Toric_Arthendain
Explorer
It’s another typical night at the Vulgar Unicorn, though typical covers a wide range of conditions here in the Maze. Unusually cold rain drizzles down outside, the remnants of a storm that blew in off the sea this morning. The wooden building is no better constructed than any other in the Maze, and the creaks and groans it gives up every time the wind blows aren’t encouraging. A slow drip proves the roof is in no better shape than the walls, and keeps time as it plops loudly into a pot set on one end of the tavern’s counter. A few flickering lamps shed poor light in the lower level of the tavern, and a single lamp illuminates the only table occupied on the balcony level above. There’s no fire in the fireplace, and it’s not really cold enough for anyone to complain about that. The tavern isn’t pleasant tonight, but it’s more gloomy than uncomfortable.
It’s not a bad storm, but it’s gone on all day and by now most Sanctans have decided it’s not worth struggling against. Likely, the only patrons here tonight are those with business that can’t wait and those with homes even less comfortable on a rainy night than the tavern. As a result, it’s a slow night, with just six people in the common room other than yourselves. Pegrin the Ugly sits behind the tavern’s chipped wooden counter tiredly, serving what few drinks are ordered. The lone barmaid here tonight, a fair young woman you’ve heard Pegrin call Minx, has given up on bright conversation and simply waits near the kitchen door for someone to signal a desire for a drink or food. No minstrel or entertainer is trying his luck here tonight, so the only sounds are the murmurs of low conversations, the splashing of feet going through puddles outside and the wind whistling through shutters that are only a little more secure shut than they would be if open.
Three of the tavern’s patrons sit together near the front door, burly men sullenly nursing cheap drinks and quietly talking among themselves. They wear the simple leathers and long knives of hired thugs, and every few minutes one of them shoots an irritated glance at the door. If they have business here tonight, it’s with someone who hasn’t arrived yet. Not far from the table of ruffians is the fourth patron, an older man in worn clothes and heavy cloak that are clearly Ilsigi in design, but have seen better days. The man keeps his head down and hasn’t spoken since any of you have entered. In fact, he’s barely moved at all, with only the occasional sigh or adjustment of his cloak as proof he’s alive at all.
Furthest from any other occupied table sits a woman in a heavy, hooded robe, the hood pulled up to conceal her face. The shape hinted at under the cloth and the delicate features that can be glimpsed from time to time suggest she’s an attractive woman, but she’s making no effort to take advantage of that. She’s obviously alert, glancing at any sudden noise or voice, but seems more cautious than nervous. She’s actually eating a meal, the only one of the six patrons to do so, and has ordered the best fare the Vulgar Unicorn has to offer (which isn’t saying all that much). Above her, the lone patron to sit on the balcony level sits casually, seeming to enjoy the dreary night. He is a trim and fit younger man, obviously full of the confidence often found in braggarts and bullies. He has a longsword dangling from one hip, and wears well-used leather armor and heavy boots. Like the woman, he seems alert, especially when the wind comes howling through the cracks in the walls and sets the tavern’s lanterns flickering.
The quiet feels a bit like an audience waiting for a play to begin, as if the main act of the tavern’s night is about to begin. There’s a little tension in the air, but that’s not unusual in the Maze. It’s another typical night in the Vulgar Unicorn, and that means anything can happen.
OOC: Okay, use your first IC post to describe yourselves as others would see you. There are plenty of tables available so you can assume that you are sitting at one or standing at the mostly empty bar.
It’s not a bad storm, but it’s gone on all day and by now most Sanctans have decided it’s not worth struggling against. Likely, the only patrons here tonight are those with business that can’t wait and those with homes even less comfortable on a rainy night than the tavern. As a result, it’s a slow night, with just six people in the common room other than yourselves. Pegrin the Ugly sits behind the tavern’s chipped wooden counter tiredly, serving what few drinks are ordered. The lone barmaid here tonight, a fair young woman you’ve heard Pegrin call Minx, has given up on bright conversation and simply waits near the kitchen door for someone to signal a desire for a drink or food. No minstrel or entertainer is trying his luck here tonight, so the only sounds are the murmurs of low conversations, the splashing of feet going through puddles outside and the wind whistling through shutters that are only a little more secure shut than they would be if open.
Three of the tavern’s patrons sit together near the front door, burly men sullenly nursing cheap drinks and quietly talking among themselves. They wear the simple leathers and long knives of hired thugs, and every few minutes one of them shoots an irritated glance at the door. If they have business here tonight, it’s with someone who hasn’t arrived yet. Not far from the table of ruffians is the fourth patron, an older man in worn clothes and heavy cloak that are clearly Ilsigi in design, but have seen better days. The man keeps his head down and hasn’t spoken since any of you have entered. In fact, he’s barely moved at all, with only the occasional sigh or adjustment of his cloak as proof he’s alive at all.
Furthest from any other occupied table sits a woman in a heavy, hooded robe, the hood pulled up to conceal her face. The shape hinted at under the cloth and the delicate features that can be glimpsed from time to time suggest she’s an attractive woman, but she’s making no effort to take advantage of that. She’s obviously alert, glancing at any sudden noise or voice, but seems more cautious than nervous. She’s actually eating a meal, the only one of the six patrons to do so, and has ordered the best fare the Vulgar Unicorn has to offer (which isn’t saying all that much). Above her, the lone patron to sit on the balcony level sits casually, seeming to enjoy the dreary night. He is a trim and fit younger man, obviously full of the confidence often found in braggarts and bullies. He has a longsword dangling from one hip, and wears well-used leather armor and heavy boots. Like the woman, he seems alert, especially when the wind comes howling through the cracks in the walls and sets the tavern’s lanterns flickering.
The quiet feels a bit like an audience waiting for a play to begin, as if the main act of the tavern’s night is about to begin. There’s a little tension in the air, but that’s not unusual in the Maze. It’s another typical night in the Vulgar Unicorn, and that means anything can happen.
OOC: Okay, use your first IC post to describe yourselves as others would see you. There are plenty of tables available so you can assume that you are sitting at one or standing at the mostly empty bar.
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