Action time! You have initiated an Observation Skill Test.

  

  

Let’s hope your powers of inspection, examination and investigation are at least somewhat inspired by reruns of Columbo. If you’re interested in learning something helpful, now is the time to do good dicing.

  

  

Your Observation skill gives you a d8 and two d10s. You must choose one of your Awareness Attribute cards to complete the dice pool.

  

  He asked the satchel to give him his AttributeAwareness

  

RESULTS:

  AWR d8 = 5

  Observation d10 = 3

  Observation d10 = 9

  Observation d8 = 3

  

  He had rolled one low success - the 5 - and one high success - the 9. The dice vanished as he looked back to his instruction book:

  

Well look at you being a good Looky-Lou looking around and being tolerably looker-ific. Simple Actions like this only require a single dice result of 4 or higher to be considered a success. More complex actions require two or more dice to roll 4 or higher. However, some actions will benefit from the QUALITY of your success.

  

  

What this means is the higher the combined SUM of all your successes, the more you stand to gain from the action. In this case, the quality of your Observation action is 5+ 9 which equals 14. Not bad for a noob.

  

  The book gave no further details but as Robin looked up to glance about the street he found certain elements had gained a faint white glow pulling his attention toward them: a red-trimmed poster in a storefront advertising a pleasure bar called an old lady walking slowly down the opposite sidewalk fingering a necklace of beads and mumbling what likely was a prayer upon noticing a copy of that same poster on a street lamp; a blue paper flyer lying partially crumpled in the gutter advertising a different bar, deep scratches, claw marks in fact, up the side of the lamp post Robin was leaning against. Had wereCreatures been climbing it sometime recently? And for what purpose? Surveillance, perhaps?

  Robin knew he still had much to learn about this world. Irrational as it might be, getting indoors seemed safer than loitering about the streets as the sun set. was certainly not an appealing name for a bar. Besides, Monika had said a succubus owned it and if this reality’s succubi were anything like in Dungeons and Dragons, Robin’s gay ass had no interest in going down road.

  Resisting the urge to dramatically dust off his hands at having reached a decision, he pushed off the lamp post and tugged the cheap Santa coat to get it to lay a bit more evenly on his narrow frame. Stick and MittenHe patted his pockets for his phone to pull up a map. He didn’t have it with him. The game had not deigned to provide him with one even though other people obviously had smart phones.

  It was worth a try. “Hey, Lessons and Rules book, show me a map of this neighborhood.” Shockingly, or perhaps with less shock than would have been garnered a couple hours ago, the book buzzed so Robin turned the page in time to see the blank parchment surface swirl like wet ink going down a drain. The ink resolved into a map of the neighborhood. It even had 3-D dimensionality to it with little isometric versions of all the buildings.

  The page even had a little blinking arrow indicating which way he was facing. Robin oriented himself accordingly and headed off for a five-block walk.

  ? ? ? ? ?

  Even from down the street stuck out. Red lighting throbbed over a red brick facade decidedly contrasting the unvarnished beige architecture everywhere else. All three stories of the club palpitated with colorful vibrancy while sensuous jazz exuded from outdoor speakers. It felt like the first place Robin had encountered that actually was thriving with life. Everything else he had seen was austere in comparison or hollowly decorated with performative verve like Monika’s apartment.

  Only a half dozen other people could be seen on the long street and no one was close by. The street lamps, just now flickering to life as sunlight departed, gave off Irish-cream-colored illumination. Not knowing if it was a good sign or bad that no other people were entering or exiting the club, Robin inhaled deeply, squared his shoulders and walked through the front door.

  The main room, while actually spacious enough for sixty people or so, felt inviting, comfortable and intimate despite its three-story high atrium construction. Red and teal velvet lined the furniture and the walls somehow managing to look elegant, not gaudy. Dark wood sconces provided low lighting that was enough to see clearly but not so much as to feel revealing should one desire privacy. Round wooden cabaret tables and cushioned chairs filled the center while luxuriously pillowed and curtained curved booths lined two walls.

  Along the third wall was a lengthy dark wood bar, polished to shine warmly in the subtle lighting. A number of beige patrons sat alone or in pairs at the bar and at various tables and booths. The place was about half full. A susurrus of whispered conversation lingered as undertones beneath sultry jazz played by an instrumental trio on a small stage. Next to the stage an elaborate, curving staircase wound its way upward to the darker, balconied floors above.

  Behind the bar stood a menacing light blue demon with a cloud of spiky blue hair and a wicked grin streaked across its face. Why patrons weren’t stampeding in fear out the front door was inexplicable. Robin would have run if it weren’t for the underlying sense of welcome permeating the rest of the place. The music soothingly accompanied an enticing smell, vanilla maybe? Cinnamon? He wanted to feel hungry but no such sensation was discoverable on his tongue or in his stomach.

  Robin simply stood in the open doorway and watched as couples canoodled, an old lady drank somberly alone and the disturbing blue demon poured elaborate cocktails with a frosty touch that magically chilled them without the need to add ice.

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  A hand came from behind to rest on his shoulder “Welcome to , friend,” said a warm, chocolaty, baritone voice. The hand continued to seductively stroke down Robin’s arm as its owner slowly came into view.

  A six-foot, pale pink devil with a shock of fire engine-red hair, oversized pointed ears and huge horns protruding from its forehead came to a stop in front of him without the slightest regard for personal space. He had red bat-like wings tucked behind him. Clearly visible as the only thing adorning his bare chest - with slightly unnatural bone structure - was an elaborate series of black leather straps. Fully familiar with gay bar attire, Robin noted that the devil’s intricate harness ought to be glued to the skin to stay in place if things worked normally here. The harness was clearly not adhered as it shifted seductively with the creature’s every mannerism.

  “My name is Zebryl, my sister and I own this fine establishment and are here to serve your every… pleasure.” That last word landed with breathy weight as one of the demon’s clawed fingertips found the waistband of Robin’s Santa pants and slipped behind it and the underwear beneath.

  Robin could not control the gasp that escaped his lips as the devil’s red eyes trapped his gaze inviting him to follow its line of sight down to waist level. The demon expertly pulled the material away from Robin’s body as they both took a gander at the contents of his crotch.

  The demon looked pleased with the view. “I see you are a human of the stick variety,” it said. “Whatever sort of carnal pleasure you have come to seek, either Yarya’s mitten or mine own stick will be more than adequate to sate, I promise. Or perhaps you’re interested in a two-for-one deal?”

  For the second time this day Robin found himself speechless. His body was reacting to the insanely attractive devil’s insinuation and he had no idea what the proper or expected response was or who Yarya might be. Its sister maybe? Had he gotten confused and ended up in a succubus lair after all or had Monika misled him?

  The demon cooed coyly having yet to release its hold on Robin’s waistband. “Oooh my, I see we have some growth potential here. Please, let me find you a more suitable spot to discuss our offerings. The doorway is no place to dawdle when so much comfort awaits further in.”

  Leading him by the waistband, the demon ushered Robin into the main room and sat him down in one of the plush booths. “Please, allow me to get you a drink. What is your favorite flavor?”

  Robin wondered if he had been ensorcelled, but realized he had seen no dice rolls appear from the devil nor had he been required to excavate his cards and dice. “Uh, anything whiskey would be fine. Thank you.”

  “Of course,” the devil smiled showing fangs that he swore glinted in the low light like they were in a chewing gum commercial. “I’ll be right back.” It turned to saunter to the bar knowing full well Robin’s eyes were glued to its perfectly perky ass clad in perfectly tight black leather pants.

  The old lady sitting alone at one of the center tables caught his eye and gave him a knowing ‘’ wink. Why on earth would someone who appeared so sweet and innocent be in a place like this? Robin had heard that retirement communities were filled with randy old folks and rife with STDs. Nah, she was just here for the music.

  Nope! The naughty spinster was doing the classic index finger penetrating a hole shape with her hands. She awarded his wide-eyed reaction with a quirked smile and a salute of her cocktail. Could this get any more cliché?

  Zebryl slithered into the booth to deposit a clinking rose-quartz tumbler in front of Robin. The devil’s thigh slipped across his leg to park dangerously close to his groin. Robin tried to shift a few inches away but found himself indelibly trapped beneath the warm demon appendage. He gulped and took sip of the whiskey.

  Robin’s palette expected the usual bourbon bite but all he felt was the cool sensation of flavorless, chilled water. There wasn’t even one of those big blocky cubes of ice making it cold. The blue demon bartender must have curated the drink. He took another sip not knowing what else to do. Maybe his brain added a hint of oak and spice this time, but overall there was still no flavor. He did start to feel a hint of familiar whiskey warmth make its way down his throat. Monika had said they could still get drunk in this world, it just wouldn’t taste good.

  The incubus leaned in and stroked a couple clawed fingertips through Robin’s hair expertly removing the Santa hat from his head. “What’s your name, friend? I would very much like to learn a little bit about you and what brings you to our little club.”

  Robin cleared his throat and took one more sip. He wanted to pull his head away from the hand that now pleasantly toyed with his messy hair but he was afraid he might offend the creature. “Um, well, I’m new here and I guess I’m just, uh, looking for answers or a way to get home.”

  The devil threw its head back and laughed heartily. It wasn’t a mocking laugh but a truly jovial one. “Why in all the worlds would you want to do that?”

  What could possibly be a good answer? Why would anyone want to stay here? “Um, because I have friends and family and a whole life back there. Why would I want to be here where I can get torn apart by B-grade movie monsters?” Robin’s stomach clenched at that last remark. He’d meant the insult as a description of the wereSkunk from earlier but realized everyone here not human, beige or otherwise, was a monster. He’d just insulted the host. Robin braced for engulfing flames or claws ripping his throat out.

  Instead, Zebryl used its other hand to beguilingly take Robin’s drink out of his grasp making sure to make plenty of unnecessary flesh-on-flesh contact. The incubus took a sip and sighed as if satisfied by the empty taste of it. Maybe it was another trick of the light, but Robin swore he saw a puff of red smoke or steam emanate from the glass.

  “I can taste your fear, my nameless friend,” the devil cooed. “Did your own words scare you? Do you think me akin to those feral animaloids licking their lips at the sight of your succulent flesh?”

  Robin proffered a half-hearted shrug; half apology and half question. “I’m Robin. Robin Bennett.” He hoped his name was enough in the way of peace offering.

  In a very business-like manner, Zebryl offered his clawed hand for shaking. Robin accepted and gave as strong a shake as he could muster hoping his hand didn’t quiver or sweat too much. He noticed a curved spike emanated from the back of the devil’s hand. He wanted to touch it, to stroke it it, maybe even lick it.

  Dice tumbled across the tabletop. Some had come from Robin and quite a few more had rolled off of Zebryl. Robin snapped his gaze from the view of one of his own Willpower was worried about how those fangs might feel down there if the demon decided to bite, but the idea was simultaneously invigorating and frightening. Red steam poured out of his pores and the incubus inhaled the mist with deep, intimate satisfaction.

  “Ah, thank you Robin,” Zebryl moaned, hinting at ecstasy. “Your fear tastes so clean and fresh. I presume you are not accustomed to that sensation?”

  Robin sank back into the pillows of the booth and let the demon’s caress return to linger on his chest. “I guess maybe not. I haven’t had real stage fright since I was a kid and I’m not a thrill seeker that goes speed skiing or sky diving or anything like that.” One clawed finger tip traced a curling path across his plain white t-shirt before worming its way around his waist coming to rest with a warm palm upon the small of his back.

  “Well, I am honored to be the one to elicit such flavorful feelings from you,” Zebryl said. “I hope you are beginning to find comfort here?”

  Strangely, Robin feel more relaxed. How was that even possible? He should be more frightened than ever at literally being in the hands of hellspawn. “What did you just do to me?” He gestured toward the tabletop and the now-evaporated dice. “You did something that caused a dice roll but time didn’t freeze and I didn’t purposely select an Attribute

  “Oh my, you really are new here.” Zebryl handed the drink back to him while using the hand on his back to pull him ever so slightly closer. “You don’t need to pause time to make ActionPlayerPauses

  One thing did pop to mind regarding PausesPlayersPauses

  Zebryl’s red eyebrows crinkled. “No, I don’t think so. At least I don’t know how to and I can’t say I’ve ever seen it done. I suppose there could be some species out there with that ability.”

  Robin filed all that info away to think about later and chose to pose another question while the devil was in an informative mood. “Were you feeding upon my Fear

  Zebryl grinned. “I most certainly was, friend Robin. And might I say you taste delicious.”

  “Uh… thank you?” Robin tried again to squirm out of the incubus’s grasp but found the attempt lacked commitment. His throbbing groin betrayed the conflicting desire to remain right where he was. “Can you tell me how to do that? I’ve been told I will need to Feed

  “Well that is very true,” Zebryl admitted. His ruby gaze dropped to the tented fabric of Robin’s pants. Its free hand pointed, “ is also a type of meal we ought to explore, and soon if I am any judge.” A wicked smacking of lips followed the gesture. “I would very much like to lick your stick and take a bite.”

  Robin sucked in a quick gasp of air. Maybe incubi feed upon flesh and Zebryl had lied. Was dick meat on the menu after all? The weirdest sensation happened just then. It felt like his dick burped. There was definitely a mortifying new occupant in his boxer briefs.

  Zebryl, with practiced ease and no sense of judgement, slipped its free hand into Robin’s underwear and pulled out a glinting red dollop of spongy material, not unlike what Monika had collected off the wereSkunk. Zebryl pulled its other arm out from under Robin and placed the bon bon in its open palm for examination. “That is a dollop of FearFear Player

  “Can I touch it?”

  “Sure.” Zebryl tipped it into Robin’s hand. “I suppose you could eat it, but it won’t do anything for you. Your cards and dice receive no nourishment from your own ingredients.”

  Robin pinched it lightly. The red dollop felt like a gumdrop. Was this really fear made manifest or was this just another serving of outrageous weirdness this world insisted on providing? He gingerly handed it back to the devil who casually popped it into its fanged mouth and swallowed it whole.

  Zebryl lightly pushed the table away and moved to fully straddle Robin putting their faces mere inches apart. “What do you say I take you upstairs and we feed that throbbing pole of yours a meal?”

  Despite the outlandish circumstances and the absurd notion of banging a devil, Robin was on the verge of saying ‘yes’ when the front doors slammed open followed by a deafeningly animalistic howl shattering the serenity of the parlor. Five anthropomorphic monsters swaggered into the room — four wereCanines of various types and a massive wereBear.

  The bear, dressed in a fancy smoking jacket, took a few additional steps into better lighting. “Meat’s back on the menu, babes!” With the preternatural ease and familiarity of a lifelong pack, the four canines surged into the club brandishing fangs and claws as the patrons screamed. Robin instantly lost his boner.