Early the next afternoon, Minsc, Aerie, and Yoshimo crossed the bridge and made their way to a public house and theater at the edge of the district surrounding Waukeen's Promenade.
The place they were looking for was called the Five Flagons, and Aerie hoped to find her uncle Quayle there. Despite Yoshimo's skepticism that Quayle could help them, she had insisted.
"He taught me everything I know about magic, and in any case, I haven't seen him in a month. Besides," she added, her wide blue eyes glinting cheerfully, "it's the end of the tenday. Maybe we'll be able to see a show."
With that, she'd led the way to the playhouse, and before long, they had arrived.
The Five Flagons was nestled in one of the oldest parts of town, a neighborhood of narrow, winding streets that had followed oxen hooves, of slatted wooden and plaster houses that had sprung up east of the Promenade. Rumor had it that the Five Flagons was one of the first government buildings in Athkatla before an entire district emerged to reflect the vast wealth and bureaucracy around the Council of Six.
But regardless of what it had been before, the Five Flagons now lingered in a semi-forgotten corner of the city, one of the only destinations where most travelers were passing through to the Promenade to the west or the Gem District to the north.
As the three approached, a considerable din erupted from the inside of the stout stucco building. Before long, the cause of the trouble revealed itself: a crowd mainly composed of skilled workers and lower-level merchants, suddenly streaming from the front door, muttering and shaking their heads:
"Liira's bane, that was awful!" said one.
"Without that actor, they had last time —" said another.
"The troupe hasn't shit the bed as much as they did today," said another, followed by a contemptuous spit on the cobbled road.
"Heh, I knew they would," said his companion, proudly displaying a half-filled basket of overripe tomatoes. "Biff there, he's always fancied himself a luvvie."
When the two dozen or so disaffected patrons had cleared the threshold, Aerie led the way inside.
Whatever had happened inside, the bar itself wasn't worse for wear. Evidently, some of the disappointed theater patrons had decided to make the most of their circumstances and stayed at the bar for a drink or two; the common room was nearly full to bursting.
At first glance, this place was unassuming: six round tables with chairs scattered throughout the room, a curved bar near a glowing hearth on one wall, and a flight of stairs leading up to the guest rooms. It was clean, well-lit, and comfortable enough in its way but with little adornment.
But not only did the Five Flagons host performances and theater, it was also well-known as one of the largest breweries and gin shops in town. The proprietor, a halfling named Samuel Thunderburp, kept a small army of brewers and distillers employed in a back room on the first floor, rendering barley into beer and gin. The house ale, a light, hazy drink nicknamed Waukeen's Gold, was passable; however, the gin was thought a rare novelty, worth the trip from other parts of town. The combination of herbs that went into the gin was a closely guarded secret, but unlike the spirits from other places in town, the Five Flagons' gin lacked the taste of turpentine.
In any case, the common area hosted what was said to be the largest jug of gin in town: a great glass beast, taller than the proprietor himself, housed in a sturdy, custom-built wood frame behind the bar. This jug was never completely emptied, and twice a tenday, one of the distillers removed the wooden lid to top it off. The rest of the time, the clear spirit flowed freely from one of two spigots towards the bottom; one was two feet from the ground for the proprietor's benefit and the other twice as high for his crew of bartenders.
This jug had several odes dedicated to it by itinerant bards, and the Five Flagons was named after a challenge issued to its patrons in the inn's earliest days. Anyone who drank five flagons of a potent and surprisingly tasty combination of ale, lemon juice, and gin could drink for free from Samuel Thunderburp's bar for the rest of their days. There was only one rule, however: those who dared to try the challenge had to have bodies that housed a working, magically unaltered liver.
Aerie, Minsc, and Yoshimo had little trouble making their way through the thronging crowd, as was the case when Minsc was allowed to go first. People usually took one look at Minsc's massive muscles and towering height and made assumptions about his willingness to put Larry to use. The hamster, most of the time, added to this effect.
Samuel was at the center of a chaotic storm of orders and drinks and servers swirling around him, directing each piece while hardly breaking a sweat. As the three members of the Company approached, he greeted them with a broad smile and a flourish of his short brown hands:
"Hello, my good smilin' friends!" he half-shouted over the noise. "What can I do you for? A mug of ale? Some spiced wine for the lady, maybe?"
"No…no thank you," Aerie said. She glanced at Yoshimo, unsure if the bartender even heard her over the noise.
She tried again. "We're looking for my uncle Quayle."
Samuel gave her a bit of an odd look.
"He's…he's not really my uncle, but he's…a friend, I suppose. Is he here?"
"Ah, yes, Quayle! Our man for the magical flourish! Well, it looks like the show ended earlier than expected," Samuel said, glancing towards the exiting and angry patrons, "but I'd bet the hair on my toes you'll still find him downstairs."
They followed his directions down a narrow stairway well-lit by several magelights; these were shaped like tongues of fire that flickered like real flame atop small sconces.
They came to a small anteroom with an empty wooden desk, presumably the ticket office. In front was a dirty jute rug, which once might have had a pattern of birds and flowers woven in; now, marked by countless feet, it was difficult to tell.
This small room opened to the theater, which had been carved out from the bones of the city a long time ago, lending credence to the theory that the Five Flagons had once functioned like a town hall. Now, a wooden stage graced the front of the room, along with a set of threadbare woolen red curtains and a complicated system of ropes and pulleys higher in the rafters. Towards the top of the room was a balcony on three sides of the stage, fitted with plush chairs inside makeshift boxes.
The theater wasn't the fanciest in Athkatla, but it still had a reputation that belied its simple surroundings. But the place was staging chaos as the production descended into complete disarray to an empty crowd.
The dozen or so benches on the main level were shifted and, in some cases, overturned upon the stone floor. The stage was stained with the destroyed remains of overripe tomatoes, apples, and cabbages.
One actor, in particular, had borne the brunt of the crowd's wrath — a thin, middle-aged man, presumably Biff — and his entire costume, a poet shirt with a vest and pants, was stained with the remnants of tomatoes and their juices.
"Damn it all!" said a young elf-woman in an elaborate blue dress. "Biff, why didn't you study your lines? Why must I hold your hand through this whole thing?"
"I…I thought that if I felt the lines, used the 'think' method…" he replied.
"You're a disgrace," his opposite replied. "That foolish tiefling, getting caught as he has — without him as Rodrigo, this production is ruined."
"Sereni!" A third voice cut in over Biff's sobs, this one sharp, lightly accented, and belonging to a tall woman with mottled red-orange skin and small horns emerging from a shock of black hair. "There is no need for such talk. While Biff needs more practice, he will make a fine actor, given time."
"We have not the time!" Sereni said. If a pout had a voice, it would have sounded something like the tone she took.
Aerie, Minsc, and Yoshimo said nothing for a moment as they surveyed the scene until Yoshimo broke the silence. "As much as time is of the essence, perhaps we could return when things have settled down somewhat?"
"Aerie!" A high voice descended from the rafters.
Sure enough, it was Quayle, his smart purple suit newly repaired. He tugged on a rope and pulley and came down inside a small scaffold in the center of the stage. He hopped off the device, and ran down the stage stairs and towards Aerie with open arms, giving her a wide embrace.
"Good to see you again," he said. "I hope the Life's treating you well. Better than us, at any rate," he said, gesturing towards the theater.
"Thanks, Uncle Quayle. We're here because…because we could use your help. We've got a friend in trouble, and we think this wizard Mekrath might have something to do with it."
"Mekrath, eh?" The gnome's face curled up for a moment. "That's a curious thing."
He took Aerie by the hand and directed her toward the stage. "Maybe we can help each other — and there might be something in it for you, too. Let me introduce you to the director."
