes, sizes and colors. Through there's the casino..." Hars pointed at another door. "It's closed right now. And up there..." The large man pointed to a guarded door off of the main balconey, "Are rooms you can rent."

"Rooms? Good, I was needin' a place to lay low for a while. How much-"

"Rooms are rented by the HOUR."

"Oh."

"You can get up there from the Velvet Palace, too. For your added convienience. You see Leonardo walkin' around, ask him to give ya the guided tour."

Eric nodded.

"What about the big guy outside?"

"Who?"

"The guard. Asked me for a password."

Hars looked confused for a moment, then smiled.

"Ain't no guard. That was just the Imp playin' with ya. She senses somebody new comin' up the steps and she yanks their chain a little bit. Kind of like a test to see if you belong here. Had the entire Tower Guard waitin' for me on my first time. I asked 'em if they wanted to fight me all at once or one at a time, then they all just disappeared. Just an illusion... all in fun."

"Hmmph."

"I ain't pryin' or nothing," said Hars, "but I ain't seen you around before. What brings you to Montfort?"

"My...employer... decided to relocate."

"Guess I could say the same. Ever hear of the Night's Bloom?"

"Nope." Eric lied.

"Me neither." Hars smiled. Eric flagged down a waitress and ordered more beer.

"So, who owns this place?"

"Some old rogue from way back, can't ever remember his name. Story is that he made some kind of deal with a demon. Got himself rich and powerful, and now that his time's almost up, he wants to do a little something for us thievin' bastards that helped make him what he is. "

"Can't remember the name, eh?"

"Nope. Nobody can. It's not a secret or anything, but it's the funniest thing... You hear somebody say it, and it's gone outta your head before the sentence is even finished."

"Damned magic..." mumbled Eric.

"Exactly." replied Hars. " Imp. Golems. Whole place runs off demon magic. . See..." Hars pointed up to the high stone ceiling, where Eric could just barely make out a large pointed crystal suspended by a short chain.

"What's that?"

"Don't know. But anybody tries to use telepathy in here without permission...Hoo-Boy! You don't wanna be standin' next to him when THAT thing goes off!"

Eric smiled.

"Anybody gets outta hand and that Imp'll cover 'em with a web of anti-magic and teleport 'em straight into the sewers."

"Nice."

"Ain't no priest or pansy-arse mage gonna come in here throwin' their power around! Scum and cut-throats only! The law don't know or don't care, and if they did they couldn't get through the door in one piece! I've seen Leonardo and the Imp finish off a more than a few troublemakers."

"They serious about those rules?"

"Well, you know what they say... Rules is made to be broken. You can do whatever you want to, so long as you don't bother anyone else. You can whip out your sword and start swinging it around like a lunatic, but as soon as ya touch somebody with it... BAM! You're up to you're neck in raw sewage. If you're lucky. Same goes for magic. Telepathy too... sort of. This is just a place to come to and relax and tell lies to each other."

"I think I'm gonna like this place."

[END]