[i]The Rattling Chain, Crypt District[/i]

The dull thrum that always came from a busy tavern leeched out into the street in front of The Rattling Chain, the echoes of various voices, as well as the backdrop of cheery Irish music. From on the street, it might have been any normal bar in the world, if it weren't for the fact that they were underground, stalagmites hanging down from the earthy ceiling. Soft light bathed the street, slipping through the rough glass of the windows and a few cracks in the wooden walls.

However, were one to step inside, they would find themselves faced with a nightmarish sight, by normal world standards. The tavern itself looked normal enough- A large hearth at one end of the room on a raised platform for performers, a few tables strewn about the floor, a bar covering most of the left half of the building, shelves of booze behind it. Even a pair of pool tables put off to one side. However, the occupants were what gave this place its hellish atmosphere. Behind the bar, a hunched form stood, rubbing the same spot on the bar with a filthy cloth constantly, occasionally sliding somebody a drink. The figure was wearing tattered rags for clothing, flesh in a mild state of decay, shackles around its neck and wrists with chains jingling from them, likely the cause of the tavern's name. All along the bar sat an array of people- A pair of ghosts at one end, muttering between themselves. A banshee hovered in a corner, idly combing her hair while half-listening to a mummy ramble on about how his arm kept falling off.

On the stage, a strange group stood. Several men of Irish-looking decent, two of them with their heads sitting in their laps. It was from them that the Irish music came, one of them standing up front and singing to the tunes. Not bad for a bunch of dead guys. Everything from ghosts to zombies to mummies sat around the bar nursing drinks at various tables in their own little groups, a shady looking vampire facing off at pool with a skeleton.

One skeleton in particular was drawing a good deal of attention from the crowd, up on stage with the Dullahans. They played their music, as the skeleton hopped back and forth on the stage. He was juggling a trio of mugs and a skull- His skull, to be precise. The jaw moved even as the head went in rings around his body, voice exuding in an unnatural manner over the tavern, tone light and lilting, matching the music playing beside him.

"And so we have the tale of a club-foot knight and a flatulent dragon! Our knight, the greatest vampire in the kingdom! Even with his club foot, none could compare with him as he swung his mighty iron club on the fields of war! The moon shone off of his obsidian armor every evening, blood splattering over its surface with every blow of his club- And mud splattering with every step of his club foot!"

"Now, our dragon is quite the unusual fellow! His brothers and sisters were infamous for their hording of fine jewels, and the fire they spewed from their maws! But Grant the Dragon was different! He refused to leave his treasures laying around, instead ingesting them! This gave the fellow horrible indigestion, and every time he moved to huff smoke or breath fire, he would fart, and it would come out the wrong end! The Flatulent Dragon, while odd among the world, was wanted for a high bounty..."

His story trailed on, full of comical phrases and actions, the hilarious tale of the club footed vampiric knight and the flatulent dragon Grant one of medium length and maximum laughter. Throughout the tale, the skeleton describing it continued to dance around the stage, slowly acquiring more and more objects to juggle, his skull ever in the mix, floating through the tossed rings constantly. Eventually he was juggling a good seven mugs, two skulls- One his own- a femur, and a very irritated looking zombie pygmy, who sat cross-legged, cross-armed, and grumpy-faced even while floating through the air with every flick of the skeleton's wrist, his little hat askew on his decaying features.