Editing Drink at the Arrant Limpet

{{Incomplete|Confirm Airs text ranges / if any missing}}
{{Action
|ID = 258266
|Icon = beer.png
|From Storylet title = Explore Gaider's Mourn
|Description = The Arrant Limpet is much like a Wolfstack tavern, if such a tavern were bolted to a rockface and swayed with the breeze. Watch your step.
|LuckChallenge = 50
|Button text = IMBIBE
|Success title = A heightened establishment
|Success description = Zailors from the Khanate rub shoulders with Chelonite hunters and Withern buccaneers. The atmosphere here is charged and tetchy; [...] Zailors drink around their discomfort, transforming it into a nervous kind of revelry.

[...]
|Success summary = The second paragraph varies based on the {{IL|Airs of the Mourn}}.
{{Variant table|Condition = Airs of the Mourn|Condition alias = Airs|Effect = Second Paragraph|Compact = yes
|Value 16 = A Boisterous Captain bursts into the tavern, accompanied by her hollering crew. The reception from the patrons is frosty – until she offers to buy the house a drink. Her ship, it seems, has landed a big score, and she is soon the toast of the hour.
|Value 45 = A group of zailors raise their glasses in salute of a lost comrade. As they progress from one drink to many, their elegies become less and less sombre, and the ribald anecdotes flow ever-more freely. [...] Death is not something to be feared here.
|Value 61 - 68 = A dice-game erupts in accusations of cheating. No one admits to ownership of the die with six on every side. Two corsairs, grasping each others' collars, crash against a [...] wall. It gives way – they plummet, screaming. They are rapidly out of earshot.
|Value 71 - 72 = A man in dishevelled officer's dress staggers out [...] For the last hour he has been sinking ales and bemoaning the state of the Admiralty [...] Now he steps incautiously [...] and stumbles [...] The barmaid sighs, and marks another tally on a chalkboard.
|Value 90 - 99 = It is a quiet day on the Mourn. The barmaid leans on the bar [...] She is used to chaos, and the lull has left her wanting for distraction. [...] she regales you with her stories of terrible patrons past. Good heavens. Some of these must be invented, surely?
}}
}}
*{{Gain|Scrap of Incendiary Gossip|4 x}}
*{{Airs|Airs of the Mourn}}

{{Failure
|Failure title = A quick drink and a long drop
|Failure description = Zailors from the Khanate rub shoulders with […] Withern buccaneers […] the thousand-foot drop waiting just beyond the threshold puts a dampener on the powder keg.

[…] The atmosphere in the Arrant Limpet is souring […] a ruckus seems inevitable.
}}
*{{Gain|Scrap of Incendiary Gossip|4 x}}
*{{Gain|Wounds|+2 CP}}
*{{Airs|Airs of the Mourn}}
@@ Line 13: / Line 13: @@
 |Success summary = The second paragraph varies based on the {{IL|Airs of the Mourn}}.
 {{Variant table|Condition = Airs of the Mourn|Condition alias = Airs|Effect = Second Paragraph|Compact = yes
-|Value 9 = A Blemmigan crawls in through the tavern window – has it come with a ship, or climbed all the way up the stalagmite? Regulars cheer while the barmaid chases it with a broom. Only the onlookers seem to be enjoying the farce.
+|Value 16 = A Boisterous Captain bursts into the tavern, accompanied by her hollering crew. The reception from the patrons is frosty – until she offers to buy the house a drink. Her ship, it seems, has landed a big score, and she is soon the toast of the hour.
-|Value 16 - 19 = A Boisterous Captain bursts into the tavern, accompanied by her hollering crew. The reception from the patrons is frosty – until she offers to buy the house a drink. Her ship, it seems, has landed a big score, and she is soon the toast of the hour.
-|Value 20 - 24 = The Pirate-Poet drinks in a corner [...] She didn't come here with you. [...] This is as much her home as any other, and her poetry has many admirers here. She's resting, just watching the crowd after a much requested performance of REMEMBER POLYTHREME.
-|Value 34 = There are little roosts in the rafters, intermittently occupied by Blue Prophets. [...] A white streak of guano falls from the ceiling and into a corsair's ale. His crewmates, stifling laughter, wait until the very last moment to tell him.
 |Value 45 = A group of zailors raise their glasses in salute of a lost comrade. As they progress from one drink to many, their elegies become less and less sombre, and the ribald anecdotes flow ever-more freely. [...] Death is not something to be feared here.
-|Value 54 = A rotted floorboard bows and splits beneath a zailor's boot, and he is swallowed up to his thigh [...] patrons from all corners rush to grab the unfortunate zailor beneath the shoulders, hauling him up [...] a new floorboard is nailed in place within the hour.
+|Value 61 - 68 = A dice-game erupts in accusations of cheating. No one admits to ownership of the die with six on every side. Two corsairs, grasping each others' collars, crash against a [...] wall. It gives way – they plummet, screaming. They are rapidly out of earshot.
-|Value 60 - 68 = A dice-game erupts in accusations of cheating. No one admits to ownership of the die with six on every side. Two corsairs, grasping each others' collars, crash against a [...] wall. It gives way – they plummet, screaming. They are rapidly out of earshot.
+|Value 71 - 72 = A man in dishevelled officer's dress staggers out [...] For the last hour he has been sinking ales and bemoaning the state of the Admiralty [...] Now he steps incautiously [...] and stumbles [...] The barmaid sighs, and marks another tally on a chalkboard.
-|Value 70 - 74 = A man in dishevelled officer's dress staggers out [...] For the last hour he has been sinking ales and bemoaning the state of the Admiralty [...] Now he steps incautiously [...] and stumbles [...] The barmaid sighs, and marks another tally on a chalkboard.
-|Value 84 = A corsair sits at the battered piano, tapping out the opening bars of a popular shanty. The instrument is out of tune, and the corsair several drinks deep, but the response from the patrons is instant and joyous. The lyrics are ''much'' filthier here [...]
 |Value 90 - 99 = It is a quiet day on the Mourn. The barmaid leans on the bar [...] She is used to chaos, and the lull has left her wanting for distraction. [...] she regales you with her stories of terrible patrons past. Good heavens. Some of these must be invented, surely?
 }}