Simple Starts; Hidden Clues...

Reality Check...

As you open the door, you are greeted almost immediately by a filmy phantom her warm smile, her gentle talk, ease your worry.

“Join us inside the Tavern, won’t you? It’s late now, in the morning we can talk, if you’d like?” Your hostess continues, “I offer you a bed, a meal and good company.”

In the morning, individuals can overhear the hostess speaking to the crowd as her voice prevails upon all present:

“The quest is simple. The answer lies somewhere in the Tavern. It is hidden well and has remained unfound for a millennia. There are no clues save that it exists and when found will return to its opaque structure and you will be able to touch it. If any of us wish to leave, we must locate the clues and find the stone and the parchment. May your luck be abundant today.”

A silence descends. She fills glasses with meade and others with wine; places crusty bread on a tin plate and some hard cheeses and sweetmeats on another.

Her fair head rises and her glistening violet-eyes seem to bore into you. “Will you accept this challenge? or will you start wandering the, as yet, uncharted Tavern... which may have the capabilities on the inside, of the TARDIS... Except I do not believe the whole building has ever left its lot in the woods, on the edge of the Obsidian Blackwood Forest...

0o0

"The biggest adventure we've had so far has been the door appears to be one way - Some of us have been here a very long time, and, while stew is tasty, and somehow the meade is cool, we've noticed that none of the travellers who've found the path in, have had the urge to leave..."

"Oh, well, drink up! There are pallets over here by the inglenook, or, if you prefer more privacy, there's some rooms upstairs. Very expensive them rooms is, though, they do come with a private bath and WC. There is a common privy with a water chamber beside the staircase, one for ladies and one for gents and one for undecideds...."

The room is warm, the fire blazes in the large stone hearth, surrounded by an open-railed stairwell on three sides, as the stairs rise to the second story. When you enter your eyes are drawn to the massive stone structure but as your eyes adjust to the dimmer interior lighting, you see tables and chairs in a dark, but plain wood scattered about. A long bar takes up nearly the whole back of the big public house. The place isn’t packed, but there are quite a few adventurers, of many species, languishing at tables or on stools near the fire. Their talk is comfortable, no one seems to be in a foul mood; a game of cards is being played at a table near the front window, and another by the fire.

A waif is sweeping the wooden floor on the other side of the room, away from the door, and a wide, jovial man, short in stature, with a heavy beard, is busy keeping everyone’s mugs filled.

A Furry creature resides on a pallet, her colour pale, but her breathing easy.

Shaking her head, the Lady steps forward and nudges the newcomer and sees that she is indeed in trouble. "Make ready a pallet," she calls to the barmaid. The room falls silent as the visitors witness, first-hand, and for the first time, the Lady's skill; as she lays her hands on the soft white fur her eyes close and she murmurs softly.

A slight wavering of the air, and the two disappear reappearing at the opposite end of the room, next to the fire.

The others in the room stare, curiously, as the furry creature is tended by their hostess, who wraps the Arctic Fox's paws in soft cloth soaked in a tincture.

"She will need to rest; we shall hear more of her tale when she has regained her strength," the mystical owner tells the others, returning to the bar, "We will need to set a patrol to keep an eye on your horses. These Dragonkin may be still following and we don't know the situation between this one and them." A small smile curves her mouth.

Seeing the severity of the wound up close, Morgan takes another pull from his ale and says, "It better be a fine tale indeed if it be bringing trouble this way." Two sheets to the wind and working on unfurling a third, the man wrangles a handful of gentlemen and another mug of ale before claiming first watch.

A healer (most likely an Orcan Cleric, which stuns everyone) takes pity and moves to the pallet, his hands gently taking the bolt lodged in Zyther Frost and wrenching its barbed end from the hapless fur, placing a compress of dubious cleanliness immediately over the wound and calls for some strong alcohol to cleanse, "And bring some more bandages." His gruff voice roughly grates on delicate ears.

A long night ensued as watches rotated, listening and keeping alert for dangers... which, thankfully, do not materialise into any danger to the Tavern or our guests... as of yet...

o0o

The ceiling is timber framed, high and covered in plaster, whitewashed not too long ago. The light sources are radiating from wall sconces set with thick candles, and two overhead circles of wrought iron with candle cups, every few inches, holding flickering beeswax candles. It is neither too warm, nor too cold inside, even though the windows are slightly open and a strong breeze flows the bluish grey smoke from pipes and cigars out, maintaining a breathable air quality.

A thin reedy woman and a couple of smaller urchins scamper about, removing dirty dishes and serving hot, freshly made bread to those who request it, and another thin man is coming up from the cellar, carrying a large barrel of cider, the door is large and at the side of the chimney. You see him turn the key in the lock, before returning the key to his vest pocket. It appears to be attached to a chatelaine.

The overall feeling is peaceful.

She (the barmaid) smiles placidly at you, "Oh, as you can see business is very good. Many visitors, much companionship. Lots of pleasant evenings filled with laughter." She motions to the barman to fill your cup. "Be careful, 'tis potent stuff. He brews it in the basement; legendary recipe, handed to him by his father's and his before him." She nods sagely and winks as the man's head is turned... "Did you have enough to eat? More bread, perhaps?"

Upstairs, the private rooms are $100gp each while down here the food and drink are free... No one particularly appears to be overly intoxicated, although the wine/meade seems quite potent, as you yourself, can now attest.

As the candles begin to dim, the Tavern guests rise from their chairs and begin to make their way to the pallets, none go up the stairs.

"Good night; sleep well!" ring out as one by one guests curl up on a blanket-covered wooden slated-pallet, and the candles dim further as the waif and urchins quickly clear the remains of the meals and tankards; their eyes wide as they scurry to finish, swiftly curling in the corner, sharing a pallet as the thin woman lies on the pallet next to them, the barman taking the one beyond that, the brewer happy to sleep behind the bar.

My Lady shall extinguish the second-to-last candle as she leads you to a pallet. "Do not be disturbed by the darkness, its velvet blanket protects us from the ...things best left unseen." She whispers. "Sleep well."

The noise of soft snores of some; the whimpers of others; the prayers of yet others are heard. All falls silent as the final candle is snuffed, and the great room becomes pitch black and very quiet.

o0o

Roll for sleep,

Fledgling Dungeon Master,

khrys...

*~*~*~*