"A drink, hmmm? And I'm only supposed to drink one drop at a time from this replenishing vial?"
The Scientist eyed it suspiciously, swishing the glass beaker, and holding up to the light. Golden. Bright. Suspicious. He did not trust what he did not understand, and he did not understand magic. He placed the vial carefully in his pocket.
"So there's no mechanical men in these parts?" The scientist asked, but by now the bartender and silver dragon were in the throngs of discussion. Rhetorical anyway. He understood. Either his traps worked, or the Neo-Babylonian Overlords were too busy to pursue him.
...His traps must have worked...
The Overlords were clever, not as clever as him, put then again, the leaders never were. If you were that clever, you became a Scientist.
But they were clever, and clever men would never let someone like him escape. They were probably still reeling from the attacks, and no doubt the society suffered a mighty blow, but they would recover, and they would find him.
A strange beeping emanated from the depths of his coat, and pulling out a small hand-held device, saw that the traps he set thirty miles away had been detonated.
Might just be a woodland animal...
...Might be his pursuers.
A rush of paranoia swept through his body, but he remained calm. He did not need to rouse the attention of any of the other bar patrons.
"So, this bar," The scientist asked the bartender. "Old, is it? Hypothetically, let's say, and keep in mind this is all hypothetical, but let's say that four or five large mechanized beasts tried to break in here, or burn it down, or something. It could withstand an attack, yes?" Magic. Think magic. "There must surely be some sort of magic seals and charms placed around this place to protect it from would-be attackers, right?"
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