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.

Lunareth Væloria, with a pleasure will I accept the bribe, though I'm neither thirsty not empty-pocket, but it talks of your purpose better than words. Call me Legolas. Here is the city that's enough.
Wood elf refuse to share share his family name, but don't mind explaining more about himself:
Legolas explain that he is not an adventurer, though he would be very happy to be part of an adventure - he comes to the Tavern now and then to listed adventure stories and they always amaze him. But other than usual for wood elf ability to manipulate with a bow he say he don't have any extra abilities to qualify for a successful adventurer

About the gentleman... if being an elf is enough to qualify for his "easy money" job, then I can't see how it is not a bad joke at it's best.
Legolas share his own attitude and suspicion in a whisper, but seems intrigued to learn more about the bad joke and is ready get involved

But I wonder if we can manage to turn the joke against it's author. An adventure of it's own. I am really wondering what's his plan and why he need two random elves for that.

"Appreciate the offer, but I'm going to pass on that." Cormac declined the clever looking Half-elf's offer. "I've got some plans of my own."

Cormac placed enough coin for two beers in front of Branric and took a deep gulp from the mug.

"That sure beats chasing rabbits out in the scrub, I can tell you."

He leant in closer to the barkeeper. "You were saying a sword-for-hire? Now that does sound like something I'd be up for. What do you know about that?"

Luna smiles at Legolas's depiction. Finishing his ale, he leans in and asks "feer hin sen Cha'Tel'Quessir"?

Sif shrugs, sword for hire she can definitely do, and she trusts Branric not to lie to her. "I’m open to the idea. I’m Sifona, Sif." She holds her hand out to Cormac, Branric had called him. Sif studies Cormac wondering how trustworthy he his. If she can trust him at her back in this, it’s not necessarily a dealbreaker if she can’t trust him, she’s worked with that type before, she would just like to know sooner rather than later.

"Cormac," the man said, taking the offered hand in a brief greeting. He gestured to the seat at the bar next to him.

He regarded Sif for a moment, then turned his attention back to his beer. He struck her as the kind of person used to making quick judgments about people. His clothes were plain, well-worn, and practical — like everything else about him.

There was an air of weariness about him that belied his age, like a man long accustomed to carrying a heavy burden of responsibility. He didn’t seem like someone who had the time or energy to be deceptive. He seemed simple, straightforward, and reliable.

"I don't know about rare herbs," he scoffed. "And as for the high and mighty owing me favors, as long as they pay what they promise, I'm good with that."

"What do you think, Sif? Should we go see this druid?"

Sif smiles, simple, straightforward, and reliable, she could definitely work with that. Much better than most the people she’s worked with in the past. "Yeah, sounds good to me." Sif will take the offered seat and wait as Cormac finishes his drink.

Legolas sips from the offered mug and smiles. He isn't making a good job pretending that he likes the drink, but still sips seldom while talking.
He engages into a conversation with Luna in Elf language, asking the typical politeness questions such as how do you do, is your family members well, what are your dreams and long term goals and what not.

Only after feeling they have get acquainted to each other he finally suggest to go see the half-elf.

Briar, Legolas brings his unfinished dug with him as he approach your table and asks you casually Would you mind if we share the table with you? The more the merrier ?!

Briar gave Cormac a respectful nod, though a faint shadow of disappointment flickered across his face. "I understand," he said sincerely, his voice low and smooth. "Everyone’s got plans within plans these days. But I’m around here often, if the winds change and you’re looking for work—or trouble."

He turned away with a flick of his coat and made his way back to the corner table where the candlelight was dim, the shadows deep, and the air thick with the scent of ale, sweat, and old wood polish. As Luna and Legolas approached, Briar stood to greet them, his expression lighting up with a smile that was both warm and just a touch mischievous.

"Welcome, welcome," he said, gesturing broadly to the mismatched chairs around the table. "Please, sit. Food and drink should be along shortly. Make yourselves comfortable—well, as comfortable as these janky old chairs will allow." He gave a soft chuckle, the kind that invited camaraderie without demanding it.

Once they had settled in, he raised his mug slightly in a quiet toast and took a slow drink before setting it back down with a satisfying clink.

"Truly—thank you for joining me," he said, his voice now a little steadier, a little more serious. "I appreciate it greatly."

He leaned back slightly in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, the other nursing his ale. "I’m Briar Locksqur," he began, meeting their eyes in turn. "I—and a few others in this very tavern—are members of a group called the Harpers. You may have heard of us. We operate quietly, doing what we can to help the downtrodden, those often overlooked or crushed under the boot of power. I’m not anyone important in the grand scheme, but I’ve got friends… in low places, and a few in high ones too."

He paused to let that settle, then leaned in slightly, his voice lowering with an almost conspiratorial hush. "The Harpers have given me a task—one I believe the two of you could be of great help with. On the surface, it sounds simple. But rarely are these things as easy as they appear."

He took another drink, wetting his lips, before continuing in a quieter tone, eyes flicking around the room for any prying ears.

"In two nights, there’s going to be a masquerade—big affair, lots of nobles, merchants, and other well-to-do types. I’ve already managed to get us some invitations." His grin returned, sharp and knowing. "All the Harpers are asking of us is to be their eyes and ears. Blend in. Mingle. Dance. Eat. Be merry. All while keeping your ears open for anything suspicious—plans, threats, strange alliances. Anything out of place."

He let the words linger in the air like smoke, giving them a moment to absorb the gravity beneath the glamour.

Luna listened attentively to Briar as the latter described the mission. He knew of the Harpers—who didn't? But he could not say that he knew much about them, other than they were normally aligned with those of good nature and were oft allies of The Night White Lady. A real mission; how exciting! Luna thought. Having grown up a moon elf in Waterdeep—albeit most of the time within the safe confines of the Church of Selûne—the idea of a masked ball under the light of the moon intrigued him in multiple ways. Having no actual experience, he let his imagination run wild. He pictured tall, graceful courtiers holding thin glasses of effervescent wines or liqueurs, talking in low and hushed tones about the secrets of finance, magic, wealth, or power as they were limned in the silver light of the moon. Coy glances, knowing looks, a single word dropped here or there which would determine the rise or fall of entire families.

"Yes, yes, indeed", he started, then slammed his mouth closed realizing he was near shouting. Trying again he said yes, yes indeed. That sounds marvelous. All you want is for us to show up and keep our eyes open and our ears pointed? Here, Luna chuckled. Count me in, Luna said. How many are you recruiting? Too few, there will not be enough coverage. Too many, and there will not be enough covertness.

And where is that "easy money" on all of this? Are we robbing anyone along the way?
Ok. I don't dance. Not good pretending I am Noble. No idea what are important details to hear and what they know already. But you seem desperate picking random people not knowing their portfolio.

Briar reached down and unfastened the flap of his satchel, retrieving a modest but weighty pouch of coin. The dull clink of gold echoed beneath the low hum of the tavern as he held it up between thumb and forefinger, letting the pouch sway ever so slightly.
"This here," he said, eyes flicking between Luna and Legolas, "is our starting endowment—courtesy of the Harpers." His voice carried a mix of pride and practicality. "About ten gold pieces each. Enough to cover a few necessities."
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the pouch lightly in the air once, twice—gauging its weight by feel and sound—before catching it and setting it on the table between them. The coins inside gave a satisfying jingle as he nudged the pouch forward.

"We’ll need to use some of it, of course," he continued, tapping the table for emphasis. "Can’t walk into a masquerade dressed like we just crawled out of a tavern cellar. We’ll need some proper attire—refined, fancy-looking. Nothing overly extravagant, just enough to make us blend in. And masks, naturally. The whole thing’s a masked affair. Can’t have nobles peeking under the wrong hood, eh?"

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he swept the pouch back into his satchel, securing the clasp with practiced ease. He leaned in closer, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, barely audible over the clatter of mugs and the low crackle of the hearth nearby.

"And of course," he added with a sly grin, "any worthwhile tidbits we overhear… the Harpers will pay dearly for. Secrets travel far in those circles, and the Harpers are always hungry for the right ones."

Then, just for them, he lowered his voice even more, glancing around briefly before speaking with a roguish wink.
"Plus—anything I happen to pocket along the way… you’ll have first pick from. After all, it’s only fair that risk comes with reward."
He leaned back again, casual and confident, taking another sip from his ale as if he’d just proposed something as mundane as a stroll in the park.

Harpers... this could be a good way to fix my reputation with them. But I guess all of the fame go to half-elf. I will be just "some random elf participated the mission", would I? If that half-elf knew who am I and what I did for Harpers earlier, he wouldn't talk to me, would he?
Anyhow. I make no commitment being in this job. Anything I hear or learn I need not to share with Harpers if I don't think they should know

And I do need that money to buy some arrows and a sword. Once I have equipped I can take real adventuring job

Legolas cast wish full but sad look around the walls with old weapons, yellowing maps, and scribbled notes from adventurers long gone.

I will assume I did not hear about your plans to pocketing. And I warn you - if I find missing any of my belonging I will know whom to blame. Legolas makes i clear he do not respect thievery, but otherwise accepts the offer.

Briar chuckled, raising his hands with a grin. "Don’t worry—my fingers won’t be dipping into your belongings. I might be a bit underhanded, but I’ve got a code. I only steal from the rich... and the rotten."

He downed the last of his drink, setting the mug on the table with a soft clink. Leaning forward, he continued, his tone more serious. "Three of us should be enough for this job. Any more, and we’ll start turning heads we don’t want noticing. Masquerades are about masks, not crowds."

His gaze drifted between the two. "Do either of you already own a mask or something fancy enough to pass as noblewear? We can’t exactly show up looking like we crawled out of a back alley." He smirked. "If not, we’ll need to pay a visit to a tailor tomorrow."

I do not

Lunareth's face falls as Briar asks. "No. All I own are a couple sets of acolyte robes. I'd stand out like a dwarf in a treehouse, wouldn't I?"

Briar leaned back again, the flickering candlelight catching the sharp angles of his face, as he studied the two elves in front of him.

"Alright." he said in a low, focused tone. "Maybe we don’t need to force all of us into masquerade masks and velvet capes, after all. This is a moving game, and we’ll play it on more than one board."

He pointed subtly to himself. "I’ll handle reconnaissance. Quiet look at the estate—get a sense of guard patterns, entrances, supply routes, that sort of thing. Nothing risky, just enough to start building the map in our heads."

Then he turned his eyes to Luna. "I sense you’re good with words. Charismatic, probably. You don’t scream ‘danger,’ and that makes people trust you faster than they should. I want you to start talking to the guilds and tavern folk. Ask who caters these noble parties—find out if anyone’s working that night. Barmaids, kitchen runners, even lamplighters. Offer a bit of gold if they’re willing to keep their ears open for us at the masquerade. Maybe even tip us off if someone important arrives, or disappears."

Briar paused, then looked to Legolas with a gentler expression. He recognized the unease in the wood elf’s eyes—the high-held values, the mistrust simmering beneath the surface.

"I can see you’re not one for disguises or deceptions," he said quietly. "And I respect that. But I also think your presence—calm, centered, with a bow close at hand—might keep this group from drifting too far into shadows."

He leaned in. "We’ll need a suit, and a mask. Nothing flashy—just enough to pass. And if you walk away from all this with even a single gold piece still in your purse, then you’ll have earned it cleanly. That I promise."

Legolas opened his mouth as if to object, then hesitated—thoughtful. He finally said, simply, "I know a tailor. Discreet. Honest. I’ll take us there in the morning." He didn’t elaborate, but something in his tone made it clear: this tailor was no ordinary clothier.

Briar nodded. "Perfect."

What Legolas didn’t say—perhaps what he couldn’t say yet—was that the tailor was part of the Emerald Enclave, a faction like the Harpers, but one rooted in nature, balance, and preservation. A quiet hand of the wild in the middle of the city.

Luna, meanwhile, took it all in with the watchful calm of someone who understood the game, even if he hadn’t yet played it himself. He knew the Harpers were not saints—but they were necessary. In a city like Waterdeep, light didn’t reach every alley unless someone tilted a lantern. And if a little law-breaking made that possible… so be it.

Still, this wasn’t a temple mission, and this wasn’t a parable. This was real.

"So," Luna said, standing slowly and finishing the last of his drink. "Briar sneaks. I talk. Legolas… guides us to someone who can make us look like we belong. Sounds like a plan."

Briar smiled. "That’s the spirit."

They left the Tiny Tavern. At least for now.

With a bow close at hand ? I'm not shooting at people. You never mentioned using force against people is part of the job, did you?

Briar raised both hands slightly, palms out, a placating smile curling at the edge of his mouth.

"Easy, my friend," he said, voice low and calm. "Didn’t mean at the party. No one's asking you to draw on a noble and start a brawl in a ballroom. I just meant… the image. A calm hunter in a crowd of prey. Watchful. Quiet. Patient."

He sat back again, letting the tension ease from the moment. "This job isn’t about force. It’s about finesse. Observation. Subtlety. If blades or bows come into play, something’s already gone wrong."

With a wink, he added, "And if it does go wrong, I hope we’re all smart enough to run before we find out who brought the sharpest weapon."

Zyra pauses to scan the tavern and takes in the other patrons. At 5'4" she is short for a Tiefling of her age. She moves gracefully to a free seat at the bar, furthest from the door, where she can get he back to a wall and have an eye on the most of the room, a keen eye will glimpse deep blue skin with orange spots under the shadow of her hooded cloak. The head of a spear pokes out over her shoulder, obviously in some sort of back scabbard. She hops up on a stool and flicks the cloak off her shoulders but keeping the hood up.

When Branic comes over, Zyra flashes one of her best smiles and quietly says: Hello Branic, we haven't met but you are well known in to those of us working our way out of the streets . I am Zyra, Emberfang. Zyra, if it pleases you. Might I have a meal and an ale?

She places a pair of silver pieces on the bar.

Beef and Root stew will be a treat after the last few weeks of scrounging off the midden heaps. Works been scarce lately for those working discreetly out of site. Too many "thinning the herd" from the other rancher's jobs for my liking. I'm more a "what's in the envelope" type. And I've no interest in making money between the sheets. She winks, goes to the hearth, ladles out a bowl of stew and returns to the bar. Got any warm bread for the drippings?

Born and raised in the streets of Waterdeep. Zyra dips the bread and takes a few bites of stew... Washing it down with a big sip of ale she looks up at Branic and continues softly;Any of those would be welcome. I'm not opposed to a job getting a little wet, I just wouldn't want that to be the goal.

Zyra continues her meal while Branic attends other patrons. When he returns, she says: This bread is worth the coin alone, that's a partnership worth keeping, but another ale would round out the meal. She pauses, glancing about to make sure no one appears to be eavesdropping. If you know of any jobs need doing, I'm available, and I'm Waterdeepian till the end.

Branic, there is a reason for your reputation in the dark alleyways and dangerous shadows. Word is, you can be trusted, even if the job is a little outside the law. I'll take that introduction.

Thanks Branric. I plan on coming back for another meal real soon. Zira finishes off her second draft. pocketing both the letter of introduction and the job posting then makes her way to the door.