Rules

This thread will operate in the same fashion as the old "tavern" chat rooms used to. Anyone may enter the tavern at anytime, when you first enter start your post with your characters name in bold and give a brief description of your characters physical appearance. Do not type out history or personality of your character as these traits will be revealed through your actions and interactions with other players within the tavern. However, you may indicate such things by "glaring angrily at the bartender" or "whistling a happy tune" or "wearing an ancient Orc trinket around your neck." This adventure will evolve organically as players join and act out their characters. Players may have more than one character in this adventure, please begin each post with your characters name in bold. Posts should be descriptive yet short as possible, no more than three actions per post.

Turn Based Rules

- No auto hitting (for example: Gandalf beheads Elrond with a swift wave of his sword).

- Be sure to play out any damage your character takes, for example limping, or nursing an arm or struggling to draw a weapon

- Your character can heal all damage taken by sitting quietly near the minstrel for one post.

- PG-13 is "bad enough" to keep it fun, no unnecessary profanity, gore, or violence.

- Anything goes as long as it fits your character.

- You can play more than one character, just begin each post with the name in bold.

- It might be nice to have bad guys wander into the tavern from time to time for a good fight, bad guys should also include BG next to their name at the start of each post.

- No double posting (unless playing more than one character).

- No ganging up on other characters (unless it's a "bad guy" there for a fight).

- Absolutely no more than three actions per post.

For more information on TB play, there is a short guide that can be found here http://rpfightingstyles.webs.com/t1andvariations.htm

Updated 17 September 2012 (12:00)

The Bards Ale Tavern

The Bards Ale Tavern sits on the outskirts of the gated city Meadowgate, just within the fortified, wooden spike walls. When perched on the front step of the tavern, just below the sounds of laughter and clanking beer steins muffled from within, howls, screams, and other unearthly noises can be heard from the ancient and dangerous forest that looms just beyond the city gate. It is from this very forest, The Midnight Wood, that many travelers and wanderers seek refuge and find themselves in the musty and close interior of The Bards Ale Tavern.

A fat and bald and weathered and most unfriendly and tight lipped barkeep leans against the long bar on one side of the tavern. He looks ready to serve ale, and disgusted at the prospect of any social interaction. He never says a word, only grumbles angrily to himself. The ancient wood of the bar, chairs, and tables smells musty and old and stale. On the other side of the tavern a roaring fireplace casts long shadows across the cobblestone floor, under the long wooden tables dotted throughout the center of the tavern, and up into the open, dusty, and very dark wooden rafters above. The smell of burning wood mixes with the old stale smell in a most unpleasant and stinging sort of way. A minstrel sits to the right side of the roaring fire with a tall pint of ale, quietly playing his lute with a feather plectrum and peering, occasionally, from under a wide brimmed hat across the tavern tables at the mysterious inhabitants. Sitting near this minstrel will allow his healing music to wash over you and heal all wounds.

A sign near the bar reads "A wag of a finger like a dragons tale, earns you another pint of The Bards fine Ale!"

From time to time the minstrel raises his finger in the air and the fat, bald, and grumbling barkeep waddles out from behind the bar to deliver another pint to the musician. Other patrons of the tavern call for their beers in the same way, one finger in the air.

Updated 17 September 2012 (12:07)

Omar

Slips quietly into the tavern through some hidden door in the shadows. He is a halfling, barely tall as the bar, dressed in a dark cloak and wearing two daggers openly on his belt. His eyes dart from side to side under his dark hood that still conceals most of his face, save for a long vertical scar across his left eye and a few curls of hair spilling from under his hood. Silently he moves through the shadows to a table in the darkest corner of the tavern where he finds a seat and wags his finger in the air calling for a pint of ale. When his ale is delivered by the barkeep he downs the ale thirstily before the bartender can even make it back to his post at the bar.

Glurk BG

A fat and disgusting half orc with long rotten fingernails and worse breath stumbles as a drunkard from one table to the next cursing and dratting as he looks under each table, chair, and bench he bumps into. He gets down on all fours and begins searching in the crevices of the cobble stones.

"Blimey! Where has it gotten off too now?" he slurs angrily as spittle flies from his mouth, "I'll bet one of these maggots has pocketed it what's more!"

He stands and glares across the room at Omar, then points at him with one long, bony, rotten finger, "Where is it? You stanking, slimy, pickpocket, street rat!"

Nathan Fireroot Slips into the bar gathering his dark cloak around him he is fairly tall as he is an elf and has a quiet voice that is strangely heard in loud rooms he moves to a solitary table and ask's for an ale watching Glurk shout at the halfling and slowly pulls a small dagger out and lays it beside him. "I think you should settle down friend" he says threateningly. ((sorry not sure if the name is bold haven't ever used bold before ))

Updated 22 September 2012 (04:01)

Glurk BG

Whirls around and points now at the stranger Nathan Fireroot and stumbles a bit as he belches through some drunken curse directed at the tall cloaked figure.

"And whats about calming down is going to find back my trinket?" he slurs as spittle flips past his lips and dribbles down his glistening chin.

He staggers around a table, stumbles past a bar stool shoving it angrily aside and begins walking toward Nathan Fireroot in an unsteady and dizzy shuffle, still pointing his finger and cursing at him.

Nathan Firefoot Smiles at Glurk "I think youve had enough to drink maybe you should go home now" smiles and begins cleaning his teeth with his dagger.

Fox

A hooded figure enters the tavern wearing white robes with red embroidery and accents. A thick belt is slung at her waist with a thin sword of arabic origins hung upon it and well as a few pouches. A shorter sword of the same origins was strapped across her back, and intricate bracers were secured under her sleeves around her wrists and lower arms, mostly hidden by the corse fabric.

However, oddities come to light in the Tavern's light. Though her face was shadowed, the tip of a delicate canine muzzle poked out from the hood, somewhat sand colored. Her hands were in fact sandy colored as well, and bared more resembelance to paws. A sand colored and black tipped tail swished under her robes, and uncovered pawed feet carried her at a strange yet fluid gait as she walked over to the bartender, seemingly oblivious to the ruckus going on.

"Your strongest..." Was all she said to the barkeep, pulling out a few tiny diamonds from a pouch and placing them on the counter. Such precious little jewels would surely get her anything she wanted here, but she only seemed content with a cup of the strongest brew the tavern stocked.

Once she got her drink, she shuffled over and sat in the first available seat closest to the roaring fire that gave the best view of the whole tavern...

(I hope this is right, I'm a bit rusty...)

Updated 10 October 2012 (17:07)

Nathan Firefoot shrugs and walks past Glurk losing interest and moves over to sit down by Fox "well hello there what brings you here? Had any good adventures lastely?" quickly scans her to see if she has any gold or jewels on her.

Adam BG

Whilst Glurk was raging on about his trinket, a quiet man eases into a seat closest to the bar but against the wall. Dressed in a faded black woolen tunic and pants and oddly inscribed grey boots, patched on some areas, hooded cloak about his shoulders giving full view of his face. Tribal tattoos in bold black ink ran about the only visible skin, his neck and hands. The plain silver ring on his right forefinger glowed eerily in the Taverns light. He glanced towards the bar, and raised a finger to the barkeep. Hoping the Tavern could hide him from the growing storm outside, he gazed around the room in fading interest to the other patrons.

"Thanks," he whispered to the barkeep, raising the mug to his lips in appreciation that he could start a tab-his belly and mind were empty after his escapades. Downing the mug quickly, he glanced towards the bar, raising a finger again.

Slowly sipping on this new mug of ale, he watched with interest as Nathan seated himself near the pretty figure by the fire. His empty hand automatically strayed towards his belt-where he had throwing stars, a quietly singed katana and an enchanted dagger that only came out to play when his drummed a certain rhythm against his ring.

His mind more on the task at hand then his ale, he set the mug down before he spilled and drew more attention to his one coal black eye and one pearl white eye then necessary. He hated the curse that had been placed upon him since he was a younger man. Dual seeing eyes, and driven to feast on life blood of elves and men regardless of his true desires to the opposite.

As he waited for the elf to make his move towards the door, oddly enough the figure the elf sat next to was familiar to him, though he couldn't place where, at the moment it mattered not to him then due to his base needs.

He slowly got up from his seat and casually walked over towards the elf, keeping his hand on the singed katana, "Might I spare a moment of your time and break words in private, friend?"

Doyl

A solidly built young man slams open the tavern door and lumbers in carrying a well-worn backpack stuffed to bursting. Clearly fresh off the road, his hair and beard have gone unshaven for a few days, and his brigandine armour has acquired what some would call 'a manly odour'; he himself looks like the sort who would prefer to say 'it stinks like arse.' The battle axe and heavy dagger at his belt have seen frequent use.

"Gods Below, what a day!," he curses with exuberant cheer to no one in particular and sets off for the table next to Omar's, leaving muddy bootprints in his wake. Although tired, his short, stocky, almost Dwarf-like frame seems to have no great difficulty in hauling the pack to its destination.

The weight of his pack makes the table groan as Doyl unceremoniously dumps his burden onto it. He wags a mud-stained finger and calls to the barkeep, "And get me some of that rat dick stew of yours, and a slug of rotgut to burn away the taste!"

Doyl casually places his axe on the table as he sits down. He looks around with an amused grin on his rough face, and as his eyes land on Glurk he barks out a with laugh, "Glurk, you fat bastard! Still looking for that useless little charm of yours?"

Nicodemus

A thin young man with mousy hair stumbles in the tavern. His robes look like they have seen better days; bright colors and fine materials are hardly recognizable under all that dirt. He's wearing round glasses that make his eyes look bit too big for his head. The man himself looks like he hasn't had a good night sleep for a very long while. He's carrying a big bag that must be heavy because he looks like he's about to collapse under the weight.

With a heavy sigh he starts heading towards the bar. His eyes keep glancing nervously at the half-orc. He's so concentrated on keeping an eye on the half-orc that he doesn't look where he's going and he runs straight into Doyl. Loosing his balance he falls on his arse.

"I-I-I am so so-sorry, sir. I didn' mean to...." he stutters a wild and almost panicking look in his eyes and tries to get up.

Doyl

Doyl's axe clatters to the floor as the collision pushes him forward in his chair. He gets up with an unpleasantly eager grin on his face, kicks his chair to the side and glares down at the ragged Nicodemus. "Who do you think you're jumping on, you lousy little twerp!" Doyl growls as his weathered hands lunge for the prone man's lapels for a good shake.

Nicodemus

When Doyl grabs his lapels Nicodemus squeezes his eyes shut tightly, like he was waiting for a hit. The poor sod looks like a ragdoll in the hands of the much bigger man and you can see that he's actually just a boy.

"I'msorryI'msorrypleasedon'thitme" he speaks so quickly that it's hard to understand. "Actually.... Yo-you don't re-really wa-want to d-do that..." turning his head away from his assaulter he continues speaking very nervously. It's like the sound of his own voice was the only thing that kept him from breaking down complitely.

"I'm a very p-p-powerfull wi-wizard and I will curseyouifyouhitme...." the sentence thickens and quiets down towrds the end. Very carefully Nicodemus opens his other eye to peak Doyl's reactions.

Doyl

Doyl stops shaking the boy, stares at him for a second. Then he tightens his grip, pulls him menacingly closer, bares his teeth and... bursts into hearty, almost hysterical laughter!

He lets go of Nicodemus, and leans on the table, takes a breath and tries to suppress his mirth. "Tha- Tha- Bwahaha... That was a good one! Hahaha.. a powerful wizahahaha..." He's still giggling when he wipes a tear from the corner of his eye and wags a finger at the barkeeper, "Hoy, get Twerp the Mighty and Powerful Wizard of Death and Doom a pint before he curses the lot of us!"

He rights the chair at his feet, sits down to the one next to it, still chuckling, and invites Nicodemus to sit. "Would you like a seat or is th-hehehe.. the great mage happier rubbing his arse on the floor?"

Nicodemus

The young mage is caught unaware when Doyl lets go of him and he stumbles on the floor. He eyes Doyl suspiciously, still waiting for the punch that didn't come and slowly gets up. Nicodemus straightens his round glasses and rumpled robes trying to regain his lost dignity. For some reason after that his clothes look much cleaner and even the colours look brighter.

The boy opens his mouth and closes it again when Doyl orders him a drink but doesn't say anything. He doesn't dare to refuse the invitation and silently sits down on the offered seat and places his bag on the floor next to his legs. For a moment he just observes the other man apparently gathering courage because when he finally speaks his voice is much more confident than it was a moment ago.

"I wasn't actually kidding, you know", he says quietly.

Doyl

"Oh, you weren't kidding, eh," he smirks. "Well, try to keep yourlsef from turning into a newt until I've eaten."

The bartender tosses Doyl's food and drink for a sloppy landing, and Doyl catches the pint from the first bounce and takes a long series of gulps. He slams the mug back onto the table with a splash accompanied by a drawn-out burp.

"So, oh Lord High Wizard of Magical Mastery, where've you stashed the maidens your kind like to grab? I could really go for rescuing one and teaching her the ways of the world."

Nicodemus

The boy suddenly finds the worn patterns of the table very interesting traces them with his finger. Nico mutters a thank you to the bartender when he brings the drink that Doyl had ordered for him and immidiately takes a large gulp to settle his nerves. He grimaces at the taste but takes another gulp. He really needs this. With a shutter he puts down the mug and glances Doyl cautiously, still not quite trusting that the other wouldn't punch his teeth down his throat.

Nicodemus lets out a nervous laugh when Doyl mentions the maidens. "I-I don't know where y-you've heard that but it's ru-rubbish", the boy takes reassuring gulp from his pint. "We don't stash any m-m-maidens. Why would we do that?" the young mage is clearly getting braver as the strong ale is starting to get in his head. Even with only a few gulps it's no surprise, as thin as he is.

Updated 4 July 2013 (02:14)

Doyl

Doyl starts stuffing his mouth with stew-soaked pieces of bread, and in between bites says "I used to travel with this one knight, see, *munch*... and he told me every time he was feeling the urge to dip his wick in some quality meat he'd just head for the nearest wizard tower. *burp* *munch* Then he'd just run the wizard through and enjoy his spoils." He looks Nicodemus over and notes, "But I guess you wouldn't know what to do with a maiden anyway, ha," and scoops up the last drops of stew.

Nicodemus watched Doyls eating with hint of disgust on his face and takes a sip of his beer. His stomach let out a loud growl. Gods he was hungry. The young man calls the bartender to bring him a steak and some potatos to eat with it. Then he turned back to listen to Doyl. "That doesn't sound very k-kinghtly to me", Nicodemus said. The drink seemed to do wonders to his stutter. "And I do know about girls", he claimed blushing fiercly and suddenly very interested in his pint. "I-I even have one, her name is Celia", he said still blushing but now there was also a fond smile on his lips.