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To the casual observer, it's just another abandoned building in the middle of nowhere. Aging brick and mortar, covered in kudzu. However, one spot on the wall appears to be bare, as if regularly trimmed clear. By the rusting metal doors that seem to be it's main entrance, the words "Billy Ray's" appear to be stenciled into the brick in paint, the lettering worn as if it's as old as the building itself. By the words, however, is a paw print, the letter "R" scrawled into the pad. from the road, you'd never see it. But it's clear as day as soon as you walk up. If you didn't know better, it was as if the place wanted you to find it.

You gingerly pushed upon the metal door. It swung silently inward as if on well-oiled hinges. But that quiet was quickly drowned out by a busy din. A vibrant scene unfolded itself, starkly contrasting from the dead-quiet exterior. A southwest motif of adobe walls, timbered support beams, and various souvenirs from Mexico covered the walls. Near a worn-out jukebox playing what sounded like old roadhouse country was a Caucasian man in his late twenties, sporting a well-trimmed beard and an obnoxiously loud blue aloha shirt. The guy has a friendly smile on his face, the kind of smile that only a man who was happy with his vocation could have.

This place, it's far more than just a building. No, it's an anomaly. In this remote building, every conceivable reality, ranging from worlds of medieval magics to ones of space-faring civilizations, is tenuously connected right here. Like the lobby of a building that has an infinite amount of floors. So it's no wonder that the bar gets... Some rather strange characters. You, especially. Be you human or not, all are welcomed here. All they're asked is to leave their prejudices at the door.

Welcome to Billy Ray's Bar and Grill.