Loki stood at the bar of the Pantheon Bar & Grille. He swayed slightly, but only in time to the rotation of the Earth itself. Loki knew about these things, as did all the gods…

He hailed the barkeep, Vulcan, and ordered “Another Ambrosia. And keep ‘em coming.”

Vulcan sighed a little at this – his own patented Ambrosia would knock anyone, mortal or immortal, on their ass after the first cupful, but Loki’s capacity for fun, alcohol, and sex was legendary even among the gods, and he showed no effects from the first three cups of that potent drink which Vulcan had served him so far this night.

Vulcan was both the barkeep and the bouncer for The Pantheon, which was his livelihood. After the fall of Valhalla, when the old Norse gods were no longer worshipped, they joined their fellow un-worshipped Greek brothers and sisters in wandering. They all had to make a living, and Vulcan tried simple blacksmithing for a while, but the mortals soon learned enough of the trade to satisfy their limited needs. There were no more heroes, and so no more call for Heroic Swords, the forging of which had been Vulcan’s specialty. He picked up a little work from certain Roman legions, especially in Brittania, and from their descendant Arthur, and from the Knights Templar during the Crusades, but not enough to pay the rent. And so, Vulcan converted the front of his cave to a bar and grille, and built pizza ovens over his forge, and continued on, as did all the old gods, worshipped or not…

It was a good Time. Vulcan built a barn for Mithras, formerly the bull-god of the Myceneans, whom he found in a bull-ring in Iberia, being taunted by grotesque clowns. Vulcan brought him home, and used him to plow his fields in the spring to plant the hops, which he used to brew his beer. Juno was his hostess/head waitress (she was left with very little after her divorce from Jove; poor choice of divorce lawyers…) and Mercury tended bar for him sometimes when his Courier business was slow – he was “…quick with a joke, or to light up your smoke…” as a later Bard named Joel would sing. The Egyptians Horus and Anubis stopped in occasionally, as did the Latino Quetzoalcatl and his entourage – all feather plumes and rapid-fire gibberish, and insatiable sexuality. Vulcan had a dungeon below his own cave built just for them, and no one knew what unspeakable terrors – or delights – were enacted there. Vulcan kept another room upstairs for the Druids who wandered through, since they kept him in medicinal herbs and useful spices – as well as a new drink recipe now and then – have to keep current with the competition. The best nights were when Confucius was in-house. Vulcan always gave him a room of his own to rest from his wanderings, and assigned someone to wait on him, and to secretly write down every word that the Sage said while he was there – who knew what wisdom this Wise Man had accumulated, and might let drop, as the dew of Hermon? Of course, the fact that he brought with him the best Opium this side of the Himalayas, and shared it out generously, made him thrice welcome…

Find out what happens next…