[Tavern Thread] The Dunn Wright Inn

"Well spoken Sir! Fate and the Muses. To that I will drink. As soon anyway as Marla has come with my drink...."
With than Sylvain turns around and scans the room for the Barmaid. Spotting her, he sings a few notes: "A drink, A drink, a draft of yon fine ale. I think, I think, I previ'sly told the tale. The maid, the maid, she heard what I had said, so when, oh when, will glass here down be laid.",
With that he turns back to wait.
"

As it perpetually does, the entry allows a pair of figures to enter. They are a male and female. The male is tall. Very tall. Towing over his smaller comrade by well over a foot in height. He is dressed in dust covered leather armor, that likely has seen more skirmishes than it's wearer could possibly have lived long enough to see. He sets his hands on his hips and takes a deep breath.

"There it is, Little Sister. The Dunn Wright Inn. Where everything, aside from the wenches, has been Dunn Wright for years!"

He laughs to himself at his crude joke, scanning around for a place to sit or a barmaid passing by with a tray of beverages. He takes a pair of long steps, his boots clomping the floor, which also has a sticky sound to it. For his companion's part, she stands in the doorway, sidestepping a departing dwarf, who grumbles something as the smell of ale both proceeds and follows him from the door to whatever awaits him. She is dressed in a rather clean, at least compared to her companion, cloth looking armor of Royal Blue with silver patterns across it, punctuated here and there with short, silvery studs, the like you would see on studded leather armor. Peaking from over her just over five foot back is what looks like a bow. Her left hip has a battered scabbard strung through her tightly buckled belt. The left side a simple leather sheath holds a normal, everyday looking dagger. It looks as if it has not seen anything worse than a hair cut in its short life. Her sky blue eyes blink beneath her bangs of platinum blond hair. The second clomp of her companion is followed by his turning around.

"If you want a drink, Doriandra, you had better move forward."

She blinks back to concentration on his voice and moves quickly up behind him. He laughs.

"This is the least likely place for you to run into misadventure, Dori. Still, best if you stay close."

She nods to him, blushing.

"Sorry, Difenda. You have been here how many times? It's my first."

He chuckles, slipping surprisingly agile for a man his size, through the crowd to the bar. Doriandra following close on his heels. Difenda orders.

"Two ales."

Doriandra turns, pressing her shoulders to his approximately lower back and looks around at the rather wide, diverse and drunken scene around her.

Gazrak takes his drink from the bartender with a nod and turns to scan the rest of the bar. Seeing several patrons he seemingly picks a table at random before walking over and plopping himself down next to Valdemar and Sylvain.

"Well met friends." he says, "Any interesting goings on as of late?"

Valdemar smiles at the new comer. "Not much, I at least have just arrived in town. Looking for jobs, adventure what not. Valdemar" says Valdemar extending his hand to the newcomer.

Tamarie the Songweaver
Perhaps Tamarie was about to say something when the halfling made his mad dash out of the inn, but it never came to light. Boisterous half-orc laughter filled in for whatever she might have said. Letting out a sigh, she simply scooped Francis up from the point he collapsed and laid him out on an unused table. Leaving him to rest in a darkened corner, she picks up her flute of wine and wanders the room aimlessly, taking in the atmosphere.

Marla the Barmaid
Working the floor while Grog minds the bar, Marla returns with a platter of drinks and some food. Stopping by Valdemar's table, she sets down a spread for him, including bread, 3 cheeses, fresh fruit and a generous bowl of soup. "The chef recommends thin beef and egg soup with a fine seasoning of mace, not native to the region. He knows where to get his spices." With a smile, she wisks off to keep up with the other patrons, who, collectively, seem intent on eating her out of house and home.

Meanwhile, at the bar, Grog serves up ales to first his fellow orc-blood, then the newly arriving duo. Big, meaty hands deliver the drinks with a refined practice, but splashed with a tinge of indifference. Still on the bar is a large jug marked 'gud stuf'. After the drinks are served, he finally returns it to it's resting place under the bar.

Blowing by on one of her errands, Marla comments in Dori's direction, "I take the food orders, if you're looking for a bite to eat. Otherwise, drink and enjoy."

Gazrak takes the offered hand, giving it a firm shake. "I suppose we've both come to the right place then, going by what I've heard. My name is Gazrak."

He in turn offers extends a hand to Sylvain. "Well met."

"Aye and what is it you have heard Gazrak?" asks Valdemar starting in on his soup.

Gazrak takes a long drink from his firewhiskey before responding. "Only that as far as Venza is concerned, this is the crossroads for those that ply the freelancers trade. I myself have just arrived."

Dif chuckles and raises his mug to Marla.

"Always the best, you are!"

Doriandra, meanwhile, takes a sip from her mug. She sputters a second, but takes another, longer sip after catching her breath. Dif turns around to her.

"Well, this is the place where you and I part company. At least for a while. You can find all sorts of adventures around here. The best place for getting start, or keeping it going. Look over there. Those two dwarves with the halfling. Probably fairly seasoned adventurers that lot. Or that table there..."

Dif motions to the table where Gazrak and company are talking.

"Those people there. Probably been all over the lands. Looks like a group with a lot of great stories. You should go over, introduce yourself. Most people here only bite on invitation."

Doriandra's gaze follows Dif's motions. She tilts her head as she takes another sip of her ale.

"You sure?"

Dif chuckles, putting a hand in the middle of her back.