forum A Tavern based in a DnD esque universe! Come on in for a pint!

Started April 19, 2023 by Mio

tune

A large two story tavern sets before you. Wide glass windows with warm light pouring out them. The double doors worn and torn, one barely hanging on its hinges as if repaired very recently. You enter, the smell of sweat and adventure hitting first due to the other patrons around you. But, as you approach the worn bar top, you can smell the wonderful spices and hear the sizzling of food from the kitchen in the back. The bar top has several carvings in it of runes, names, and small pictures. There's also a huge chunk missing on the far right side, splintered and jagged. The bar keep is a human, 6' foot on the dot, tanned skin and scarred heavily. He has a gruff tone to his voice, weathered and tired.
In the crowd of the bar are several other interesting figures of note. At one table, a dark green goblin sits with cards, dice, and tokens all laid before him. He counts a pile of gold one by one, placing it in his pouch. By the fire place is a small stage, and on it is a pair of women, seemingly twins. Both purple teiflings with long tails and dark purple-ish black hair down their backs. They both have one horn each, tall, straight, and mirrored to each other. One plays her silver flute while the other dances, both casting small illusions to aid their show. Above on the second floor balcony is a half-orc passed out on their table with ten empty mugs, a giant axe leaned on the railing next to them and a puddle of drool under their face. In the rafters above is a cloaked figure, quiet small maybe two feet in size. They're completely obscured by their navy blue clothes but seem in good spirits, swinging their legs in the open air. And, the barkeep must know they're up there, as they lower their face mask occasionally to drink from an appropriately sized pint.
One last person of interest approaches the bar keep, awkwardly and hesitantly perching on a stool. They're also very cloaked, though it seems less intentional and more that their cloak is far to big. An instrument case is strapped tight to their back, and the satchel at their side is over stuffed. Their voice is very soft and nuetral as they speak for the tender's attention.
"H-hello? I need a room for tonight, and do you charge to play on stage?"
"A room? For one it's two silver. As for performing, well that's just free entertainment I don't have to pay for." The man slides a clipboard to them. "Just sign the sheet. I'll let you know when it's your turn to take stage."
"B-before I do," They lower their hood, a gorgeous male drow with pale purple eyes. His skin is a dark black, like most dark elves, but white freckle pepper his face. The tips of his elven ears have both been cut off, and there's a long scar at the back of his neck right where his stark white hair has been cut, freshly healing. "Do- do you have a problem with drow?"
"Sir," The mild voice becomes somehow even more gentle. "I haven't a single problem with anyone."
There's a subtle smile as the drow signs the clipboard. Then he digs through his bag, setting the two silver on the counter."
"Room three, up the stairs." And, he passes him the key.

While many of the bar patrons seemed too caught up in their drinking to pay much attention to this drow, there was one woman who seemed rather curious about the creature sitting near her. The woman in question— an elf with thick cinnamon-colored curls, bright green eyes, and tattoos lining her arms— was one of the regular customers at the tavern, and she often sat on the far side of the door. While she never paid much mine to many of the customers, she had never seen this creature before during her visits, and he spiked her curiosity.

For a while, she said nothing to the drow, seemingly paying him no mind as she sipped her drinking. Eventually, however, when his conversation with the bar tender ended, she decided that it was her time to speak up.

“Can’t I’ve ever seen you around the tavern before,” she said, glancing at him from her spot at the bar. “New around here?”

He startles, then he seems even more surprised when he looks your way. "Ah, um, yes. S-sort of only just set out on my own." He seems almost scared of you. "You a wood elf? Or-or a high elf? B-because, I- I'm not here to cause trouble, a- and I know high elves and dark elves have this whole feud going on."

((Wood elves are just more nature based. Wind in their hair, hunters, and pretty welcoming. High elves are golden skinned. They act more noble. High elves are your stereotypical, self absorbed type of elves in DnD. Just in case you need to know. I'm sorry if you already knew.))

(( Thanks for telling me; I had no clue what any of the types of elves were except for maybe the wood elf xD ))

She raised an eyebrow at the drow’s demeanor. Normally, the people who came into taverns like this were rowdy and loud, so it was odd to see someone here who seemed so nervous around others. She felt somewhat bad for him, and she managed to send him a smile as she ordered yet another drink.

“I’m a wood elf, so don’t worry. I have no problem with you being here. It’s a tavern. Everyone’s welcome,” she told him. “That is unless you cause trouble, but you don’t seem like the type.”

(ooh, may I join?) ((Absolutely!))

He seems pleasantly surprised by your statement. "Th-thank you." He took that as a compliment?
The bar keep, who you would know as Clayton, sets another of your usually down beside you. He sets a glass of water by the drow as well. "Any good tavern welcomes everyone. Believe it or not though, in towns without adventuring guild halls drow have a really bad rap. I let in a lot that have bad raps actually." He starts to point. "Tieflings, orcs, don't get most started on goblins. But, in my opinion, someone shouldn't be judged before they've even had half a chance. And, thank to the guilds, there are places where they can have a full chance."

A wild looking leonin lopes into the tavern and sniffs the air for a moment before chuckling and swishing her tail.

She had a long scar stretching from the left side of her hairline, across the bridge of her nose, and curving sharply to end just beneath the right side of her jaw. Her eyes sparkled with a fiery intensity only tempered by the shackles of the normalty of society that she was currently in. Her eyes were a peculiarly pale bluish-orange color, and her fur was just as strange: ashy black with splotches of yellow and green.

Her clothes were simply stitched garments that covered enough to be helpful in battle, but no more, with a metal plated skirt covering her waist.

"A flagon of ale, if ya please." she says, leaning across the counter and winking at the bartender. Her voice sounded like the roar of a cougar, but humanized. Her accent, if described using real life terms, was German-Irish; harsh, with no clearly defined "t"s in some words and harsh "s"s.

Around the back of the tavern, a much quieter discussion was going on.
Crouched down in the dirt, clothes smattered in mud, a young firbolg woman was enthusiastically going through the garden. It was mostly food stock and a few outlier plants that she could guess were for tea. Maybe for clients with more esoteric tastes?
The firbolg woman had the fur coloration of a doe, a light soft brown with dappled spots of white. Hair of a slightly richer brown in a short braid and honey colored eyes, with rings of gold around the irises. Very tall and wearing soft travelling clothes that looked like they were just recently made.
She hummed softly to the plants, checking them over in her hands, looking for bugs that she would gently brush off or discoloration in the leaves.

She'd been staying a few nights at the tavern, liking the lively atmosphere and the aura of welcomeness that seems to radiate from every grain in the wooden tables or the gentleness of the barkeep. The road was long and lonely and the young firbolg was more than happy to help out with the vegetable patch while she stayed, Clayton could only do so many things all at once.

It only took poking her head up to peer inside, her ears perking up in curiosity at all the noise. She let go of the cabbage leaf, looking inside from one of the first levels windows. It looked like it was getting quite busy in there. A few new travelers? Or were the twins putting on a particularly riotous show? She liked the pretty light shows they put on.
If things got too tricky, maybe she'd come inside and lend a hand. For now, she was content to keep an eye on the window. The firbolg let a ladybug crawl onto her finger, relocating it from the kale leaves.

"There you go little one.."

((Entertainer-Lord))

He pulls from the conversation. "Right up! Two copper a cup here, but if you get through five, I'll cut the price of all of them in half. That goes for ever five pints." He set a cup filled to the brim in front of you.
A barmaid dressed in blue emerges from the back, her tray full of plates of food. "And that, Clayton, Is why that half orc up there is passed out! You've got to be more careful who you tell that!"
"I'll carry her to her room. It's fine." He waves it off.

The leonin woman pauses, then laughs uproariously.

"I'll take that deal!" she says, slapping the table, leaving deep gouges on accident with her powerful paws and sharp claws. When she pulls her hand up, two coppers gleam on the wood.

((Entertainer-lord))

He swipes up the two copper, smiling fondly at the new edition to the wood of his bar top. Just a new memory like the other marks, dents, and scratches.
Two more copper rain down from the ceiling. A very tiny voice shouting down from the figure in the rafters. "One more up here too! Remember, I'm on my third now! Just two more!"
"If you make it through them, Swift! Drop your cup down!" He catches it easily, a small pint fitted with a latched lid. He fills it, seals it, then tosses it back up the almost twenty feet as if it's nothing. The small cloaked figure uses the rafter she's on like a performer, rotating fully around it with her knees to catch the pint, unlatching the lid and taking a swig.

The woman laughs as she watches this interaction then swipes up her ale and downs it with ease, in roughly 5.4 seconds.

"Another!" she cackles, tossing two more coppers at the bartender.

((entertainer-lord))
He catches them, swiping the empty tankard and refilling it.

The sisters on stage finish their performance, bowing. Once the crown calms, they empty the jar by their stage for their tips.
Clayton waves the human at the far end of the bar. "Your up, Markus."
The man spins a walking stick out of thin air, letting his long coat to drape over his stool. He's well dressed in a vest, dress shirt and slacks. He pulls a top hat as well out of the air, your standard magician.

The leonin cackles more, downing this one quicker than the first before setting the tankard down with a dull thud.

"Hey, barkeep- what's your name?" she asks, tossing him two more coppers for another refill.

((Entertainment-lord))
It's the same quick motion as before. "Clayton. I handle the booze, bar and entertainment. Own the place. Trish handles the orders and getting the food out."
"And, I'm no where near paid enough! Hire a second server!" The blonde in blue from before shouts.
"I've seen your tips, Trish! You make plenty!"

A youngish male in a cloak over his head walks in and sits down at the bar. He glances over at the tieflings in interest. Hm. Most places aren't so welcoming to their kind…. He tentatively puts a hand to his hood, then puts it back down. Better to keep the hood up, just in case. He waves over the bar keep to try to get a drink.

"Clayton, eh? No family name or titles?" the leonin asks, curious.

Her train of thought is cut off by the new arrival. She sniffs the air then grins.

"Hey, newcomer! Join me! Have a few pints!" she says to him.