Catfish Whiskers

The Outer Sector's more well-known pub, Catfish Whiskers is a derelict shack of low roof and dim lighting, crowded with chairs and tables. At any time half of the seats are taken, the others to remain empty. As a visitor, you will be greeted by suspicious nonchalance—the clacking of wooden mugs and the clinking of bone dice the only audible backdrop. When you open the door you feel a distinct sense of being watched, yet when you glance around the room, no one is looking.

Torchlight glints off of the ends of daggers poking out from under capes and cloaks, and strangely, no one carries a coin purse. If someone were foolish enough to come in with one, you can be certain that they would leave without it. Legal names and currency have no bearing here; you must barter with your knowledge and reputation, and earn yourself a name. This is a place that deals in words, favors, and information.