The Prancing Pony Inn was located on Flint Street, a dusty little road on the outskirts of town. It had a pretty facade, but the interior was dilapidated and crusty.
The front porch contained a horse trough, tying posts, a rain barrel, and a cactus for throwing unruly customers upon.
Inside the structure, one could find a bar, some tables, an object barely recognizable as a piano, a gas lamp chandalier, and a stage with dirty, rotting curtains. A staircase at one end led upstairs to bedrooms where the ladies of the evening would `conduct business.'
Cynthia worked on the main floor, preferring to avoid the upstairs. On Saturday nights, she danced on the main stage, to ragtime music played by Jawls, an emancipated African lion. At other times, she merely served drinks and cleaned up the place.
It was early morning. The only customer was a one eyed frog named Bert. Bert was already passed out, slobbering on an oak table.
Cynthia went behind the counter, cleaning the glasses with a rag.
This was an entry at the Wildwestfurs yahoo group. I got no replies. If anyone wants to play a furry campaign set in the old west, please e-mail me and we can keep this story going!
If you want to add to the story, or start your own, Please e-mail the Game Master at akktri@iname.com with your questions.
