Burrahobbit
Explorer
The good ol' inn/tavern/what-have-you is such a D&D staple that it sometimes fades into the background. Of course, it's perfectly reasonable to assume that most establishments offering beds, beer, and/or bread and butter are nothing to write home about, more or less average places populated by more or less average people doing more or less average things.
But those are *NPC* inns. 0th-level NPC inns.
Really, while it might be nice to have an unremarkable and quiet place to rest after the adventure (and if your players/style call for that, it's certainly fine), I've found that the players often get a better sense of *being there* when there's something different about a place. Something they can't take for granted. In an adventure I'm working on right now, the PCs have to be doing a lot of travelling from town to town, and I thought I'd brainstorm a few ideas for inns that might add a bit of spark and nice background lighting to the campaign.
Here are a few sketches I came up with (often with some conspicuously absent information - e.g., how did they catch the wyverns? - for flexibility's sake). And obviously some of them work better in certain types of campaigns than others.
"The Wyvern's Egg"
This very high-class establishment, situated about a mile outside of town (for reasons which will become apparent) has become legendary in the region. Its speciality (as the name implies) is wyvern eggs, which are obtained from two dozen of the creatures who are held on the roof, in cages which allow for the eggs to be removed without having to open the doors [if this stretches credibility, or if you want the place to be somewhere people would want to sleep, the wyverns could always be caged some distance away]. The eggs are quite expensive, but so is feeding the wyverns.
The other food is good, if a bit overpriced, but the town aristocracy enjoys the place for its suitably controlled element of danger; the sight of the beasts on the roof is one not to be forgotten, and the occasional scream of a wyvern is enough to send delightful shivers up the spines of the diners.
(Yeah, the adventure here kind of writes itself)
"The Sea Wolf"
This seedy bar, recently under new management thanks to the mysterious disappearance of the former owner, is a decommissioned old ship moored permanently on the city wharf (for which the owner pays a hefty sum to the harbormaster). Even a new sign with the name and emblem of the seawolf clearly emblazoned can't stop the sailors and streetwise locals who make up the clientele from referring to the place (disparagingly, as the new owner thinks) as "The Old Boat."
One of the highlights of an evening at the Sea Wolf is the Dunking Barrel; a certain poor fellow sits on a collapsible seat above a huge barrel of tepid not-quite-clean water, and the clientele take turns throwing rocks at a target to swing the seat down and drop him in. Those dunked may be the town drunks (a man is given free drinks as long as he stays on the seat, and it's tradition for the one who hits the target to buy him one afterward), but various others, including newly married men and sailors about to embark on their first voyage, are also traditional targets. More than one person has had a few too many to drink and found himself sputtering in the barrel with his friends laughing around him.
The place seethes with rumors and grudges and the unpleasant attitudes of sailors who have spent all their money and are waiting around for the ship to sail. People have not been pleased with the new owner, and a fight erupted last month over the increased price and reduced quality of the spirits (once the famous Barum's Blackeye Rotgut, now a slightly watered down and more easily attained local brew).
"The Troll's Arms"
On the Troll's Arm peninsula, the troll wars are not easily forgotten; many a hero made his name for himself in those wars, and many others found glory in more recent times by defeating one of the creatures, who still linger in the dark reaches of the land and emerge from time to time to wreak havoc. This frontier tavern and inn is a grisly monument to the struggle: the walls are crammed with the stuffed and mounted arms of trolls, with some kind of plaque or just scrap of paper giving the name of the warrior who defeated the beast and sometimes the story of the struggle.
The arm that hangs over the door is that won by the founder of the inn, a soldier in the troll wars, who can sometimes be found at a corner table with his old cronies, or alone, watching the latest round of boasts and tall tales.
The bartender swears that late one night when he was cleaning up alone, an unbelievably huge troll entered the bar, grabbed a certain arm off the wall, and sauntered back into the night. The two younger waiters (cousins of the owner) make fun of him constantly for this, but he sticks to his story.
"The Phoenix Feather"
The great fireplace in this inn is always alight; it houses a feather of the legendary phoenix, which is said to burn forever (or at least for the 999 years that the Phoenix lives). The story of how it got here is not known for certain, and the cheerful young barman seems to invent a new tale every week. The venerable old maid who cleans the rooms is said to know the truth (some even say it was a suitor in the beautiful days of her youth who brought it), but she tends to enjoy the barman's fabrications, and only every now and again shakes her head and chuckles to herself when he launches into another story. But the enchanted fire and its tendency to somehow portray the perfect mood (a soft glow at the end of the evening, a merry crackle in deep winter, a breezy cool in the summer) gives all in the inn a feeling of such peace and comfort that it is a rare night when the Phoenix is not full of locals and travellers alike. It also doesn't hurt that the stuffed hen and spiced cider are excellent.
"Maqhah al-Nujuum"
The owner of this cafe once had the occasion to give aid to a passing astrologer [remember the Sha'ir's Handbook?]. In return, the astrologer placed an enchantment on the ceiling of the establishment, so that every night, even in this bright and crowded city, the stars wheel as brightly and as clearly as in the middle of the moonless desert. During the day, the locals sit outside and play chess or Taawila [a kind of backgammon], smoking nargilehs and drinking Haroun the owner's famous hot sage drink.
In the evening, it has become tradition for an old rawun (storyteller) to recount the familiar legends of the Sons of the Wind, a tribe of ages past; but even after he has finished, the tales continue, and travellers, nomads, and old men tell their tales and stories of adventures past and yet to come, discuss the news of the day, and sometimes fall into some half-remembered song; and it is not uncommon for guests to stay awake the whole night beneath the stars, under the watchful eyes of Haroun's son Hatim (who, the joke goes, has never woken up before sunset in his life).
"The Soldier's Rest"
On the now little-travelled crossroads of what was once the King's Highway, sits an old inn, now nearly bereft of customers. But its food is good and its beds are clean, and though the owner has moved to parts far distant, sending a messenger every month to check in and collect the moneys, the two old caretakers are meticulous in their work, and, though close-mouthed at first, have an endless store of tales once you get them going (helped by the fact that they have a near photographic memory for their guests and their stories).
Unfortunately for business, the Soldier's Rest is haunted. It was used as a makeshift hospital during the War, as the armies of the King were pushed back down the Highway in their last desperate retreat. Many men died here, but the spirit of one in particular was unable to find rest. He promised his young wife that he would return to her by year's end, but the King extended the conscription term, and torn between his two loves, for his country and his wife, he finally, after two year of fighting, decided to desert. But no sooner had he sneaked out of the camp than he was shot by an arrow in the side - by enemy scouts, by his own army, by rogues, he never knew; he crawled into the woods and hid himself as best he could.
When dawn came, the army was pushed back again, but they managed to reform and hold their position near to where our soldier was shot. He was found in the evening, delirious and nearly dead, and it was assumed that he had been shot in combat. He was carried back to the Soldier's Rest, and tended to as best he could. He was on the verge of recovery, when word came to him that his wife had died. It was enough to send him back into delirium, but he managed to overhear the nurse and the messenger conversing, and learned that his wife had died in childbirth, well more than a year after he had left.
He had betrayed his country, and perhaps his own comrades had shot him for it; he had broken his promise to his wife, and yet been betrayed by her. His broken body soon was at rest, but his tortured spirit is sometimes still seen wandering the inn, an arrow in its side, weeping. The caretakers have gotten used to him, and have learned fragments of his story. He's never harmed anyone, or even made noise to keep them awake, but all the same, few stay more than a night.
-------
I believe there was a Dragon article towards the end of 2E's run that featured an underdark (Duergar?) city with a tavern suspended on a chain from the cavern ceiling above a fathomless pit. Classic.
Of course, there are less complex and dramatic things that can add a bit of flavor to an inn - just one special dish is sometimes enough to make a place memorable (long after I've forgotten 95% of what happened in the scores of Dragonlance books I read in middle school, I still remember "Otik's spiced potatoes" for some reason). Or just one memorable face (like old Barliman), or something just odd and never explained, like a singing chimney.
So what have you done to give a twist to those taverns and inns in your campaigns? (Or what have you thought of and never gotten around to using?)
- Sam
ps. None of this is to knock the old standard roaring fire/grizzled inkeeper/dwarven ale/pretty barmaid trope; I know a guy who wouldn't dream of going anywhere near a place with a singing chimney.
But those are *NPC* inns. 0th-level NPC inns.
Really, while it might be nice to have an unremarkable and quiet place to rest after the adventure (and if your players/style call for that, it's certainly fine), I've found that the players often get a better sense of *being there* when there's something different about a place. Something they can't take for granted. In an adventure I'm working on right now, the PCs have to be doing a lot of travelling from town to town, and I thought I'd brainstorm a few ideas for inns that might add a bit of spark and nice background lighting to the campaign.
Here are a few sketches I came up with (often with some conspicuously absent information - e.g., how did they catch the wyverns? - for flexibility's sake). And obviously some of them work better in certain types of campaigns than others.
"The Wyvern's Egg"
This very high-class establishment, situated about a mile outside of town (for reasons which will become apparent) has become legendary in the region. Its speciality (as the name implies) is wyvern eggs, which are obtained from two dozen of the creatures who are held on the roof, in cages which allow for the eggs to be removed without having to open the doors [if this stretches credibility, or if you want the place to be somewhere people would want to sleep, the wyverns could always be caged some distance away]. The eggs are quite expensive, but so is feeding the wyverns.
The other food is good, if a bit overpriced, but the town aristocracy enjoys the place for its suitably controlled element of danger; the sight of the beasts on the roof is one not to be forgotten, and the occasional scream of a wyvern is enough to send delightful shivers up the spines of the diners.
(Yeah, the adventure here kind of writes itself)
"The Sea Wolf"
This seedy bar, recently under new management thanks to the mysterious disappearance of the former owner, is a decommissioned old ship moored permanently on the city wharf (for which the owner pays a hefty sum to the harbormaster). Even a new sign with the name and emblem of the seawolf clearly emblazoned can't stop the sailors and streetwise locals who make up the clientele from referring to the place (disparagingly, as the new owner thinks) as "The Old Boat."
One of the highlights of an evening at the Sea Wolf is the Dunking Barrel; a certain poor fellow sits on a collapsible seat above a huge barrel of tepid not-quite-clean water, and the clientele take turns throwing rocks at a target to swing the seat down and drop him in. Those dunked may be the town drunks (a man is given free drinks as long as he stays on the seat, and it's tradition for the one who hits the target to buy him one afterward), but various others, including newly married men and sailors about to embark on their first voyage, are also traditional targets. More than one person has had a few too many to drink and found himself sputtering in the barrel with his friends laughing around him.
The place seethes with rumors and grudges and the unpleasant attitudes of sailors who have spent all their money and are waiting around for the ship to sail. People have not been pleased with the new owner, and a fight erupted last month over the increased price and reduced quality of the spirits (once the famous Barum's Blackeye Rotgut, now a slightly watered down and more easily attained local brew).
"The Troll's Arms"
On the Troll's Arm peninsula, the troll wars are not easily forgotten; many a hero made his name for himself in those wars, and many others found glory in more recent times by defeating one of the creatures, who still linger in the dark reaches of the land and emerge from time to time to wreak havoc. This frontier tavern and inn is a grisly monument to the struggle: the walls are crammed with the stuffed and mounted arms of trolls, with some kind of plaque or just scrap of paper giving the name of the warrior who defeated the beast and sometimes the story of the struggle.
The arm that hangs over the door is that won by the founder of the inn, a soldier in the troll wars, who can sometimes be found at a corner table with his old cronies, or alone, watching the latest round of boasts and tall tales.
The bartender swears that late one night when he was cleaning up alone, an unbelievably huge troll entered the bar, grabbed a certain arm off the wall, and sauntered back into the night. The two younger waiters (cousins of the owner) make fun of him constantly for this, but he sticks to his story.
"The Phoenix Feather"
The great fireplace in this inn is always alight; it houses a feather of the legendary phoenix, which is said to burn forever (or at least for the 999 years that the Phoenix lives). The story of how it got here is not known for certain, and the cheerful young barman seems to invent a new tale every week. The venerable old maid who cleans the rooms is said to know the truth (some even say it was a suitor in the beautiful days of her youth who brought it), but she tends to enjoy the barman's fabrications, and only every now and again shakes her head and chuckles to herself when he launches into another story. But the enchanted fire and its tendency to somehow portray the perfect mood (a soft glow at the end of the evening, a merry crackle in deep winter, a breezy cool in the summer) gives all in the inn a feeling of such peace and comfort that it is a rare night when the Phoenix is not full of locals and travellers alike. It also doesn't hurt that the stuffed hen and spiced cider are excellent.
"Maqhah al-Nujuum"
The owner of this cafe once had the occasion to give aid to a passing astrologer [remember the Sha'ir's Handbook?]. In return, the astrologer placed an enchantment on the ceiling of the establishment, so that every night, even in this bright and crowded city, the stars wheel as brightly and as clearly as in the middle of the moonless desert. During the day, the locals sit outside and play chess or Taawila [a kind of backgammon], smoking nargilehs and drinking Haroun the owner's famous hot sage drink.
In the evening, it has become tradition for an old rawun (storyteller) to recount the familiar legends of the Sons of the Wind, a tribe of ages past; but even after he has finished, the tales continue, and travellers, nomads, and old men tell their tales and stories of adventures past and yet to come, discuss the news of the day, and sometimes fall into some half-remembered song; and it is not uncommon for guests to stay awake the whole night beneath the stars, under the watchful eyes of Haroun's son Hatim (who, the joke goes, has never woken up before sunset in his life).
"The Soldier's Rest"
On the now little-travelled crossroads of what was once the King's Highway, sits an old inn, now nearly bereft of customers. But its food is good and its beds are clean, and though the owner has moved to parts far distant, sending a messenger every month to check in and collect the moneys, the two old caretakers are meticulous in their work, and, though close-mouthed at first, have an endless store of tales once you get them going (helped by the fact that they have a near photographic memory for their guests and their stories).
Unfortunately for business, the Soldier's Rest is haunted. It was used as a makeshift hospital during the War, as the armies of the King were pushed back down the Highway in their last desperate retreat. Many men died here, but the spirit of one in particular was unable to find rest. He promised his young wife that he would return to her by year's end, but the King extended the conscription term, and torn between his two loves, for his country and his wife, he finally, after two year of fighting, decided to desert. But no sooner had he sneaked out of the camp than he was shot by an arrow in the side - by enemy scouts, by his own army, by rogues, he never knew; he crawled into the woods and hid himself as best he could.
When dawn came, the army was pushed back again, but they managed to reform and hold their position near to where our soldier was shot. He was found in the evening, delirious and nearly dead, and it was assumed that he had been shot in combat. He was carried back to the Soldier's Rest, and tended to as best he could. He was on the verge of recovery, when word came to him that his wife had died. It was enough to send him back into delirium, but he managed to overhear the nurse and the messenger conversing, and learned that his wife had died in childbirth, well more than a year after he had left.
He had betrayed his country, and perhaps his own comrades had shot him for it; he had broken his promise to his wife, and yet been betrayed by her. His broken body soon was at rest, but his tortured spirit is sometimes still seen wandering the inn, an arrow in its side, weeping. The caretakers have gotten used to him, and have learned fragments of his story. He's never harmed anyone, or even made noise to keep them awake, but all the same, few stay more than a night.
-------
I believe there was a Dragon article towards the end of 2E's run that featured an underdark (Duergar?) city with a tavern suspended on a chain from the cavern ceiling above a fathomless pit. Classic.
Of course, there are less complex and dramatic things that can add a bit of flavor to an inn - just one special dish is sometimes enough to make a place memorable (long after I've forgotten 95% of what happened in the scores of Dragonlance books I read in middle school, I still remember "Otik's spiced potatoes" for some reason). Or just one memorable face (like old Barliman), or something just odd and never explained, like a singing chimney.
So what have you done to give a twist to those taverns and inns in your campaigns? (Or what have you thought of and never gotten around to using?)
- Sam
ps. None of this is to knock the old standard roaring fire/grizzled inkeeper/dwarven ale/pretty barmaid trope; I know a guy who wouldn't dream of going anywhere near a place with a singing chimney.
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Now, if there were a great bar fights thread . . . .
