Dali glanced up when the two strangers sat down.  The first seemed to be some kind of white-haired ninja. [color=39b54a][i]That’s a lot of knives. Wonder if he carries a single pair of scissors, or if it’s all just knives.[/i][/color] The second stranger appeared to be a child, possibly the ninja’s kid, but it didn’t seem like it. In fact, she looked like some kind of a thief, what with all the keys hanging off her neck. But the real kicker had yet to walk through the door. He bobbed his head in greeting to the two newcomers, and fiddled with the coin in his pocket.

And then, he did. A guy in a hooded robe. Dali tasted the air, tongue flicking fast. The guy smelled like brimstone. Wizard, maybe. The ninja, like liquor. The thief, like sweat. The wizard strode in proudly, arrogantly. Dali had to stifle a snicker as he tripped over the doorframe. Then, he was forced to hold down his indignation when the wizard raised a hand and summoned the bartender out of nowhere. [color=39b54a][i]WHERE WAS THE BARKEEP TWENTY MINUTES AGO?[/i][/color] And then, the barkeep [i]offered[/i] him a drink. And then he says “Lizard Lager”. [color=39b54a][i]That seems racist. I should probably say something… But he also found the bartender. Decisions, decisions…[/i][/color] Dali decided he’d rather order a drink than start a civil rights brawl. He walked up behind the robed fellow just in time to see the guy checking out a little bronze coin with an eye on it. Stranger still was when this weirdo pulled down his hood. Bright red hair gleamed under the light of bioluminescence. 

[color=39b54a]”Triple rum, if you wouldn’t mind.”[/color] He tossed ten copper pieces on the bar. [color=39b54a]”Keep the change.”[/color] He stepped up to the stool next to the wizard and asked aloud, [color=39b54a]”Ssso, you got a coin, too, huh?”[/color] But at that very moment, the band left the stage, bowing quietly. He held up a finger. [color=39b54a]”Hold that thought.”[/color] 

He jogged back to his table to grab his guitar. He snatched it up, slinging it over his head. [color=39b54a]”Hey, Ninja-guy. Watch my ssstuff.”[/color] He jogged back to the bar, threw back his rum, and stepped onto the stage, still wincing from the drink, bobbing his head in typical Ophidian greeting. His parietal eye registered heat converging up here, but cold below. [color=39b54a][i]Band must’ve worked up a sweat.[/i][/color] He raised his arm in greeting to the humans here, [color=39b54a][i]No scales in the room. Weird.[/i][/color] He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. He strummed a melancholy [color=39b54a][b]A-minor[/b][/color] using the coin as a pick, and raised it so the patrons could see. [color=39b54a]“The Eye of the Cssyclopsss. The Watchful Eye.”[/color] The patrons watched him flick the coin into the air, then suddenly, a coin fell onto each table, bouncing, shining, ringing, finally landing, eyes facing straight up. But when they blinked, it was gone. Dali plucked the strings with his claws, masterfully weaving his old magic through the room, the ambient lighting absolutely perfect for the hallucinations of a practiced hand. 

[color=8dc73f]
e|---------------------------------------------------|
B|---------------------------------------------------|
G|---------------------------------------------------|
D|--------2-2-2--------------------------------------|
A|--------------3-3-3-0-0-0-2-2-2-------0-0-0--------|
E|--0-0-0-------------------------3-3-3-------2-2-2--|[/color]


Dali continued. [color=39b54a]”The Eye watchess and waitss, watchess and waitss. It is the beacon of a madman, a hoarder of arcane knowledge, a mutant among sssane mindss.”[/color] To the listeners, there seemed to be a whispering floating through the room, and once more, Dali raised the coin. He’d stopped playing his guitar, but the music was still audible. The audience sufficiently pacified, the [i]real[/i] hallucinations could begin. The eye of the coin held in Dali’s claws seemed to blink, and look around. It seemed to see inside the mind, to read one’s thoughts, to- [color=39b54a]”It iss a little trinket, a little icon, an idol of the inner truth, of open eyess in the mind.”[/color] His Ophidian lisp began to lessen, more and more as he spoke.

At this moment, the light seemed to dim, the glowing sea-creatures seeming to fade away, becoming the silhouettes of different shapes, [i]weird[/i] shapes, [i]improper[/i] in a way, so much so that one might think that shapes such as those should not belong in a rational world. [color=39b54a]”A man in black, nothing more than a sshadow with a pouch full of coinss, like the last whissper of a long dead god, fluttersss through the night, ssslipping little watching eyes into the pocketss of the destitute and outcasst.”[/color] Something flashes by in everyone’s peripheral vision. Something black. Something tall. [color=39b54a]“If you find such a coin, know this: It is a summoning. It is a calling. It is a journey to risk life and limb. It is a sacrifice of one’s soul. The Glutton’s Castle awaits! If you can find the path, and you can survive the journey, you may find what you seek. If not that, then you will certainly find something else.” [/color] The whispers grew louder, the music more menacing. The stage seemed to rise higher off the floor, and the weird shapes in the fishbowls warped even more strangely. The shadows stretched and the air was filled with the chlorine smell of ozone. [color=39b54a]”But beware, ye seeker of knowledge. Beware, for you may find what you seek. But in the end, it may be nothing like what you wanted.”[/color] Dali slipped a pouch from his pocket, and fished out a leaf. He licked it, leaving a trail of sticky saliva along one flat edge. [color=39b54a]”For this is a quest left by dreaming Gods and things that have no name. “[/color] He sprinkled little herbs from the pouch into the fold of the leaf and began rolling it into a tight tube. He slipped it into his mouth, and struck a match. It flared bright red in the dim winery, and lit up Dali’s face like a ghost. The music still echoed loud and clear, thudding like a heartbeat. [color=39b54a]”Ye who have found thyself beneath the gaze of the Watchful Eye, make thine way unto the Ceaseless Feast. Thou wilst uncover a conspiracy of Gods and Demons. There is a Painted lady and a fatherless son. Thou wilst hear the voices of three faces that will speak in unison upon a hill, and the babbling old Gods will choose their champion.”[/color] The room went dark again as Dali’s cigar lit, and the match blew out. Dali’s face was obscured in smoke and darkness, nothing more than a little glowing red eye in the fog, as the music faded away to become one with the whispering.