Shadow Under Otrembert: A Cozy Horror Tavern

*Is anyone still interested in this?*

*I am*

*I am! I didn't notice that it had kind of slowed to a standstill here, I caught pneumonia over the weekend so I've been doing sporadic posting and much sleeping.* 

*Sorry.*

*Get better soon, Wes!*

*i too am still interested. kinda got caught up with other things on here, and life*

The same squeaky tourists from earlier, a pair of friendly, funky, and excited humans who affectionately tell anyone and everyone to call them 'David' and 'Marge', begin to go around, eating places out of food. Eventually, they return to Viande, excited ---- and covered in wing sauce. "Do you have a bath?" David mumbles through a mouthful of razorbeast. "And, you need any help with that?" 

*trying to revive this*

Thomas is sitting at a table with a beanbag chair at it, dozing softly, nigh awake

Two solitary figures are sitting at the bar. One German Shepherd and one Lynx (both anthro, of course.). The German Shepherd, a male, based on appearance, stands at 5'8", with dark chocolate and peanut butter brown markings. He wears baggy, deep blue jeans, combat boots, and a black hoodie with the sleeves cut off, over a grey long sleeve shirt. He also wears a sort of backpack, made to hold a person in such a way that, when resting in the sling, they face the wearer. The Lynx, barely 4'0", is in this sling. They bear all white fur with natural "paint" splatter markings, looking like the floor of a chaotic art project gone wrong. The German Shepderd is cupping a mug in his paws, quietly conversing with the Lynx.

Over the chest of the male's hoodie, it's supposed to say DO NOT PET, but thanks to some neatly done embroidery done by the Lynx, it now says Please DO NOT PET!

*Let it die...*

Quote from Tana___ >>

*Let it die...*

 *Why?*

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

Quote from Tana___ >>

*Let it die...*

 *Why?*

 *Because revives don't stick. It's not a problem with the thread. *

*I am invested in this thread and i've had plans for Thomas for like 10 days*

*Hello everyone*

Quote from SalemTheArtificer >>

*trying to revive this*

Thomas is sitting at a table with a beanbag chair at it, dozing softly, nigh awake

Two solitary figures are sitting at the bar. One German Shepherd and one Lynx (both anthro, of course.). The German Shepherd, a male, based on appearance, stands at 5'8", with dark chocolate and peanut butter brown markings. He wears baggy, deep blue jeans, combat boots, and a black hoodie with the sleeves cut off, over a grey long sleeve shirt. He also wears a sort of backpack, made to hold a person in such a way that, when resting in the sling, they face the wearer. The Lynx, barely 4'0", is in this sling. They bear all white fur with natural "paint" splatter markings, looking like the floor of a chaotic art project gone wrong. The German Shepderd is cupping a mug in his paws, quietly conversing with the Lynx.

Over the chest of the male's hoodie, it's supposed to say DO NOT PET, but thanks to some neatly done embroidery done by the Lynx, it now says Please DO NOT PET!

"He-hey, uh?" A stutter comes from behind him. "Is your sweater--uh--is it okay?" 

At a table, near the back, a man sits. He is tall, nearly 7'8, with light gray skin. His hair is nearly cut in a longer mohawk style, greying towards the roots can be seen amongst the dark strands. He wears a mask over his nose and mouth, straps rounding the back of his head and tightly fastened with buckles. Welding goggles over his eyes set with red lenses, tattoos near his eyes bloom outwards and down his neck.

Over his shoulders is a grey jacket while under it he wears a long sleeves black sweater and a numerous amount of straps over his midsection. His arms have straps lining them as well, holding multiple packs along their sides. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing biceps that have both fat and muscle, decorated with snaking tattoos. His legs are clad a pair of heavy black jeans, multiple pockets lining the sides. His boots are monsterous, made of heavy black leathers and lined with soft fabric inside them.  

He works at the table, a cup of coffee by him that once was warm has now gone cold. He appears to be working on a piece of equipment that looks like a scope of sorts. A large bag sits on the table, filled with who knows what, but from what he appears to be working on, maybe tools or other items of mechanical nature.

Quote from 2_B_Damned >>

At a table, near the back, a man sits. He is tall, nearly 7'8, with light gray skin. His hair is nearly cut in a longer mohawk style, greying towards the roots can be seen amongst the dark strands. He wears a mask over his nose and mouth, straps rounding the back of his head and tightly fastened with buckles. Welding goggles over his eyes set with red lenses, tattoos near his eyes bloom outwards and down his neck.

Over his shoulders is a grey jacket while under it he wears a long sleeves black sweater and a numerous amount of straps over his midsection. His arms have straps lining them as well, holding multiple packs along their sides. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing biceps that have both fat and muscle, decorated with snaking tattoos. His legs are clad a pair of heavy black jeans, multiple pockets lining the sides. His boots are monsterous, made of heavy black leathers and lined with soft fabric inside them.  

He works at the table, a cup of coffee by him that once was warm has now gone cold. He appears to be working on a piece of equipment that looks like a scope of sorts. A large bag sits on the table, filled with who knows what, but from what he appears to be working on, maybe tools or other items of mechanical nature.

 A humanoid dressed in a soldier's uniform and chef's hat walks over and clumsily knocks the mug off the table, replacing it with a fresh one.

The humanoid has no sexual characteristics, and its face is covered by a painted tin mask that would look human if it were attached to such a being. One real, organic eye shows through, a black hole with a broken, golden ring that seems to be a malformed iris.

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

Quote from 2_B_Damned >>

At a table, near the back, a man sits. He is tall, nearly 7'8, with light gray skin. His hair is nearly cut in a longer mohawk style, greying towards the roots can be seen amongst the dark strands. He wears a mask over his nose and mouth, straps rounding the back of his head and tightly fastened with buckles. Welding goggles over his eyes set with red lenses, tattoos near his eyes bloom outwards and down his neck.

Over his shoulders is a grey jacket while under it he wears a long sleeves black sweater and a numerous amount of straps over his midsection. His arms have straps lining them as well, holding multiple packs along their sides. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing biceps that have both fat and muscle, decorated with snaking tattoos. His legs are clad a pair of heavy black jeans, multiple pockets lining the sides. His boots are monsterous, made of heavy black leathers and lined with soft fabric inside them.  

He works at the table, a cup of coffee by him that once was warm has now gone cold. He appears to be working on a piece of equipment that looks like a scope of sorts. A large bag sits on the table, filled with who knows what, but from what he appears to be working on, maybe tools or other items of mechanical nature.

 A humanoid dressed in a soldier's uniform and chef's hat walks over and clumsily knocks the mug off the table, replacing it with a fresh one.

The humanoid has no sexual characteristics, and its face is covered by a painted tin mask that would look human if it were attached to such a being. One real, organic eye shows through, a black hole with a broken, golden ring that seems to be a malformed iris.

 The man looks up, eyes staring back from behind the red tinted lenses of the goggles. He glanced at the new mug set before him, running his thumb over the edge of a flathead screwdriver before setting it down and reaching for the cup. For a moment, be closes his eyes, letting the warmth from it seep into his skin. He nods, muttering a gruff but polite "Thank you."

Quote from 2_B_Damned >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

 A humanoid dressed in a soldier's uniform and chef's hat walks over and clumsily knocks the mug off the table, replacing it with a fresh one.

The humanoid has no sexual characteristics, and its face is covered by a painted tin mask that would look human if it were attached to such a being. One real, organic eye shows through, a black hole with a broken, golden ring that seems to be a malformed iris.

 The man looks up, eyes staring back from behind the red tinted lenses of the goggles. He glanced at the new mug set before him, running his thumb over the edge of a flathead screwdriver before setting it down and reaching for the cup. For a moment, be closes his eyes, letting the warmth from it seep into his skin. He nods, muttering a gruff but polite "Thank you."

 The creature does a little dance, its legs bending in places and directions that they shouldn't. "Thank you! I mean, you're welcome!" Its voice is high, with a sort of 'cute' affectation. It would be convincing on a different body, perhaps a Strugel, but not on this being. It has a variety of military service medals on its chest, including a Purple Heart and a rank insignia identifying them as a sub-private rank that is reserved for expendable, mass-produced creatures like constructs and undead.

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

Quote from 2_B_Damned >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

 A humanoid dressed in a soldier's uniform and chef's hat walks over and clumsily knocks the mug off the table, replacing it with a fresh one.

The humanoid has no sexual characteristics, and its face is covered by a painted tin mask that would look human if it were attached to such a being. One real, organic eye shows through, a black hole with a broken, golden ring that seems to be a malformed iris.

 The man looks up, eyes staring back from behind the red tinted lenses of the goggles. He glanced at the new mug set before him, running his thumb over the edge of a flathead screwdriver before setting it down and reaching for the cup. For a moment, be closes his eyes, letting the warmth from it seep into his skin. He nods, muttering a gruff but polite "Thank you."

 The creature does a little dance, its legs bending in places and directions that they shouldn't. "Thank you! I mean, you're welcome!" Its voice is high, with a sort of 'cute' affectation. It would be convincing on a different body, perhaps a Strugel, but not on this being. It has a variety of military service medals on its chest, including a Purple Heart and a rank insignia identifying them as a sub-private rank that is reserved for expendable, mass-produced creatures like constructs and undead.

 The man blinks, appraising, like how someone would look at a car, like he was searching for signs that should indicate whatever this creature was.

"Construct? Got the leg movement for it." He asks before tilting his head, his deadpanned look and monotone voice giving off the air of a detached observer.

Quote from 2_B_Damned >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

 The creature does a little dance, its legs bending in places and directions that they shouldn't. "Thank you! I mean, you're welcome!" Its voice is high, with a sort of 'cute' affectation. It would be convincing on a different body, perhaps a Strugel, but not on this being. It has a variety of military service medals on its chest, including a Purple Heart and a rank insignia identifying them as a sub-private rank that is reserved for expendable, mass-produced creatures like constructs and undead.

 The man blinks, appraising, like how someone would look at a car, like he was searching for signs that should indicate whatever this creature was.

"Construct? Got the leg movement for it." He asks before tilting his head, his deadpanned look and monotone voice giving off the air of a detached observer.

 "Homunculus," it replies. "Factory-born. I've evolved beyond that purpose." 

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

Quote from 2_B_Damned >>

Quote from Baalzeboop >>

 The creature does a little dance, its legs bending in places and directions that they shouldn't. "Thank you! I mean, you're welcome!" Its voice is high, with a sort of 'cute' affectation. It would be convincing on a different body, perhaps a Strugel, but not on this being. It has a variety of military service medals on its chest, including a Purple Heart and a rank insignia identifying them as a sub-private rank that is reserved for expendable, mass-produced creatures like constructs and undead.

 The man blinks, appraising, like how someone would look at a car, like he was searching for signs that should indicate whatever this creature was.

"Construct? Got the leg movement for it." He asks before tilting his head, his deadpanned look and monotone voice giving off the air of a detached observer.

 "Homunculus," it replies. "Factory-born. I've evolved beyond that purpose." 

 "That makes more sense. Clay or metal? I would assume clay but I don't want to be rude." He said, shrugging.