BellaOnline Forums Hobbies and Crafts Role Playing Games The Drunken Dragon Inn (Role-playing Thread)

Nobody knows who first built the old tavern at the crossroads; it's been there longer than most can remember, maybe even longer than the town itself. The very eldest farmhands might know, but they're not talking. The one thing that everyone agrees on is the fact that many a tired and dusty traveler has slaked their thirst, put up their feet, and drowsed near the crackling hearth of The Drunken Dragon. Some of those travelers were even famous.

But those are tales for another day.

A squeaking wooden sign overhangs the tavern's front door. On it, an inebriated dragon lies flat on its back. X's represent the dragon's eyes, and its clawed hands clutch ineffectually at a stein whose contents have spilled all over the poor creature. Someone at the tavern must have a sense of humor.

As you enter the common room, the sweet aroma of freshly-baked bread wafts out to bid you welcome. The chairs and booths look reasonably comfortable, and the warm fire is particularly inviting after your cold journey. Half a dozen travelers sit scattered throughout the room, in various stages of sobriety.

Faustina Fury is tending bar this day. Rumor has it that she used to be a paladin. But with the amount of cursing and tobacco-spitting she does, it's hard to picture her as anything other than a redheaded barkeep who curses and spits tobacco. She does have a fighter's build, though; a throwback to the industrial-strength warrior women of yore, who might beat a comely young man at arm-wrestling, then wink and buy him a drink.

She notices you, and waves you over. "C'mon, sidle up to the bar. First round's on me, s'long as you tell a story. Everyone's got a story to tell in these parts." Faustina grins. "So let's hear it."




::This thread will give us a place to do some free-form roleplay with minimal rules. The minimal rules are: no blatant profanity (creative cursing is a lot more interesting than dropping the F-bomb); no combat (I mean, come on; we don't have stats!); and have fun! Be who you want to be, and tell your story among friends.::

Janna Weiss
Role Playing Games

(Edited to add: This is a GREAT idea!! Thanks for posting this!)

The front door opens wide to reveal... absolutely nothing. Several seconds pass as the assembled patrons look from the door to each other and back with quizzical looks on their faces. Suddenly, and with no warning (except for the fact that all looking saw him step into the doorway), HE appears.

Those that don't have their mouths hanging agape... snicker into their glasses or the backs of their hands. "HE" is about six feet tall, wearing a starched white blouse, black trousers and black cape. The ruffles on his sleeve fall back as he reaches up to take off his black hat. All are either amazed, at the sheer size of the ostrich plume on his hat, or blinded by the reflections from the silver from his buttons, buckles and pins.

He steps forward with a snappy step and bows deeply, flourishing his hat (with plume) out behind him. As he recovers, he finally speaks, his lilting voice uncharacteristically high. "Well met! Before you stands Wallar. Wallar the bard, Wallar the entertainer," with that a single rose appears in his free hand. He continues as he approaches the barkeep, rose outstretched in offering, "And if the lady would permit, I would perform here tonight for the small fee of a bed for the night and half the tips your patrons might offer."

His smile is disarmingly sweet, and his large, white teeth gleam in the light of the room. Looking closer, you see that he has close-cropped, dark brown hair, with mischievous looking hazel eyes. Clean-shaven, he looks more a boy than a full "man". His movements are fluid and overstated, making him appear foppish and effeminate.

He pulls a travel worn black lap-harp case from beneath his cape, and raises one eyebrow as a teasing repeat of the question. His cape pulled back a bit, you see that he has no sword, with just a small stiletto-style dagger on his left hip. It looks like it would be more dangerous to a beef-steak than another person, so he appears harmless enough.

In a quiet voice (still disquietingly high in pitch), he adds in a confident, conspiratorial tone, "I'm quite good. You'll at least double your patronage this evening... what do you say?"

[at the risk of railroading your character's actions...]
Faustina Fury raises the rose to her nose. It smells sweet and rich... and looks suspiciously like one of the roses from Father MacGinty's flowerbox down the street...

He steps forward with a snappy step and bows deeply, flourishing his hat (with plume) out behind him. As he recovers, he finally speaks, his lilting voice uncharacteristically high. "Well met! Before you stands Wallar. Wallar the bard, Wallar the entertainer," with that a single rose appears in his free hand. He continues as he approaches the barkeep, rose outstretched in offering, "And if the lady would permit, I would perform here tonight for the small fee of a bed for the night and half the tips your patrons might offer."

Faustina raises her auburn eyebrows and chews her lip thoughtfully. After a brief moment, she retrieves a glass from beneath the bar, scoops up some water with it, and plunks the rose inside. She seems pleased with this new adornment to her countertop.

"Oh, what th' heck," she shrugs in her eloquent way. "But first, we need t' lay down some ground rules." She leans forward over the bar and drops her voice to a more conspiratorial tone. "Number One: Don't sing anything about th' Sheepherder Uprising of '64. Trust me, it'll get ugly." She glances around nervously, but none of the farmers seem to be listening. "Number Two: Don't be runnin' off with th' help. It's hard t' find good service in these parts. And Number Three:", she straightens and crosses her strong arms with a grin, "tell me a little about yerself. I like t' know who's setting up shop in my common room."

"No uprising of '64, and I assure you, madame that your help is safe with me here!" His smile gives Faustina little reason to rest easy.
"As for me, I am the fifth son of a minor merchant to the south, so I was destined to inherit a wink and a nod. My father arranged to have me enter the priesthood, and I was quite successful for almost three months. Once I was free of having to follow more than two rules at a time," he winks, "I did MUCH better!"

I learned how to swing a sword in the army - and no more than that." He winks as he adds, "They have more rules than the church!"

I managed to talk my way into becoming a sorcerer's apprentice, but barely managed to escape with my life that very evening. A word to the wise: Do not mix the green powder with the blue liquid in a sorcerer's laboratory!!"

"However, I learned that I dearly loved hearing the tales told around the dinner table and campfire of daring-do and heroes and stories of far away. With the threat of having to return home and become a sedentary merchant like my father, I decided that I would begin to track down some of these stories of which I had heard.

"It was about a month later - and about three weeks since I had eaten anything other than some river moss - OH, but my belly was rubbin' hard against my spine! I sat down at the edge of a forest to cry my sorrows into the river and as I was set to begin, a bird landed on a rock next to me and began to sing.

"Oh, the song was so beautiful and pure! I felt tears of joy running down my cheek as I listened!! It quieted down and almost seemed to be waiting for something... so, since it has sung for me, I decided to sing for it; I mean I sang when I was in the church choir as a kid, and I never heard a complaint," He looks almost pleadingly at you as he continues.

"I sang my heart out, trying to tell the bird how life was so beautiful and how it didn't seem that way right now, and how I wanted something that I couldn't describe and couldn't see and couldn't seem to get to." Wallar's eyes are wet as he tells the story. "As I finished, and the sorrow set upon me like the dark upon the night, I looked down at the bird," his eyes grow wide, "And he was gone! But in his place was this banquet! There was some of the most delightful wine and several loaves of this wonderfully nutty bread, and some of the larges, most plump grapes that you have EVER seen!" He swallows as if enjoying the repast yet again.

"When I awoke, I found that I was in the company of an enclave of Elves. They had found me and had sent the bird to me to discover my intentions. My song led them to take me in." Wallar's eyes are shining with pride.

"It was the Elves that taught me to play the harp and to dance and to speak the most melodic of all the languages. It was the Elves that taught me to be a bard, and taught me more stories of heroes and history than I ever dreamed could exist. It was the Elves that showed me the truth in some of those very stories and I got to meet some true heroes."

Wallar holds his plumed hat to his breast, "It has been some three months of travel since I left them in my quest to retell the stories I heard and to write the stories of heroes yet to come, and my journey has led me here, to your fine establishment. With your permission, may I set up a stool over there and begin?" He points and brings forth that dazzling smile again.