Oasis Fort didn't have as vast a mercenary community as Twin Bridges Town, so the standard of the bars inevitably suffered. Most were dirty and dilapidated, and their meeting place was no exception.
Phil led them to a bar on the edge of the business district, snuggled next to the largest slave enclosure in Oasis Fort. The bar's entrance was adorned with a rusty sign that swayed gently in the occasional breeze, featuring a goblet with a rose.
It was the afternoon, and the bar was devoid of customers, save for a burly barkeeper who leisurely cleaned glasses behind the bar.
As Lancelot had just pushed open the bar's heavy doors, the barkeeper immediately lifted his head. He squinted his eyes at Lancelot like a threatened animal, with sharp, fang-like teeth protruding from his mouth, and his cup-holding hand silently morphed into deadly claws.
"Ease up, old Reap, he's one of ours," said Phil, startled by the barkeeper's reaction, hurriedly interjecting.
