(Tavern) City of Orussus, The Red Dragon Inn VI





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  1. #1
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    (Tavern) City of Orussus, The Red Dragon Inn VI



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    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 it's 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 it's 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 clientel that come her 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 customery, but Joe sure does appreciate it.
    Red Hand of Doom: IC I, IC II, OOC, RG

 

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    OOC: Deja vu...

    Jack steps over to a small table set up in the corner of the taproom. There he can be seen speaking with a gruff looking one-eyed dwarf who is the Red Dragon Inn's pawnbroker and fence. An odd-looking shortsword, a rolled up scroll of parchment and a dozen gold candlesticks appear on the table, in return for two clinking purses of coin.

    His business transaction over, Jack returns to his stool beside Lady Fant, just in time for Robillard's final bow.

    Jack drops one of heavy purses beside Lady Fant, "Beggin' your pardon, Miss, but I got a fair price from Mister Gurdek for the loot, and that's your share. Dravin and Quickwhip haven't showed up yet, so's I figure they're out, more's the pity."

    OOC: TH... our shares of the loot amount to 1425 gp each in assorted coins of the realm.
    The Pbartender

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    (establishing shot of the bar, might be a good idea to see who's still here from their introductions...)

    A gnomish woman is perched on a high stool at one of the tables in the 'shorter' section. She has apparently been staying a while in one of the inn's rooms for she isn't wearing traveling clothes and has no weapons or belongings with her except for a silver pendant bearing the symbol of a lit candle (know religion would tell you that it symbolizes the Mortalists, essentially the secular humanists of Enworld). At her feet is a dog larger than it's owner, shortcoated like a horse and powerful in the shoulders. He wags his stubby tail at anyone who passes by and will attempt a lick at those foolish enough to make eye contact. Kirin admonishes him regularly in her native tounge but seems resigned to his bad manners.
    I understand, comprehend, get, grok, and see your point. I can take, handle, cope and deal with the way you run your game. The reasons I disagree with you and/or dislike your playstyle preference lie elsewhere…

  • #4
    A tall, well muscled young man with raven hair and startling green eyes sits casually at the bar chatting with some of the other patrons. He seems to speak in bursts, multiple sentences running together, punctuated eventually by a long breath.

    Rillian, that being the name the young man anounced to the bar, bears no obvious distinguishing marks or symbols, and is wearing only traveler's clothing and a simple short sword. Beside him is an immense pack, resting on a stool that clearly is straining beneath its burden.

    Even those not particularly paying attention can hear Rillian produce yet another pearl of wisdom that "his pa always says".
    Only thing worse than a Welchin' Wizard is a trollkin.
    Some of you might be thinking "A trollkin!?!", but if you imagine a trollkin vampire Runelord of Vivamort, you'll know where I'm coming from.

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    (OOC)Rillian, it just occurred to me how similar the basic descriptions of our two characters are, though personality-wise they’re quite distinct, (/OOC)

    Loskrad sits at a table with an empty mug, twice filled with ale. He is a young man with hair the color of a raven’s shadow falling just above his ears, light brown skin, and bright green eyes, fond of the color black. This is quite evident in his dyed studded leather armor, which covers his entire body up to his head. The only noticeable exception to this is a white headband he wears.

    Strapped to his back is a massive sword, some might even call it great, and on the floor beside him he has placed his backpack and bow. He has taken an immediate interest in a wizard who arrived shortly after he did.
    -Other Guy-

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  • #6
    With a slight discomfort at closing the well used door, and a slight muttering to something outside, a halfling enters the tavern followed by a rough looking dog. Wearing a dark cloak, with leather armour underneath, the halfling strides over to the bar, takes notice of the sign, and looks at the barkeep.

    "Shadowlyn Darkfoot at your service. If there's a space in any group for a quick handed fellow, then I can oblige."

    With that quick introduction, he walks to an empty seat at the bar, and pulls himself up to the stool. Once situated, the glint of a morningstar can be seen strapped about his waist. His backpack and shortbow are left leaning against his stool as his dog sits with them. His green eyes dart around the room a bit, seemingly searching for something. With a shrug, he requests a mug of ale and begins to drink. His clothing is dark, and seems to blend in with his mood.

    "Know of any jobs available?" he says to Joe.
    Last edited by Fangor the Fierce; Thursday, 27th May, 2004 at 04:13 AM.

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    "Greeting my small comrade in drinks, may I lighten your mood with a refill of the drink," said Robillard with grand sweeping gestures.

    "My name is Robillard and I am an Oratory teller of tales and mighty deeds. I have a deal for you if you have an ear to listen.


    OOC - I am going to bed, someone save my a seat on the next adventure should someone come along, please
    Goodnight sweet prince, may flights of dragons sing thee to thy rest
    Ernest Gary Gygax (July 27, 1938 – March 4, 2008)
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    So, you don't want a Digital Initiative? Do green brains got you down? Then Dragon Roots is the mail order magazine for you. Only at www.dragonroots.net

    Wizard's First Rule: People are stupid
    People are stupid; given proper motivation, almost anyone will believe almost anything. Because people are stupid, they will believe a lie because they want to believe it’s true, or because they are afraid it might be true.
    -Wizard's First Rule by Terry Goodkind

  • #8
    Neilan Tal, a short human that is mostly covered by a travel-stained black cloak, has been sitting alone and unmoving in the tavern for so long that anyone noticing him may be wondering if he has fallen asleep.

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    Fant gives a parting nod to Robillard. “Perhaps some time in the future,” she says neutrally, “I will have need of your services, Lath'eon. I will look for you then.” She turns back towards the bar, making a soft noise that sounds perhaps like a cough but is actually something diminutive and uncomplimentary in the Gnoll’s barking, hyena-like language. Fant is of middling height, statuesque and athletic and clad in well made, if unassuming, clothing. Both a silver signet ring and a magnificently made sword at her side mark her as a woman of station. Her dark hair is pulled into an iron-hard bun at the back of her head.

    Quote Originally Posted by Pbartender
    Jack drops one of heavy purses beside Lady Fant, "Beggin' your pardon, Miss, but I got a fair price from Mister Gurdek for the loot, and that's your share. Dravin and Quickwhip haven't showed up yet, so's I figure they're out, more's the pity."
    She gives him a grateful nod. “Thank you, Jack.” She frowns. “You mean you haven’t seen them? The wizard sent the rest of us back all at once. I wonder…” she shakes her head. “I expect they are all right, and capable of making it back to the Dragon. If they care to find me, I will gladly give them their share.” She shrugs, and turns to the others surrounding her. “I thank you both for your offers of help in finding this… Janos, but even if we could find him, he is beyond our skill. When he sent Jack away, one of my other companions took exception and made to strike him. He froze the man still with a wave of his hand.” She shrugs. “I am inclined to be prosaic, since the venture was not entirely fruitless.” She indicates the bag. “Which is not to say I will not have a word or two with him, should we meet again.”
    “Taxation is very much like dairy farming. The task is to extract the maximum amount of milk with the minimum amount of moo. And I'm afraid to say, that these days, all I'm getting is moo.”

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    In which Thomas dons his DM hat.

    Quote Originally Posted by Creamsteak
    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.
    About fifteen minutes ago, an old man in rags sat down across the street from the Dragon and set a wooden bowl in front of him. Begging is discouraged in Orussus, at least when the watch bothers to take notice. In this case the watch passes by with simply a wave, which is returned. The man is stooped, although perhaps he was tall once, and fairly clean, for a beggar. His craggy features and scraggly beard, rather than making him look like a vagrant, lent him the air of a grandfather.

    About a minute ago, someone, in passing, tossed a copper into the bowl. The beggar nodded thankfully, rose, and walked over to the Dragon.

    And about fifteen seconds ago, he came in through the door and, waving away barmaids pointing to the sign calling for introductions, walked up to Joe and placed his coin on the bar. Joe looked at it, picked it up, polished it, and bit it to test its authenticity. Then, with a nod, he pocketed it and went back to serving drinks.

    And now, vindicated, the man turns to the tavern at large. He has an odd accent and a peculiar diction, and the overall effect is that of a man at an auction block- despite the rags, he seems oddly charming, or perhaps merely slick.

    “M’ names Coom, as in I Coom and I go as I please. Some folks I know have run into trooouble,” he draws out the o, “of late and find themselves without recooourse. I’ve taken it upon myself to lend the a hand, and I knoow that this is the place to gooo to look for help. If’n you care to help, I’ll be over heeere.” With that, he plops himself down at the nearest unoccupied table, and a waitress brings him a mug.

    Player hat, and "Why I'm not going on my own adventure..."

    Fant, over at he bar, sighs resignedly. "At least," she sighs, "I can see I won't be paid ahead of time. Caveat emptor." She turns away from the man and drinks the rest of her wine in one gulp before tapping the bar twice for a refill as she continues to wait for reliable employment. At least the wizard bothered to look respectable.
    Last edited by Thomas Hobbes; Thursday, 27th May, 2004 at 12:31 PM.
    “Taxation is very much like dairy farming. The task is to extract the maximum amount of milk with the minimum amount of moo. And I'm afraid to say, that these days, all I'm getting is moo.”

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