The Golden Cockatrice is located within the River Ward of the city of Teggest, population 50,000+. Near the River Market section of the Ward along the city's southern wall, the Cockatrice is just opening for the day. An oversized wooden statue of a cockatrice splashed with cheap gold leafing that peels and flakes away in places stands on a 3-foot pedestal in front of the festhall's main doors. A big yellow dog, bigger that what one might normally see skulking in the city's back alleys, sits directly at the base of the statue as the Cockatrice's employees and custom begin to filter in for another afternoon and night of revelrie. The dog looks healthy if a bit dirty, and sits, attentive, as if waiting for someone.
A pair of stout oak doors with amber-colored molten glass windows stand open during business hours. A pair of burly attendants--Phud being one of them--are on hand to greet customers and to keep undesirables from entering. In the gilt light of the Teggest hot afternoon sun stands the pair of bouncers, one of them new. Introduced just yesterday as Traven, the human man isn't as tall or heavyset as Frane and Vaja normally prefer to hire, but his sharp eye caught a gambling cheat last night at the bones table.
[sblock=Rowan, Baliss, Arden]There's something off about Traven. His hair looks like it might be a wig, but a pretty good one, and Arden's pretty sure she though she saw him rub away some sort of face paint yesterday afternoon while the sun was hot and he was scratching his neck. Phud, bless him, seems blissfully ignorant of this.[/sblock]
The festhall's interior is huge, shadowy, and a bit drafty. The air inside the Cockatrice is thick with the tang of strong beer, fresh bread, and the lingering scent of last night's Gorles 'baccyweed smoke. Traven greets the paying custom entering the salon, "Have a seat anywhere. There's plenty of space at the bar. The courtyard is open today, too; just walk through those doors there." The attendant points to a double set of wooden plank doors that are thrown open. "But stay clear of the birds," Traven smirks.
The main common room of the Cockatrice is 100 feet long, and about as wide. Once an old warehouse, Frane converted the building into its present function as a festhall. There are dozens of tables, but only the corner ones are currently occupied. The Cockatrice's regulars, Tailleur (the male half-elf house pickpocket, rumored to be a former Gallancais courtier), Cicer (a local gnome who performs illusionist magic tricks to entertain the crowd), Lowel (a male human hire of Vaja's and very good at spotting cheaters as well as spinning a yarn as wide as the Tegyrn River), and Cheal (a tall, lanky male human with a longsword strapped to his waist) and his six thugs sit at tables inside the large common room.
Cheal and Tailleur give everyone who enters the Cockatrice an appraising glance then return to their gambling. Lowel, who stands talking with Vaja next to the bar of undressed stones mortared together like wall in a field, seems to split his attention between Vaja, Tailleur, and the door. Frane, a blonde giant of a man with fists as big as the mugs of ale he serves, smiles in welcome at custom and employee alike as everyone enters. Frane's eyes drift from time to time to a new patron, a lithe elf woman carrying a longbow and a quiver full of arrows. The elf stands to the side of one of the courtyard doors, intently studying handbills offering employ that are normally tacked to a cork board maintained by Vaja.
