The Tiny Tavern

The Tiny Tavern
"Where everyone knows your name — or is pretending they do."

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Nestled in a crooked alley just off Waterdeep’s bustling Trade Ward lies a peculiar little establishment with no sign, no bouncer, and an uncanny knack for appearing exactly when you're looking for it. Locals just call it the Tiny Tavern — a cozy, creaky place with fire-warmed hearths, good enough ale, and an atmosphere that feels like a half-remembered dream.

The walls are hung with old weapons, yellowing maps, and scribbled notes from adventurers long gone. There’s always at least one table empty, one chair by the fire, and one stranger with a story to tell.

Behind the bar stands Branric, a broad-shouldered, middle-aged human with silver at his temples and a permanent smirk in the corner of his mouth. He doesn't ask too many questions, but he's heard all the answers. Some say he used to be an adventurer himself — others say he still is, in his own way.

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Note: This is an in-character social space. No plot progression, no combat, no big GM events. Just RP between players — which, in a city like Waterdeep, is often where the real trouble begins...

Lunareth Væloria stood outside the Tiny Tavern with an unexpected frisson of excitement. This would be the first time he would be here after having officially left the ecclesiastical schools of the Church of Selûne. Of course, he still worshipped the goddess with all of his heart and soul. She seems to still favor me too, he thought. He remembered the slivery-bluish glow which limned his hands through the Divine Blessing of She Who Guides when he and his priestess mentor come to this decision.
But the path of priest was no longer for him. To be honest, it never was. His devotion to The Moonmaiden was that of the quester; the lost seeking their purpose, the doer of good deeds under the light of the moon and stars. He was unable to calm his curiosity or racing thoughts; the disciplines needed to understand and achieve the deepest secrets of Our Lady of Silver. So here he was; a beloved member of the Church of Selûne, but not a priest-in-training. What would The Night White Lady have in store for the remainder of his life? Well, I will only find out by taking the first step on what may be my life's quest, he thought. He breathed deeply one more time and entered the tavern—a man free to seek out whatever opportunity came his way, for the very first time.

When Lunareth looks around the tavern he can't leave a single patron unnoticed: an elf at the table next to a wall with a cup of tea. He is dressed and otherwise look like a city elf - illusion is good enough to fool a human, but not for a moon elf. Lunareth could see the effort Legolas puts to make a smile when your ayes meet. Shy and nervous sip from his mug right after.

Thinking A city boy, what do you do here in the tavern? Come to listen adventurer's stories just like me ? Legolas is a bit disappointed realized this elf don't look like seasoned adventurer.

As Lunareth stepped into the tavern, he heard the jocular greeting of the barkeep. Smiling, Luna responded "are all sling ale so perceptive, or have you more talents hidden behind the bar?" Luna wasn't certain as to why, but he felt that he did not need to be guarded with the man. "Yes, for the first time in a while I am free to follow the moon as I please, and I find myself not knowing even where to begin!"
"Lunareth I am named, Luna I am called, and thirsty I am. How are you called, sir, and what would you suggest to wet my throat and whet my appetite without rending me penniless?"

As Luna waited on a response, he scanned the tavern and its patrons, his eyes alighting on an elf sitting in the corner who appeared to smile but quickly hid his face in his mug.

Luna looked at Branric's fingers, understanding that the man wanted two coins. But which two? Having grown up in the cloister, Luna was still a bit unaware of "going-rates", and "market economics" sounded more like a wizard's spell trigger than anything else. Putting on his most winning smile, Luna took out a silver piece and said "can you make change?" (Silver Tongue)

Briar Lockspur pushed back the hood of his weathered black cloak as he slipped into the tavern, the scent of smoke, spilled ale, and old wood thick in the air. He paused just inside the door, sharp hazel eyes scanning the scattered patrons with a quick, practiced sweep. Most were too deep in their cups to notice a new face; others gave him only a passing glance before returning to their murmured conversations and half-empty tankards.

Tall for a half-elf, Briar carried himself with an easy, fluid grace. His dark, tousled hair fell just over the tips of his pointed ears, and his lean frame was wrapped in a green tunic beneath the battered coat, sturdy boots muffling his steps. A satchel rested against his hip, worn and patched, hinting at a life lived on the move. His face bore the slight shadow of street-hard years, but his smirk held the unbreakable spirit of someone who had never quite been caught.

Moving casually, Briar wove his way through the tavern and slid onto a stool at the bar. He gave Branric, the burly barkeep, a familiar nod before rapping his knuckles lightly on the counter.
"What've you got that won't cost me an arm and a leg?" he called, flashing a quick grin that was equal parts charm and challenge.

Luna smiles and says; you're right. I'll take the four and two mugs.

Cormac, sighed. It was good to be back in a Waterdeep tavern. After that much trudging up and down the roads into the city. It was good to back inside the walls with its familiar bustle, noises and smells.

He was still wearing his soldier's kit, well worn from marching and sleeping out of doors.

"Branric, you old dog. I thought the watch would have come and carted you off for watering down beer." He called across the room.

He opened his purse, and carefully counted the coins. "I have enough for one or two tonight. So set me up."

Briar tossed the small coin pouch lightly in one hand, gauging the weight with a practiced rhythm before nodding in satisfaction. The faint jingle of gold was music to his ears. As Branric spoke, Briar offered a half-smile—grateful, but always calculating. With a fluid motion, he tucked the pouch into his worn satchel, letting the flap fall closed with a quiet thud.

Turning his attention to the mask, he held it up to the light, eyes narrowing. It was an odd thing—ornate, too nice for the likes of most common thugs. Briar’s fingers traced the edges, searching for the subtle tingle or shimmer of enchantment that might cling to it. "Got a few more of these? Enough for the crew?" he muttered absently, flipping the mask around in his hands with the idle dexterity of a street-trained pickpocket.

He downed a long drink from his mug, wiping his mouth with the back of his glove, and turned toward the rest of the tavern. As he strode away from the bar, he called over his shoulder to Branric without breaking stride, "Send over some food and drink to the corner table—enough for four, yeah?"

Briar made his way to where Legolas sat, weaving through tables with casual confidence. He stopped just beside the elf, extending a hand in greeting. "Name’s Briar," he said, his tone smooth but direct. "If you’re looking to make some easy coin, I’m putting together a crew." He nodded toward the dimly lit corner table. "Meet me over there. I’ve got plans worth your time."

Not waiting for a response, Briar turned on his heel and headed for the next table. The pitch came just as naturally to Cormac and Lunareth—firm handshake, quick smile, the same invitation:
"Name’s Briar. Work’s easy, pay’s good, and I need sharp folk on my side. Meet me at the corner table. We’ll talk details there."

With his message delivered, Briar circled back to the far corner seat at the corner table.

Elf was about to answer when Briar were away already. Easy money is last thing Legolas is looking for and not in a company with a man with such manners. Staying in his chair with peace as only elf are able to he slowly considers.

Anything illegal (and it did sounded like something illegal) should be aimed against the Lords. There could be a hidden benefit... besides... considering all pros and cons takes quite some time in elf's head - it may feel like forever for a human or even half-elf.

When Sifona enters the Tiny Tavern it’s with a familiar air. She’s sought work here before. She’s of middling height, barely five five, and she’s more smooth practiced movements than brute strength like most half orcs. At first glance she might seem… dismissable, but a second look reveals that false. Her armor is well cared for but also well used, bearing scuffs and dents from many battles. Her young face and what is visible of her arms have scars to match her armor, and she wears the short sword and shield on her back like a second skin.

Seeing Branric speaking to someone she waits a short distance down the bar. She leans against the bar facing the room, like she expects someone to try and sneak up behind her if she’s not paying attention.

Lunareth nodded at the Cha'Tel'Quessir, and then leaned in as Briar pitched his invitation and then walked off to the back. Interesting, thought Luna, but let me bring the Or-tel-quessir the drink I purchased for him.

Walking back to the table at which Legolas sat, Luna placed the two tankards on the table. "Greetings", he said. "My name is Lunareth; Lunareth Væloria—Luna for short. I find myself in need of adventure, companions, and funds, and not necessarily in that order", Luna said with a smile. "The bartender implied that you may find yourself similarly situated and suggested I bribe you with the finest Moonwater in Waterdeep, or at least in this tavern." Luna gestured at the second tankard at the table and took a deep draught from his own.

Turning back to Legolas, Luna continued. "I saw the gentleman sitting in the back stop by your table before he approached me. You know, when a Cha'Tel'Quessir, Or-tel-quessir, and a Teu-tel-quessir walk into a bar, it's either the start of a wonderful advenure or a bad joke! Did he extend to you an invitation to join him as well?" Luna took another deep drink, and then started as if struck by a thought. "Forgive me, I am not long out of the cloister, where are my manners! May I have the privilege of knowing whom I address?"

Sif tries to hide a snort, at Branric's joke, behind her hand. Then tries to pretend she wasn't listening to their conversation.