[Tavern Roleplay] The Singing Grotto Inn
(Edit: We have moved! New thread can be found here: The Arcanist's Mill.
Thank you all for bringing such great writing and characters to the story I look forward to seeing what else we can come up with)!
This should be a bit of fun for everyone, and maybe a creative way to get your daily post in too. The idea is that this is a tavern located on the human world of Syndesia. With your character in mind, you can enter the tavern and speak to whoever you like. You don’t need any previous experience to join in and you can change what happens at a moments notice.
The only rule is that you write for your character and allow for others to respond to your actions. Otherwise, feel free to tell a story, order a drink, start a brawl or simply enjoy the evening. I’m sure there’ll be somebody who can provide some music?
A few things:
Syndesia is the human planet in Fractured, but all races can visit. Any character of any race is allowed to enter this particular tavern. The results of which I will allow for you to decide.
Start with a brief description of your character, so we know how to respond when you join the conversation.
From the outside it looks enchanting, warm and folksy. Clay and hardwooden pillars make up most of the building's outer structure. A sign above the door reads “The Singing Grotto Inn”.
It's hard to see through the small, stained glass windows, but the sounds of cutlery and drinking glasses from within can be felt outside.
As you enter the tavern through the old, wooden door, you're welcomed by a pleasant atmosphere and overall happiness.
The bartender is busy, but still manages to welcome you with a short wave.
It's as enchanting inside as it is on the outside. Rounded, wooden beams support the upper floor and the large candles attached to them. The walls are decorated with the flag of the local Syndesian kingdom and it's clear the owner, and probably the customers, feel very strongly about their patriotism.
The tavern itself is packed. Groups belonging to some kind of organization, whether sport, music or other you're not sure of, seem to be the primary clientele here, which could be seen as a bad sign, though you're sure it's not. Several long tables are occupied by, what seems to be the entire surrounding village. The other, smaller tables are also occupied by people who seem to be enjoying themselves a lot, perhaps too much, if such a thing is possible. Even most of the stools at the bar are occupied, though nobody seems to mind more company.
You did hear rumors about this tavern, supposedly it's famous for something, but you can't remember what for. You manage to find a seat and prepare for what will undoubtedbly be a great evening.
The night has drawn in and the warmth of the tavern’s log fire welcomes new travelers to take shelter from the harsh weather outside.
A human man you haven’t seen before takes a seat at the bar. He seemingly appeared from nowhere. Many of the other patrons don’t notice his sudden entrance but the bartender barely looks from the glass he is cleaning to welcome the man,“ ‘lo Malyvern,” he says with hardly a grunt.
Malyvern, as the appearing man seems to be known, motions for a drink and sits on an empty chair at the bar. He raises his glass as if to welcome conversation. He seems like a man with a story to tell.
@malyvern ((OOC I was so hoping someone would do this, AMAZING idea.))
Entering the tavern with a saunter, Glim heads straight towards the bar. Moving his head this way and that, looking for a place large enough to sit for a Nheedra. (Next to Malyvern.) Sitting down with a grunt, he looks up to the bartender and bares his teeth in what you can only imagine is a smile.
“A mug of your warmest drink. The winds blow cold on this night and I can feel it in my bones.”
@whoatethecat (OOC Glad to have you aboard, thanks for joining in!)
Malyvern smiles, he hasn’t seen a Nheedra in this area in quite some time. The Singing Grotto has always been host to the wildest of characters. The mage motions with his hand, and gently lights a flame at the top of his drink. “You’re right, these winters are growing harsher each passing year,” he says and turns to the newcomer, his hood just barely concealing the burn scars across his face, and damaged right eye.
“Haven’t seen you ‘round here before. Grotto’s the only place to find a decent log burner nowadays. Care for a wager?” the mage says, as the bartender shoots him a warning look.
He leans onto the counter and turns his head to the hooded stranger, looking him up and down. Noticing his scars, though keeping it to himself.
He takes a swig of the drink the bartender has laid infront of him and winces.
“Strong stuff. And you’re right about the weather friend, it’s bad for my work.” He takes another swig and wipes his paw across his snout, wiping away the excess drink. “Tell me more about that wager my friend, you’ve caught my interest, though I warn you. I’m not as dull as one might think of a Nheedra.”
Malyvern pauses for a moment as he speculates the kind of work this Nheedra would undertake. The mage has angered a bear-kin before and it didn’t end well for him. Still, his coinpouch is light and he is in the mood for another drink. With a quick gulp, Malyvern finishes the rest of his drink and produces the last coin from his pouch. He turns the coin to reveal both sides and places it on the bar table heads-up. The bartender scowls slightly, he’s seen this trick a number of times before but says nothing to help the newcomer.
Placing his empty mug over the coin the mage announces loud enough for the room to hear,
“I will turn this coin from heads to tails, without touching this mug.” Malyvern holds his hands up, “If I’m able to, this bear-kin owes me a Scoltail Liquor."
"What do you say?” says the Magister with a wry smile.
Glim brings the mead to his maw once more (see what I did there.) drinking deeply, watching this stranger over the brim of the tankard.
"Ay. you have a deal.. But! If you win this wager, I have one in return."
Glim places the tankard down on the bar after taking one last deep draw and emptying it. Brushing some unseeable dirt off of his shoulder, Glim turns in his seat to face the hooded man. Leaning on the counter with a heavy elbow.
“Those are stakes I can live with, friend,” Malyvern says, a cheerful gleam in his eye,
“Now, watch closely as I perform the unthinkable.”
The magister begins to chant unfathomable words from a surely long-lost dialect and waves his hands in the air as if to conjure some of the very essence of Elysium. The Inn at this point is a mixture of patrons who have seen the trick before and are uninterested and those who have moved closer to take a look.
With a sudden bang, Malyvern slams his hand on the table. The mug rocks slightly. This is one of the mage’s favourite tricks and as he gets into the spirit of things he begins to speak as showmen do when presenting feats of magic at old fayres,
“Now lift the mug and prepare to be amazed.”
((OOC as soon as I finished reading that I chuckled, I know what you did because that is what I was going to do kinda.))
Glim reaches out his large paw and grips the mug in his claws. He pauses for a second and you can see the realisation across his face as he bares his bear teeth the same way he did when addressing the bartender. He lifts the mug, shaking his head slightly and stares at the coin.
Malyvern chuckles and simply flips the coin from heads to tails.
“I believe you owe me a Scoltail Liquor, stranger,” the mage says and places the coin back in his pouch, “I hope there are no bad feelings.”
The bartender scowls at the magister once more, perhaps the trick was funny at first, as the bartender expected Malyvern to use some kind of conjuration magic but now his expression is simply that of mild amusement.
“Say, what was your name?”
"Bahahahaha!" Glim roars, slamming his meaty paw down on the counter.
"That was a good one, friend! My name is Glim. Glim Barrows." He holds out his paw as if to shake hands.
"You know my name, so what's yours?"
(OOC Apologies for the delayed response, I've been kept busy with work today.)
The name rings in Malyvern’s ear. Glim. He’s sure he has heard it before, whispered even. He’s surprised, bear-kin aren’t necessarily known for their hospitality. This one seems comfortable drinking among humans, probably well-traveled and used to their games. The magister does his best to hide his expression as he extends his hand to greet the Nheedra, whilst wondering where the rest of the pack might be.
“Well, welcome to the Singing Grotto, Glim. Around these parts the people know me as Malyvern. Tell you the truth, I’ve grown fond of the name over the years," says the magister and he turns to look at the other patrons of the inn.
“Not many places left a mage can feel welcome," he says, and motions his hand across the room,
"What brings you here, Glim?”
"It is a pleasure to meet you Malyvern." Glim would tap his class on the counter, drawing the attention of the bartender.
"One Scoltail liquor for this man and another mead for me." Glim reaches down into the folds of his clothes and fumbles around, pulling free the appropriate currency to pay for the drinks.
Glim turns back to Malyvern. "I'm only here because we have just finished escorting some merchant through the Frigid mountains. The men and I have been travelling for not far off a week now, and they need some time to drink, sing and sleep in a bed. But to be completely honest Phargought was supposed to join me here, but no matter he's more than likely busy."
The bartender arrives with the drinks and places them down on the bar. "Many thanks friend." Glim says as he brings the mead to his mouth.
"Now friend, do you wear that hood to hide your scars..? Or so people don't recoil in fear at your ugliness?!" Glim roars laughter once again, still chuckling as he brings the mead up once more. Drinking it thirstily.
‘Ah, there’s that famous bear-kin hospitality,’ Malyvern thinks and laughs as both assessments are somewhat true.
“Cheers,” says the mage, and he raises the glass of liquor. It’s warm and not too bitter. Scoltail always tastes better when free. “Folks don’t take too kindly to mages, and worse those who fought on the losing side of the war. These didn’t come easy and I try not to be seen most times.”
Malyvern pauses for a moment, then drinks the rest of the Scoltail liquor with a wince,
“Fairly treacherous route through the Frigid mountains, I do all I can to avoid it whenever I head west. Adds an extra week or so’s journey,” he says with appreciation.
“That merchant must have paid a lot of coin; not something I have a lot of at the moment. ”
“However....” says the mage, and before him appears an image of man within a conjured portrait of embers, “I might have a job that’s interesting enough."
Malyvern waves the portrait away, and looks directly at Glim, his expression cold and serious for the first time, “but we can discuss the details once your men are well-rested.”
Glims expression turns serious. Angry almost.
"Ay, those mountains are treacherous and they do extend the length of a trip. But that's why it is mostly uninhabited by bandits.. And demons don't like the cold.."
Glim bares his teeth now, scowling as he once more brings the mug to his lips and drinks deeply.
it only seemed like a second that the once 'friendly' face of Glim turned sour. But he seems to shake from it immediately.
"And between you and me, people pay more the longer the trip goes. But don't think I rob people of their money. They get what they pay for, Glim's Mercenaries aren't your common rabble."
Glim downs the rest of his mead.
"your cup is empty friend, care for another?"
(OOC I have updated my post, and this will be my last before heading to bed. Thanks, it's been fun. Cliffhanger to end the day.)
“You know you ain’t supposed to do that, Mal” says the bartender, patting away the smoke from the air, “wooden beams n’all.”
Malyvern nods at the Nheedra in affirmation,
“I don’t take you for the robbing type, friend,” the mage says, “taking that kinda route shows you’d rather take the time to do a job well than cut corners and find yourself in deeper trouble. That's a quality seldom possessed nowadays," he smiles, "t’is appreciated, I owe you a round and perhaps an explanation."
Malyvern looks around the room and opens his palm to reveal a dancing a flame, “I stopped by here to assemble a crew of people such as yourself and I’ve been waiting for them to make themselves known."
The mage has scarcely enough time to finish his sentence when suddenly he feels the rush of cold air as the door to the tavern is flung open aggressively. Three figures stand at the entrance with weapons in hand.
“Friends of yours?” asks the mage, and looks back at Glim.
"No, I'm afraid I don't know them." Glim turns slightly in his chair towards the now open door, bringing his mug to his snout one last time and finishing it in four deep gulps. He moves his other hand to his hip in a fist, secretly gripping the hilt of his dagger. He regrets leaving his equipment with the men, but then again he wasn't expecting any confrontation.
(Glim is wearing only a sleeveless tunic, pants and an old, well worn fur trimmed cloak. He looks like your everyday Grizzly Bear based Nheedra with a variation of large and small scars scattered across his face and arms. Leaving lines of hairless skin on his body. Thought I may as well give you an idea of what he looks like.)
[Malyvern is wearing a dark blue hooded robe, with what appears to be a myriad of leather belts and bandoliers across his chest and legs. There are potions and maybe some bombs, but these are concealed. His hood remains over his head and as he speaks, it is generally only the lower half of his face that can be seen which is mostly covered by his greying beard. What skin does show appears to be burnt, though a keen eye might deduce that the scarring is lightning induced rather than flame. He has no other visible weapons, only a dusty, brown tome with worn pages which rests within his inner left pocket. On his hands are rings of various sizes and colours.]
Malyvern maintains a calm position, and continues to rest his arm on the side of the bar. He waits to see what the men’s motivation might be. The bartender appears to do the same and continues to clean the glasses in front of him.
“There’ll be no trouble here,” says the bartender reassuringly, though it is clear the general friendly vibe of the Singing Grotto has turned on its edge, “unless you’re lookin’ for it.”
“Aye there’s no need,” says the tallest of the three men, “just as long as you’s all cooperate.”
Phargought shimmies past the three men blocking the doorway, ignoring their glares as he begins to make his way to Glim.
"The men are all still helping the caravan unpack at the merchant's shop. I thought I'd find you here, of all places" Phargought says with a chuckle. "Making friends already?" He asks, nodding his head towards the men at the door, moving to stand at his friends side, leaning backwards on the bar with his elbows.
[Phargought wears simple clothes, casual pants, a sleeveless, leather jerkin with the front open, showing his ashy-grey fur beneath and, obviously, no shoes.]
"Well you know me, Phargought. I draw attention everywhere I go, do you remember that time In Kavercombe? I was picking splinters out of my arse for weeks." Glim says under his breath, reaching for his mug again before remembering it's empty and frowning. "I can never get a drink without it being ruined by someone pulling a sword..
"Well!" Glim barks, loud enough that the men at the door of the inn can hear him louder than is necessary. "What kind of co-operation are you boys asking of us?"
Glim raps his knuckles on the bar. "refill, please." He says to the bartender, placing down yet another coin. But instead of drinking the brew, he leaves the tankard full.
(OOC Great to see you join TwentyOneBones. I’m referring to you here as a Nheedra, but let me know if that’s not correct. Apologies for the delay in response.)
With the arrival of a second Beast-kin, the three men exchange glances and appear to lower their gaite. Malyvern, who has now turned to face the men, recognises the shorter ones at the back as a pair of bandits he’d encountered long ago. Here however, they are dressed in what appears to be a uniform. The insignia is dotted with the initials “ORA”. It looks as though they have graduated from petty crime to working as militia, or they’ve found some justifiable purpose for their thuggish habits.
Malyvern shares a welcome grin at the newcomer. Just in time, he thinks. I don’t think they were expecting that.
“We have ridden from Avermore to present word from the Outer Regions Alliance,” the tallest of the three men announces. His bald head forms into something resembling a smile and he strides towards the middle of the room, “present yourselves to the town hall tomorrow at noon and be prepared to listen as our leader calls on you to rid you of your chains.”
Revolutionaries. Well, at least they aren’t looking for a fight just yet.
“Avermore? That is quite a ways away,” Malyvern says, “I imagine you’d like a fine ale after a journey like that.”
“Aye, we would,” the taller ORA says, and orders a drink in a surprisingly polite tone. The smaller two continue to exchange nervous glances. Civility doesn’t seem to suit them.
With the potentially dangerous situation averted, Malyvern turns to greet Phargought, “Pleasure to meet you,” he says with a friendly nod, “your friend has been regaling me with your journey across the Frigid mountains."
"I think I’d like to hear about what happened in Kavercombe,” Malyvern says with a smile.