Arlo’s Flophouse
If you’ve run out of jink and need a roof over your head in the Hive, Arlo’s Flophouse is probably your last stop before sleeping in a gutter. A sagging, creaky building squatting in one of the Hive Ward’s rougher alleys, Arlo’s is known for offering “accommodations” that are cheap enough to make a Fated factotum rub his hands together weep with glee. But cheap comes with a cost, cutter, and in this case, the cost is your safety, your dignity, and probably your sanity.
The front door is a splintered, half-rotted wreck that squeals in protest whenever it’s pushed open. Inside, the dim lobby is lit by flickering witchlight lanterns that barely cut through the gloom. The smell hits you first: a pungent bouquet of stale sweat, sour ale, mouldy bedding, and whatever questionable meals the tenants have been cooking up in their corners. The floorboards are warped and groan underfoot, as if the whole building is on the verge of collapsing in on itself out of pure exhaustion.
Arlo himself presides over this decrepit domain from behind a battered desk, eyeing everyone who walks through the door with a mixture of suspicion and barely contained irritation. He’s a short, balding human with a permanent scowl etched into his face, his remaining hair clinging to his head like moss on a dead log. His abrasive personality could sand down a rusty sword, and he’s not one to bother with pleasantries. “Pay up or get out,” is his usual greeting, and you’d better have your jink ready if for some inexplicable reason you want to stay.
For a pittance, you get a spot in one of the overcrowded dormitories, where the cots are little more than wooden planks covered in scratchy, flea-ridden blankets. Privacy? Ha! You’ll be lucky if no one tries to rob you while you sleep. The regulars are a mix of the desperate, the dangerous, and the deranged, and each dormitory feels like a melting pot of all the Hive’s worst stories.
Notable Inhabitants
Fleece: This local pickpocket makes a habit of working over the flophouse’s more clueless guests. He’s a wiry, nervous-looking tiefling with fingers like a hummingbird’s wings—quick and always in motion. Keep your coin pouch close, or better yet, sleep with one eye open.
Mar: A barmy human plagued by obsession, Mar spends his days muttering about Moridor’s Box, a cursed trinket he once owned and desperately wants back. He claims the box still whispers to him in his dreams, promising unspeakable secrets if he can only find it again. Mar spouts barmy screed about giving the box to a dead man without a name. Try not to get caught in a conversation with him unless you enjoy hearing the same frightening story looped endlessly.
One-Ear: A hard-looking thief with only one ear, One-Ear has a reputation for being both unlucky and ruthless. He’s usually found sharpening a dagger in the common area, glaring at anyone who makes eye contact. Rumour has it he’s got a score to settle with a Dustman who double-crossed him, but he’s never been sober enough to act on it.
Nestor: A lost soul from some Prime Material world, Nestor is another barmy, though a more dangerous one. He’s convinced he’s only trapped in Sigil because he hasn’t found the right portal key, and his desperation makes him unpredictable. Arlo lets Nestor stay for free, mostly out of fear; after all, a barmy with that kind of intensity could be capable anything when crossed.
Life at Arlo’s
You’ll hear sobbing, laughter, and the occasional brawl at all hours of the day and night. Thugs, pickpockets, and harlots haunt the streets outside, making your walk back to the flophouse feel like a gauntlet run. Arlo doesn’t care what kind of sods stay under his roof, as long as they don’t set fire to the place or draw too much attention from the Hardheads. The communal kitchen is a filthy pit with a cauldron of questionable stew always bubbling over a cracked fireplace, and the water pump in the courtyard has a rusted handle that squeaks like a dying rat.
If you’re lucky enough to scrape together a few extra coins, Arlo might offer you a private room—but “private” just means there’s a curtain you can pull across the doorway.
One time, I made the mistake of stopping at Arlo’s for a nap after a long night of sampling Hive Ward’s more questionable delights. I woke up to find Fleece sitting at the foot of my cot, rummaging through my boots for jink. When I gave him a piece of my mind (and a whack on the back of the head), he scurried off, only to return five minutes later with One-Ear, who seemed ready to carve me a new set of nostrils. Luckily, Mar chose that moment to have a fit about Moridor’s Box, and in the confusion, I made my escape. Never been back, and don’t intend to, but if you’ve really got no other options, Arlo’s Flophouse will at least keep the stinging rain off your head.
Just don’t let your guard down, cutter. The Hive never sleeps, and neither does trouble.
Canonical Source: Planescape: Torment game
Source: Jon Winter-Holt
