Ales and Ashes - Stop by for a warm ale and full pipe

Dusk swiftly turned to twilight as the sun sank past the horizon, leaving the world again for another day till summon'd by the dawn. Towards the west, stars began to appear in their nightly positions as the moon rose to its lofty zenith and gazed down over it's mono-chromed kingdom. Below its pale face, sat a modest building, smoke churling from it's chimney. Peaks and whoops of laughter and rivary leaking through it exterior walls. Scents of this spiced meat and that warm bread seeped into the night air, tempting men and beast and all manner of things, beating heart and warm to the touch.

This inn whether it be, the Spotted Beetle, the hog and the sow or any of the Taverns that dotted the countryside in every town, village and down long pathway through the old world. It was sure there were men inside, drinking their fill to laugh the night away or kill the live's sadness under the weight of ale.

in this tavern this night there was a Mariner of argueable renown and guile. Those who would seek him out work find here.



( Hey everyone! I thought it might be fun to have a continuous post of conversation between our characters, chatting about events past present and future. feel free to address Artimus with any questions or recant to him a story or a song! Just remember, the setting is an tavern)

The tavern served as an amble covering to the rising brisk air of the autumn; marked by a wayward leaf scattered on the stoop and the soft dampness that lingered just outside. The fireplace produced equal portions of heat and ruddy odour, filing the room with the sticky sweet sent of pine as the fresh wood seethed beyond the hearth, the seasoned hardwood of last autumn dry as dry could be. The atmosphere within the tavern was cheery. The score of patrons under the roof toasted to good havests and even days. The succulent aroma of roasting boar could be smelled amongst the pine from a smaller fire in the kitchen area, where a trio of cooks bustled between board and cauldron, adding chunks of root vegetables and fresh herbs that filled the glass jars lined up on the low shelf along the far wall.

Laughter punctuated the roil of conversation as people moved from serving bar to fireplace to food tables to buy small portions of meat and this soups served in pewter bowls. Indeed, even from the outside it appeared that the building was bursting at the seams with cheer, the cracks in the rough plank walls spilled smoke and firelight onto the muddy ground outside.



Inside the roar of jublation was rising, as a distinctly bretonian voice was urging the tavern on with song. with a foot upon chair the man, wearing his hair, whispy and more blond tied back in a knot, waived a flaggon of ale two and fro to the rythm of a heady seaman's balad. gathered around farmboys, and maids , blacksmith and feltcher all took part, humming and shouting along, knowing the words or not. They Chorused along



Falling back into his chair with a smile Artimus seemed not to have care in the world. for this place seemed to exist outside of time, a different place. The Mariner ordered himself another round.



( written before i saw your post AO-LK, I'll respond to yours shortly. Glad you're in)

Samuel Oakhairne watched from over his bar as the seaman strode across the aged wooden floor. He was a younger man, younger than he, anyhow, and walked with the swagger of an Imperial general. The old proprietor of The Wheel and Skull tavern smirked, wiping down the constant alespill drifting over from the three regulars drowning their coppers from their stools.

It was evening, and the crowd was picking up. The young folk from the city would be piled in promptly, and he was due for a long night of service and cleaning. Samuel scratched his scruffy mutton-chopped face, wiping the ale from his hands on his apron as he set out from behind the bar, grabbing a bottle made of thick painted glass.

He crossed his tavern-floor leisurely, tossing a toothpick into the hearth as he walked by, and pulled a shotglass from his barbelt. The blond newcomer had taken a seat at his corner table, and he extended a hand towards the gentleman.

"Samuel Oakhairne, if it please you. Welcome to the Wheel and Skull." With a grin, Samuel dropped the shotglass on the table and poured the stranger a drink, taking a swig from the bottle afterwards.

"Now, who are you."

((Great idea Art, stickied!))