Tavern - City of Orussus, The Red Dragon Inn 2010-17

Important Links
Trading-Post
The Red Dragon Inn VII
The Red Dragon Inn VIII
The Red Dragon Inn IX
The Red Dragon Inn X
The Red Dragon Inn 08-09'

The Red Dragon Inn
The Red Dragon Inn is home to a motley sort of people. Located near an incredibly life-like statue of a Great Red Wyrm, rumored to in fact be a petrified dragon. Surrounded by a complex of two taverns and a huge inn with hundreds of rooms of flexible cost, the Red Dragon only irks a small amount of it's costs from the ale and bedding. In fact, most of the profits accumulated at the Red Dragon come from individuals that may never have set foot inside at all.

The Red Dragon is the functioning base of operation of a huge number of adventuresome individuals. Oftentimes a wealthy employer will post an advertisement at the establishment, costing anywhere from nothing for those who need help the most, to hundreds of thousands of gold pieces from kindoms farther away than most people knew the world stretched.

Who sets these prices? The bartender, an infamous brewer by the name of Joe Smith. His reputation is in his bar, and the bar is in his heart. He makes the decision to let the poor and neady post warrants, jobs, and anything else for pennies, while charging absolutely abusive amounts of money for the wealthy to have a similar contract. People pay what he thinks they should pay, and all but those that shouldn't be posting here anyway make the concessions to do so.

This has allowed the bar to grow to its incredible size. Many a new table was paid for by a simple advertisement. And, in exchange, the Red Dragon is open and often free to its clients. Drinks of all sorts, wines, ale, milk, and foreign fruits all make their way to the Red Dragon, where anything is possible. The only people not permitted in the Red Dragon are those that offend the barkeep.

Many people tell the stories about the historical figures that have graced the Red Dragon. Many of these stories are told in the stories of bards and the wives tales of the oldest bar maids. The interior is ever changing, some tables being made of common woods, and others being purchased at extreme costs to accomodate the best of heroes and nobles. If someone doesn't like linen bedsheets, oftentimes silk will be imported within the hour to cover those that need it. Of course, this tends to be the path to offending old Joe, but he won't kick you out till your willing to leave on your own.

The dragon's eyes glow at night, acting as a beacon. The street lights on the paths outside allow for an excellent night-time environment. By the time everyone wakes up, they can find a bed of toasted breads, morning pastries, cheeses, eggs, and if they need something special, it only takes a few minutes to make. The Red Dragon is obviously a fine place to spend a night. Of course, the clientele that come here most often are also the same kind of folk that always find themselves on the road, and having a home away from home is a huge reason why they all return here eventually.

The first thing any visitor should do, upon entering the the Red Dragon, is shuffle up to Joe. The barmaids try to ensure that this happens promptly, because Joe can't stand anyone that doesn't say hi at the very least. The second thing Joe does to any visitor, is to get them to shout out their name and any important facts about themselves that others might need to know. Then, third, the entire bar greets the newcomer and gets back to their drinking. It's all just customary, but Joe sure does appreciate it.

Jonah human male

It is in the earliest hours of the morning that Jonah returns excitedly to the Red Dragon Inn. "Come on Blue, we's will finally finds 'elp fir da farm." he says cheerfully to his great dane. The huge dog wags his tail also in excitement, but more for the smells his nose picked up as they entered the street that holds the Red Dragon.

Almost running the last few steps towards the door, Jonah opens it with a wide grin. He remembers the last time he stepped through the door not long ago. Their had been dozens of able bodied adventures looking for work or excitment, or both. And he should find a few that would be interested in helping rid the Stone families farm of monsters. And he remembered the rule he learned about telling everyone who he was when he entered, he would get it right this time.

The big smile on his face instantly turns to a look of dread. The great room of the Red Dragon Inn, the place where heroes start out on grand adventures. Where you could rub shoulders with mighty wizards and had to keep an eye on your purse from cunning rogues. That great room stood before Jonah empty, bare of a soul as he opened the door and said.

"Jonah Stone, farmhand?"

[sblock=OOC] Almost three months and not a soul maybe this will kick start something. [/sblock]

A side door opens and Joe Smith and the usual tavern patrons troop back in.

"So that's the new sparring room, then. Just took out a wall. Got enough private meeting rooms that don't see use," says Joe shortly.[sblock=OOC]What the hell? Even if no one's been talking, you can't arbitrarily move other people's PCs out of the RDI! Everyone who was there at the end of RDI '09 is still there until they say so. Kol, Lokin and Payne for instance are still here, as far as anyone knows, and they've not said a word since 2007.[/sblock]

Lupic returns

A battered looking half orc strides into the Inn and heads to the bar. Taking an available stool ("hmm, seems pretty empty here" he thinks to himself) he orders up some ale and waits.

Cay Riggle (as yet unapproved)

The tavern door swings open once again. A human male enters. He's bundled up in a heavy frieze cloak. His hair is dark and straggly, falling unkempt across his face. He pushes it back with a hasty motion of his hand that has become instinctive. His most prominent feature is a long drooping moustache, without a beard. A greatsword is slung across his back in a battered leather scabbard. Its hilt is tight-wound with cord.

He takes a look around the room, nodding a greeting to everyone and no one in particular, and taking in the notice displayed prominently above the bar.

"I've come here looking for work that means more than just fighting," he says. He gives his name with the ghost of a smile on his lips. "I'm... Riggle. Cay Riggle. Call me what you like."

He finds a chair that faces the door, turns it backwards, and slumps over it with a sigh.

One of the returning patrons is an elf clad in grey, with a scar-twisted face and a raven resting on her shoulder. The bird has its head tucked under a wing, and appears to be sleeping; its owner is more alert, and notices the newcomers.

The still mobile half of her mouth curves up some, as she adresses the newcomers. Her voice sounds like she's been gargling gravel, and seems to simply break and turn into a hack or cough on some syllables. "Hello. Jamilee, hnh. Wizard. Warrior."

She turns to the well-mustachioed man. "Think I shall call you Sparkly. You seem full of hrnergy, hack."

Riggle offers an awkward smile. "Could have chosen worse, I suppose. Sparkly. Or Sparker, maybe? You're teasing, though. I do enough to get along, and then I put my feet up.

Do y'know there's a bird on your shoulder?"

Jamilee looks left, then right, towards where the bird actually is nestled. She feigns a look of surprise, her mouth forming a slightly off-shape little 'o'. It's obviously fake, stilted enough that it's hard to tell whether she's making a mockery of herself, or of the process of mocking herself.

That done, she allows herself a crooked smirk. "Well. Better a bird on my shhrgder than a rat's nest in my hrnair."

She glances to Jonah, something of a question in her eyes. "You lookin' at?"

"Who me?" Jonah says breathlessly. "Nutin ma'am, I's just glads ta be see'n everyone 'ere, is all."

The young man then takes a seat not wanting to provoke the scarred woman any further. Blue takes a seat on the floor beside Jonah the big dog coming to Jonah's shoulder.

A small, slender, swarthy elf with a single long braid and an outfit of black silk, walks into the bar.

He nods to the bartender.

"Quozen Ilphukiir, of the Monastic Order of the Nightingale. At your service."