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Tavern of Legend Season 3

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Tavern of Legend OOC Thread
When you're ready to leave the TOL and explore Valucre, check out these transition suggestions. Note these are suggestions and you are not limited to the options detailed there. 

The Tavern of Legend is a jumping off point for new members, a sort of sandbox where new members can play with other new members while getting used to the site. This is especially useful for those new to online role-playing in general. Only members registered on the site for 90 days or less can post in the ToL unless otherwise approved (such as select events or mentors). We strongly encourage participating in Tavern quests and activities as a starting point, but this isn't required and a member can leave the ToL at any time. The new member guide can assist you as you go forward. The water cooler is a good place to check out when you're ready.

You don't have to read the whole thread. Given the amount of new members that get funneled into the ToL on a regular basis, members aren't expected to read dozens or hundreds of pages. You read this post to get an understanding of the tavern, the last few posts to get a handle on what other members are doing, then you're free to introduce your character in whatever fashion you deem fit. 

The Tavern of Legend is an RP forum that is quasi-canon; nothing here is canonized as 'world of Valucre' lore, but its internal canon is consistent. Note that the tavern also "heals itself", so things like holes in the wall and accidental fires won't affect the overall aesthetic. What you do in the ToL can be referenced later on in other RP threads within the world of Valucre. Any quests you complete for the Tavern that take place in canon lands can be canonized as well.

The Tavern

They say the road to the tavern was once a nondescript journey, traveling through nothingness until you happened upon a quiet little hamlet out in the middle of nowhere. Farmers would wave, children following a short distance behind, curious as to your origins and intent. Only, things have changed now. You travel through lands scarred by fires and death, through an atmosphere of despair laden with only the slightest traces of hope. Burned down buildings are as common a sight as are the rats and vultures still searching for morsels. At this time, people still bury their dead- and there is many, while others hurry to get back within the cover of what remains of their home.

Eventually, your journey leads you down a dimly lit path, finding that night has come upon you faster than you first expected. You come to a location said to be the corner of all existence, the point between the world of Valucre and all other possibilities. There sits a quaint structure, small and unassuming. It is only one story, hardly more than a shack, and certainly nothing like what was promised by those claiming to have once stayed within its walls. The paint is peeling, the sign is careworn and faded. Perhaps you feel cheated, having come all this way just to find some hole in the wall that gives only a welcome home to drunks too far into their cups to notice the difference. Still, there is an inviting smell coming from inside, a welcome change from the smell of death you left behind. Perhaps you should enter then, and stay for a drink or two. Even if this tavern is not what was promised,  a drink and a hot meal would do you some good.

And there you find that the Tavern is all that was promised you - and more.

It reaches high, higher than you could have even imagined, the ceiling reaching hundreds of feet above. Layers upon layers of rafters fill in the gaps, where some patrons sit, served by a young man who traverses them with ease. Down below, the sprawling layout reveals a tavern with more than a dozen corners (each with its own table), despite the improbability. At the center of establishment is a large stage, where bands of bards play and leave- their lineup and styles as random as anything could be. Along what could be called the back, a long bar stretches out, ending at a doorway leading to the kitchens. Also in the back are stairs leading up to an upstairs that cannot be seen from here, and a door that leads down to the storage basement.

Weapons can be checked at the door or brought to the weapons counter, where the character will be relieved of their weapon and given a chip when they're ready to reclaim it

The staff is varied. Some are transient, coming and going within a few days, and others are permanent fixtures of the tavern's setting. Some are from the world of Valucre, and others are wanderers from further off. The only constants in this ever-shifting tapestry are the core staff members who manage the tavern itself, each serving their own special function.


The Cook: Ghallen Berwater – Gaian Priest
A former Gaian priest who has retired from the cloth to take up his second greatest passion: food! This cook comes in and prepares everything for the staff to dole out to the patrons; just when he comes in to handle his business is hard to pin down, as time has no meaning in the Tavern of Legend. Ghallen supervises kitchen operations, gladly takes any compliments to the chef direct, and is liable to give tours of his facilities to the curious passerby, speaking of Terrenus and the Gaian religion, as well as information pertaining to how new travelers might find adventures, quests and local lore all the while.

Description: After the last event, he’s been a little worn out and less like himself from before. Don’t get us wrong, he still loves to cook food, but he just isn’t keeping himself as clean cut as before. That, and he finally aged some, his hair taking on some grey. He grew out a beard too, which many have told him looks rather good, actually.

The Bartender: Vaddok Fantore – Former Alterion Merchant
A business man who never tires of trying to sell you another drink or some fine plate of food. Vaddok is a devoutly religious man full of information not only of Muhir but of Tellus Mater as a whole. He loves to talk, and will craft you any drink while spinning yarns about legends pertaining to Valucre. He knows much about key players and other great lore. He'll also maintains access to the room with the way-gates, which will transport you to any land in Valucre. He’s not quite been his old self though, seeing as how he lost some long time patrons and friends in the most recent attack.

Description: Average build and height, with dark brown hair and green eyes. Has a cowlick on the back of his head that stands up rather prominently, but it does not detract from his otherwise handsome features. He has no armor or weapons, but like the rest of the core staff, seems immune to damage.

The Bouncer: Lonely Night's Hand – Former Edgemaster and Arcantian
A stern and quiet man, he will not put up with garbage from anyone. He stands at a distance from anyone, and avoids eye contact, unless making a statement of great import. His real name is unknown to everyone from these parts, and most just call him‘'Night'. As a former Edgemaster and a manipulator of darkness, his powers are great and his skills with short swords deadly. They say picking a fight with him is a willing act of suicide. Rather, a better interaction with the likes of him would be to ask about Genesaris, his homeland.

However, if you really itch for a fight, he will spar with you in a sparring room, which simulates any environment. Those who get to rowdy are instantly tossed out- a bubble of darkness forms around the troublemaker, and suddenly, they are back outside in the night, barred from reentry.

Description: Taller than average, with a large build and piercing gaze. He does his best to maintain respectful distances from people, but that can be difficult in a crowded tavern. His hair is dark blond and worn very long, braided down past his buttocks. The edges of silver tinge the sides of his head. His left arm has intricate rune carvings that look like they were quite painful. He wears brigandine armor and sports two short swords.

Head of Waitstaff: Levhea Morytol – Former Elendaron adventurer
A former adventurer from Elendaron seeking some stability in her older years, Levhea is a middle aged woman who runs things tight and has no patience for any sort of shenanigans or tomfoolery. Although her exterior is cool (almost cold), speaking with her reveals a fun and caring personality, happy to regale you with tales of her homeland. As a well-seasoned traveler, she has much to tell you about different creatures roaming Valucre, as well as how to get more involved in community ties. She's also known to step in and assist Night with some of the rowdy patrons, handling them like a mother would a naughty child.

Description: Fiery red hair with a bit of grey, she is a well-built woman who could embarrass many large men in an arm wrestling contest. She still wears splintmail armor much of the time, and has a great sword big enough to cleave a giant's head off in one clean stroke.

Head of Entertainment: Cadriel Douma -- Bard from parts unknown
A bard who likes to keep the majority of his personal details close to his chest.  He is a marvelous performer, playing dozens of instruments, singing with a sweetness sure to move an angel who has been graced by the muses themselves, and he also has other talents, including juggling, knife throwing, magician's tricks, comedy routines, and some other surprises he reserves for those who get him alone (ahem). Cadriel is a friendly, sociable guy who loves to make people happy and can drink with the best of them. Of note--he has been seen entertaining both men and women, and people of all sorts of races, in private "sessions."

Description:  He appears to be approaching middle aged now, but damn if that man is still not one of the prettiest to have ever been formed. He has angular features, jet black hair and piercing blue eyes that just melt your soul. He has a smile that reaches ear to ear and a musical laugh. He only carries daggers on his person, but prefers to resolve conflicts by tapping into his musical talents, which have a flare for magic. He is great at shifting moods and as seen in the reason Tavern Event, a wingman for battles. 



Main Area: Has tables to sit on, rafters to spy from, a bar to have casual social interactions near, and a stage for bands. People come together to socialize and mingle, speak with staff and get a general feel for things.

Bar: Back of the main floor you can find the bar itself.

Sparring Room: A room off the left most wing is a spacious environment that simulates any land within Valucre, where people can practice their fighting skills in safety and without repercussions. They may practice with other patrons, or get Night the Bouncer to come spar with them.

Way Gates: The Way Gates are able to send you anywhere in Valucre. The trip is one way, and the only way back is with a 90 day card that each leaving member is given just once- new travelers are welcome to come back and get some more practice before reentry. However, after 90 days, their card expires and they are encouraged to leave, and unable to come back.

Kitchens: Off the back of the bar are the kitchens, where you can speak directly with the cook. On the other side of the bar is the office where you will often find the head of waitstaff, if she is not out on the floors herself.

Bathroom: A neat row of clean outhouse facilities are in the lot out back of the tavern. A bit beyond that is a building about a quarter of the size of the tavern itself, and houses three large bathing tubs.

Memorial: Opposite the bulletin board where quests are posted is a wall dedicated to those who died during the attack of the undead army and those who fell during the battle with the dragon cultists. Among them are the faces of many regular customers as well as some from the village, and couple of the wait staff as well. A middle aged man named Clarence is there, as well as a young woman with caramel colored skin, dark hair and violet eyes- her name was Suffia. Also of note is a picture and entry for a fire elemental, who was described as “once an enemy, then a pest, and finally, a friend”. Occasionally, others come by to pay their respects.

Recurring Wait Staff

  • Young Attractive Barmaid: Early 20’s, Green eyes and chestnut hair, with a noticeably large bust. Her name is Gwen.
  • Young exhausted Barmaid: Just out of her teens, always looks worn out and haggard. Smaller frame on top, but generous hips below. Her name is Beatrice.
  • Young scrawny barmaid: New on the job, looks nervous and eager to please. Often speaks in a rehearsed manner, quite rapidly. Tiny, but looks healthy otherwise. Average looking. Her name is Clair.
  • Young man with dark skin and bare feet: The Rafters server, as nimble and acrobatic as an ape in the jungles, he was hired for his abilities to assist those patrons with difficult logistical seating placements. His name is Tova.
  • Man in his mid-twenties, blond, frequently scruffy. Rather friendly, a bit boisterous at times. He gets along well with anyone, and is known for flirting with the prettier customers who don’t come in with obvious attachment. His name is Fjorn (pronounced Fee-orn).
  • Woman in her late forties, wavy, short grey hair and blue eyes. She has no patience for the workers she thinks are lazy and will be quick to click her tongue and chastise slackers. She is stocky but short, with old battle scars she says she earned from "Fighting in the pits, earning her freedom with blood." She's willing to tell a tale or two about her past fights. Her name is Wentree. [Hired recently]
  • Younger man in his mid twenties, about 5'10 but huge build and a bald head, with nearly black skin. He speaks with a mild accent, but he is happy to repeat himself when required--but you have to make sure he knows you missed it, because he has a tendency to miss those signs, among other things. He seems to zone out a lot, and will trip over objects too. His name is Fendrel. He does not flirt, as his Husband wouldn't like it. [Hired Recently]
  • Young man with long, red braids and grey eyes. He is perhaps 18, and quite talkative. He has his left eyebrow pierced three times and both ears filled with hoops and cuffs on his cartilage. He sometimes gets distracted by the bard, or pretty women. Wentree frequently gets on him about staying about his work. His name is Mism. [Hired Recently]

Toilet Scrubber

Not all the dragons fell during battle. One so-called "Tom" managed to fall inside the range of Ghallen's protective magic, sparing his life when the Dragon Cultist General decided to hit friends and foes with a blast of necrotic magic designed to drain life from others. Ghallen later found him playing "dead" as he was told to, and could see that the dragon-kin really did feel bad about the whole ordeal--those cultists, they sure can be convincing! So, Ghallen got him patched up, but not all is amended yet. The Tavern expects people to earn their keep, and that those who wish to reform their way should do so through hard labor. Vaddock set the dragon-kin to work as the official toilet-scrubber, keeping the privies clean. So far, he's been doing a pretty good job. 

His name is Zezzicryt, but most just call him "Z." He is 7' tall, and rather intimidating at first glance, especially for those who fought them. The veterans of the battle eye him suspiciously, but Vaddock feels like he might really mean to turn over a new leaf. Nevertheless, he still has Hand keep a close eye on him. 

Edited by supernal
edited for brevity and accuracy; add stock time and weather images

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This new season debuts three weeks after the Tavern of Legend Event 3.

Today, the tavern is reaching capacity, as people are coming in to see the new Bard who is making a name for himself. The damages around town were restored, and the few people who lost their homes now have new places being built by other locals and some of the Tavern crew helping. The small handful of patrons who aided in the battle and survived to the end still regale others with tales of their exploits, showing off the obtained trophies, including scales and teeth. Vaddock is happy to have them, and keeps their drinking glasses full, never once asking them to cover the cost of the refills.

Hand is quiet as always, surveying the bar and keeping a closer eye on the new addition to the team, “Z” the Dragon-kin now turned bathroom custodian. The dragon-kin does not shirk his duties and seems to have taken the opportunity at a new life seriously. He does not speak much common as of yet, but he is picking up the language. He speaks Draconian fluently of course, so those who wish to speak to him in that tongue might be able to have a conversation.

Today, the Bard is playing a lute, strumming out a fast-paced song while singing about his adventures in some faraway jungle, where the women wore the pants and the men stayed home to mind the children. The song is a bit of a ribaldry, with an inversion of the roles, with hints that its writer found the power-shift rather… arousing.

Levhea is keeping her staff busy, making sure the Tavern remains clean and that the orders are getting taken up. In the kitchen, Ghallen cooks up a storm, praying to Gaia that he can keep up.

Welcome to season 3!

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Carol was sitting down at the table inhabited by all of the veterans, guzzling down her drink. She was proud of her accomplishment, and she knew that she had contributed enough. Carol had her own tales to tell, all about the battle that took place. She was satisfied that so many familiar faces were still there, enjoying the victory. Carol wondered what was next for this group, and what that adventure might entail. The sound of the lute made her think of the battle even more.

She was thinking rapidly about the events that conspired after she fired the last shot. When she shot the general, she got a looked at his face. It was the one thing that disturbed her.

The face of fear. The face of terror. The face of death. She stared into the man's eyes, full of shock and pain. His stare reminded her of another person she encountered earlier. The wounded warrior that was fighting the reptilians. His face was pale, his frown was deep. His eyes were in fear. Carol stood before the dead body of the leader, satisfied with her accomplishment. She hurried around the still battlefield, looking for wounded soldiers. She found 4, and only 2 made it. She ran out of sulfa on the last two, and could only assure the other 2. Their deaths would be remembered. They did not die in vein.


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The tall, half-elf man pushes his way in to the crowded tavern and glances around the new surroundings. Where? He wondered did he turn up this time. He sweeps the dark purple, shoulder length hair out of his face, the emerald colored tips glinting with the movement. As he approaches the bar he looks up to the barkeep, "One ale and a plate of some sort of meats please." While he waits he pulls out a pad of paper and a quill and starts drawing something calmly. He glances around the room his emerald eyes reflecting light back revealing the purple imperfections within. His eyes settle on the sole empty table and quickly walks over and sits down. He sheds the pack he has on his shoulder before continuing to draw with an almost trance like look on his face.

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While he should have moved on two weeks ago, Iani just hadn't felt like it.

The panther-kin walked into the common room, tapping his fist on his chest as he passed the memorial plaque. There was a bit of a hitch in his getalong, giving his stride a sort of rolling quality one normally associated with tryhard cowboys. That was the only remnant of his run-in with the dragon army; the swaths of fur that had fallen out the day after were growing back in nicely, much to his relief. He hadn't relished the idea of being known as "Patches" for the rest of his life.

At his heel, Crucible the pygmy goat scampered happily, seemingly unfazed by his brush with death. If goats got PTSD, Iani couldn't tell the difference.

As he made his way to the bar, Z came out of the back carrying a bucket of dubious contents. Iani slapped him on the shoulder companionably and growled a greeting in shoddy draconic. Z had given up trying to correct his diction about a week ago.

Iani slid into a stool at the bar and waved to Vaddock. "Gin and tonic, if you please, and is Ghallen still making that awesome rabbit risotto? Because I can't get enough of that stuff!"

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Bella stayed in the least crowded area of the tavern as usual, watching the others. Her leg, bandaged up, seems to be healing nicely. The exhausted look on her face was gone after taking some rest. Her wings fluttered idly. She both felt proud and fear about the battle. It could've gone way worse for her. 

Now that there are no dangers present, the survivors of the last battle showed off their trophies obtained from the defeated enemies; scales, teeth and claws. Her hand instinctively touched her new necklace, made from small vines tied together. On the front of the necklace was a claw from the defeated dragon-Kin. Another person had handed it to her after the battle. She wasn't exactly sure why she turned it into a necklace. Maybe in the future it could remind her of this battle, of the cooperation involved to achieve victory, in protecting this place, the place where she met her first friends.

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Carol stared off into space as her hands trembled. She closed her eyes and let gravity take over. She fell over, trembling from her own thoughts, only remembering the battle that took place. She heard a loud shout, and then a stomp. She instantly went back to thinking about one of her old wars. Carol instantly switched to a dream state, one that render outside contact useless.

She imagined the artillery fire coming down, and everyone running for cover. Bits of snow and dirt flew across as the shells came down. Carol dove into a foxhole, barely breathing at all. She accompanied one Sergeant Grant, a burly man that fought in other wars. He looked at her as she slid down into the hole, and offered a cigarette to help pass the time. She shook her head as the explosions kept coming. Tress were being blasted into pieces, and screams of the wounded for help resounded through the field. Carol got up from the hole when she heard one close by.

She ran fast, trying to get to her destination. It was a man lying on the ground, with a piece of shrapnel in his heart. It was hopeless. Carol gave him a cigarette, and lit it for him. 

"You are going to be okay. Just hold on." Carol comforted the man and let him bleed out, not wanting him to die a painful death. She came back to the foxhole, walking slowly. She got in view of the hole, just in time to see a shell land right into it and blow her new friend away. She rushed to find Grant, but he was gone without a trace. She wandered the battlefield, hearing intense gunfire exchanges, and found herself at the enemy line.

She arrived to a small enemy station, lined with two cannons and five soldiers. She came up from behind, and shot them all with her pistol. Carol loaded each cannon with a grenade and set them off. She hurried off to another enemy cannon line.

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A hand penetrated the packed layers of ice and decrepit sediment. It extended against the gusts of wind, jerked itself to the ground and cut its way across the ice, growing into the sludge-covered body of a girl. She dragged her mangled corpse from the pit until only her legs remained there. Steam rose from the cadaver, as it heaved in silence against the snow. It'd nearly stopped breathing before it was disturbed by the faint hum of music. She picked up her head catching sight a glow in the distance. She reached her hand out, her vocal chords contracted with a hack; something was lodged in her throat. She groveled on her hands and knees until she the willows set her on her legs. She steadied herself on her branches again every once in a while on her way to the bar.

 Her consciousness drifted in and out through the trip. Someone screamed, black, she stumbled through the entrance of a tavern, black, she pushed herself through a crowd of bodies, black, she stooped over a bowl warm yellow liquid with greens, this stayed. She pushed the bowl aside clumsily.The smell disgusted her. She tested her voice again, her vocal chords grated against the dirt trapped in her throat. It sent a cramp to the center of her abdomen, where an old mysterious lesion festered. The flesh around it was tainted black from the minerals it absorbed in the grave. The sensation doubled her over in a gag. She would've been comforted by spit; by anything human, but what came out was only more soil, rocks, leaves. She wiped what she thought was saliva from the corner of her mouth.Instead, a critter plopped onto the counter. A sob rocked her body as the critter writhed upsidedown with it's legs in a frenzy.

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One of the things Iani missed most about being human was proper facial expressions. Panther lips, for example, just didn't work quite the same way as people lips. This made it difficult for him to make the proper expression of confusion and curiosity which would have been the most appropriate way to show his emotions upon seeing a dead woman stagger into the bar. Instead of pursing like he'd just eaten something slightly sour, they curled back a little to show his canines (such an odd term for a part of a cat's mouth, he mused) and his ears ticked forward.

This would be enough to allow other panthers (and cats of any sort, he supposed) to know what he was feeling, but human people tended to misread him terribly. Great for poker, but not so great for social interaction.

"You, uh... dropped something." He gestured at the unidentified varmint spasming on the bar. "Rough night?"




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Carol was surely lost in her thoughts. She was stuck in her remembrance of her past wars, bringing her traumatic memories. Carol longed for war, living in the constant danger, fighting for a good cause. She snapped out of her state, and slumped in her chair. She took a drink of her glass, the liquid flowing down through her throat. It was relaxing, calming her to some extent. She listened closely to what the Bard was playing, swaying her into thinking about peace. Carol sighed deeply, and stood up. She headed toward the bar to ask for a special herb for a project she was working on.

Carol immediately what was going on; an odd critter rolling everywhere in front of a woman, and an old comrade trying to see what was going on. Carol took a seat next to the scene, and decided it would be a good idea to help.

"Seems like a nice pet you have there," Carol said as she eyed the weird specimen. "I can dispose of it if you don't want it."



@Raspberry LA

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She stared blankly at Iani. 

She studied the countertop trying to figure out what it meant. She brought a shuddery hand to her cheek. It was a light smack rather than a caress as she'd intended. Her hand came back inexplicably wet. 

There was also a panther staring at her from the corner of her eye. Her bobbing head kept it in check just in case.

 An inquisitive woman marched by behind the panther. 


She quivered,  her pet? The beast stared at her in confusion and she sort of shrugged at it.

Edited by Dizzy00

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Iani glanced at Carol, then back at the dead woman. Then he locked eyes with Carol again, and nodded discreetly to the... whatever it was..  on the bar. He really hoped his facial expression correctly conveyed a 'yeah, get it right the hell out of here and thank you kindly' sort of message. It was hard to be sure these days.

"Hey Vaddock!" he called to the bartender, "Ask Cookie if he's got any brains of anything back there. Put it on my tab."

He turned back to the very distraught woman next to him. "So, uh..." he began uncertainly, "...you been dead long?"



Edited by Raspberry LA

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Carol put gloves on, making sure have clean hands at the end of this. She went for the odd creature, which was still sprawling across the bar. It was slimy and sticky. Carol grabbed it, not putting too much pressure on its sides. She held it like a cat, but it was definitely not one. 

@Raspberry LA


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The path up to the tavern was an interesting one, to say the least. Apparently a battle....perhaps even a war broke out? Twas of little concern to Blackheart. One moment he was enjoying a meal with his children; the next he was in a foreign land. Riding on a horse too. "Interesting..." He murmured to himself.

As Blackheart rode up, he took note of the carnage of the battle all around him. Dead men, women, children, battle beasts...it was an intensely relaxing sight for him. Though it wasn't the dead which made him relax, it was the silence.

As he continued, he saw all sorts of weapons littered on the ground. Everything from guns to swords could be seen. "The battle that took place must have been horrible. How exciting!" Blackheart chuckled to himself.

Soon the tavern could be seen more clearly. Blackheart slowed his horse to a stop to admire this seemingly primitive shack. "Maybe it won't be as bleak as I think it is, I had better prepare myself in case anything happens." Blackheart said to himself.

Instinctively he looked around to see if anything could be useful to him. Noticing a satchel strapped to the side of his horse; Blackheart reached in and hoped for the best. Blackheart thoroughly felt for anything. Suddenly he felt something...a hilt? To his amusement, Blackheart pulled out a mirror. "Well now, I wouldn't want to go inside looking like rubbish." he said

Quickly he ran his fingers through his jet-black hair; silently hoping no one was watching. After all, his image was of special importance and he was quite sensitive about it. Moving the mirror around he noticed his mustache was quite gnarly. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a very small comb. With two strokes he was looking quite tidy. Next, he checked his clothing. Black dinner suit with a red tie and a black top hat. "Good, everything is in order." he said while adjusting his tie.

Riding up to the horse post; Blackheart jumped off and tied his new horse down. Heading up to the door, he thought of the endless possibilities which lurked inside. Perhaps he could even find a meal. He had just begun his feast back in his home before appearing in this new world. Slowly he opened up the door. Peering inside to see the many patrons, he instantly became excited. "Good evening!" He called out while barely keeping his composure.


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Bella had found her new favourite spot in the tavern. The fairy perched atop a rafter, quietly, lost in her thought. Despite the welcoming and interesting atmosphere compared to her isolated tree back in the woods, she knew she can't stay here forever. Being so far away from her energy source, she will slowly become weaker, so one day it will be time to leave the tavern and return home. But not soon. Not until she had fullfilled her journey. She wondered if she can find some other interesting adventures after she got back home. After all, she never went anywhere far from her tree before her journey to the tavern.

"Good Evening!" a man's voice called out from below, jolting her back to reality.

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