Nothing but pure chaos at every angle of degree the neck turned. The Bawdy Dog buzzed with glorious disaster and a frenzy of busy bodies. It was here Jargo felt most at home, even if he was slightly peeved at not having gotten to the precious potions on time. Oh, well. But, wait...

Not far from where the barmaster was gulping in his first unliving breaths, the lucky demon spied the discarded bottle that had once held the unfortunately marvelous elixir. So close. So close he could almost taste it. Slithering atop the counter, he crept like a happy chesterine in hopes the hasty heroes hadn't used it all up and just maybe enough lingered to fetch a pretty price.

Alas, no... The tyrants had emptied the little vile of anything worth spilling. The jester frowned--the muscles in his face almost unable to bend into the necessary upside-down crescent to form a proper frown, but nonetheless he looked as disappointed as he could force his expression. Although, as he pouted at his misfortune, the heat from his filthy palm was allowed to coax the tiny residue from the bottle's sides and a single drop was able to form in the bottom rim. Jargo blinked at his new friend, his black eyes distorting in the smooth glass thinking he might see answers in the final droplet.

Immediately, his attention was back on the bar and so was a new grin--a wicked, toothy, and crooked grin full of elation with a dangerous game playing in his mind. Without another thought, the insane demon threw the bottle into his mouth and scattered the thing in one mighty chomp--the bitter sting of the potion and blood exciting his tongue and body.

Goodbye, Jargo the Luck Demon and, hello, Jargo the Flesh Eater. [@Mokley]