RP Cafe
They call it The Cafe, but that is only part of what it is. The Cafe is nebulous, seemingly existing outside the constraints of space and time as we understand them. Although it is a location, The Cafe cannot be found, and many have wasted their lives trying to do so. Yet, others have stumbled upon it without even being aware of its existence. For what good would a cafe be without customers? Often, someone simply walking through a regular doorway finds themselves in The Cafe. At other times, sometimes they sleep, and 'awake' to find themselves already seated at a table, a cup of their preferred beverage in hand.

And yet, something about the atmosphere of The Cafe makes this all seem ordinary. A calm, nonthreatening aura permeates the area, encouraging patrons to relax, take a load off, and enjoy the temporary safe haven from whatever troubles exist wherever they came from. All manner of characters have found themselves in the Cafe, mighty heroes, terrible villains, and everything in between. The Cafe accepts all customers, regardless of background and beliefs. So why not come in and take a break? The food is good, the drinks are on the house, and the company is out of this world.

Welcome to the RP Cafe, a place for all kinds of character-on-character interaction. There's no need to sign up, just post a brief intro for your character, perhaps describing how they got to the cafe in the first place, and get in on the conversation! As for the kinds of characters you can roleplay here, almost anything goes, but there are a few ground rules.

1. Only one character at a time, please. You can have your character leave, then have another enter, however.
2. Keep any violence to a strict minimum. No lasting injuries or death. The atmosphere of the Cafe will always prevent such things from happening.
3. RP standard here, but no controlling someone else's character, even if that character's creator is currently RPing someone else.
4. No established characters, like Ash Ketchum or Sans. This is to prevent debate about who 'owns' these characters. OCs are fair game, so long as they are not obviously an established character with only minor changes, like a female Ash Ketchum.

Now that that's out of the way, I'll get things started with some RPing of my own. Have fun!

Eli Crow sat comfortably at a table all by himself, his legs stretched out so they rested on top of the table. Bad manners, perhaps, but there was no-one around to see, and Eli doubted that whoever owned this place cared all that much. In his right hand he held a glass of iced chocolate, about one quarter empty. Eli took a sip. Pretty good for iced chocolate, but it would be so much better with a bit of vodka in it. It wasn't late enough to justify drinking alcohol, though. At least, Eli thought it was. This place didn't have any windows, so there wasn't really possible to tell what time it was. But it had been day before Eli had found himself here, so that's what he decided to go by. Eli took a look around the empty cafe, sighing to himself. Cafes should be filled with the chatter of many people talking, not just one man drinking iced chocolate by himself. Eli hoped there'd be more people coming in soon. He could use the company.
Mohac stepped into the bar warily, clutching the shoulder-strap of his backpack. He was uncertain how he'd gotten here, or what he was expected to do— according to New Logoran law, he was too young to drink. The path here was long and black; he had wandered for what felt like weeks if not months, aimlessly, his throat parched and his limbs strained. This, he thought, is what it felt like to be dead. He was, in fact, dead, or at least it seemed so. He did not recall dying, but his memory after a certain point in the ruins was incredibly hazy. Now he was here. The bar was eerily quiet, with but a single, somewhat familiar trainer taking residence at it; he sipped a milky brown drink from a tumbler quietly, mumbling to himself ever so slightly.

His throat was dryer than bone. At length he seated himself at the bar, a single chair partitioning him from the other trainer, and requested a cola in a raspy, broken tone.
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The inquisitor opened his eyes. He opened them not in the same place he remembered closing them. This was a tavern of some sort, it looked like, albeit... More sophisticated. Like a dining room in the house of some sort of rich noble. All fancy baroque furniture and some sort of weird decorations... Or did they serve some sort of practical function? Amongst other people sitting at different small tables in the place were a young man, and another one, more feminine looking but definitely male. The inquisitor blinked. How did he get here? Good question. Last things he remembered... The traitoress. Demons. Cults. The witch selling him out. Daring escape. Frantic horse chase, heavily wounded... And now he's here, with no sign of whatever happened except stains of blood and a couple scorched spots on his black robe with a silver broken cross. The witch must have gave him out and transported to some hellish plane of reality... Somehow though, he felt it wasn't the case. And that it was a completely mundane place as far as the unseen went... The inquisitor sighed. He slowly rose from his seat, walked to the bar and decided to announce himself.
- Jew! I am Andreas Feuerregen! Licensed Inquisitor in Service of His Eminence, Bishop of Hez-Hezron, Hammer of the Witches, Loyal Servant of God, Whip of Lord, Sword of Angels, Hunter of Souls, Slayer of Demons, the Bonfire of Faith Amongst the Ocean of Darkness and Sin, the Light That Repels the Monsters, the Protector of Faith! And I need a freakin' drink.
Hmm... Yeah, that's a signature... I think I'll keep it that way until I find anything better.
Eli turned and watched as a young man approached the bar. Judging by the way he ordered his drink, he was very tired and thirsty, so Eli decided to wait for him to wet his throat before trying to start up any conversation. While he waited, someone else appeared in the cafe. After a short moment of standing around looking somewhat perplexed, the intimidating man approached the bar and gave a long, boastful-sounding introduction. Eli figured this was a man who was used to being listened to, even if he had no idea what any of those titles meant. As the drinks for the two new patrons appeared as if by magic, Eli took his feet off the bar and turned to the loud newcomer. He looked stern, and somewhat scary, but nonetheless...
"Hey mate, I've got no clue what all those things you rattled off are about, but you seem like a pretty interesting fella," Eli said, extending a hand.
"The name's Eli, but you can call me anytime."
The drink, some sort of brownish liquid in a cylindrical chalice of... crystal? Glass? Truly a rich place it was. It appeared on the counter completely out of nowhere, as if by the usage of some dark forces. Clearly, whatever it was, was no natural. The inquisitor has learned, throught his career, that if you're stuck with some sort of demonic forces, it's better to wait, analyze and pretend to be less than you actually are. Pretend to be arrogant, boastful, way over your head, a hot-headed youngster of sorts... This made you easier to be underestimated by most demons, and the ones that could see through whatever masks you set up were too powerful to work against. Then again, you also couldn't be a doormat when a more advanced resident of Hell came knocking on your door. Rather than serve, one should cooperate, so that the demon will leave towards it's otherworldly realms as fast as it is possible... But enough on inquisitorial methods.
The feminine man approached him and started talking... Something. A familiar language. The one spoken far north, in the land of England, presumably. The inquisitor bolstered all his knowlege of the language to express a coherent sentence.
- Greetings, fair mister! Tell me, by chance any, doth thou happeneth to be of knowlege about our whereabouts?
OOC: Any of his XVIth century german will be translated to modern english. Any of the Ye Olde Butcherede Englishe will remain Ye Olde Butherede Englishe butcherede incredeusly even for the trope.
Hmm... Yeah, that's a signature... I think I'll keep it that way until I find anything better.

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