The Boar's Head Pub

[Argh]

*******Setting*******

A smoky and cavernous space, filled with the sounds of laughter and cheerful drunkeness, the Boar's Head Pub is a great gnarled cavern buried in the roots of a worldtree on the edge of the Known World.

Sprites with their melodious voices(and oversharp teeth) and Trolls covered with the remains of somebody else's dinner seem to have successfully ignored each other, and are having a grand old time inside. Perhaps it's due to the heavy, perfumed musk from Harpies preening near the center tables, or the smoke from an Elemental made of steaming iron. Whatever the cause, somewhat intelligent beings from all over the Land Beyond have gathered around to drink in this most famous hall.

[Drago]

A toast to the owner.

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"My soul to nothingness: but I will strive against all doubtings, and will keep alive..." ~ John Keats's Sleep and Poetry

[Argh]

A huge and mishapen ogre with evil eyes stared over the enormous iron bar, glaring at the patrons. Her name is Ilfred, and she's been serving ale for so many years that many of the folks who booze around here think she came with the place. . .

An elf with ruddy cheeks approached the bar, weaving a bit from an excess of fire-dancing. He grinned and tipped his hat back, and looked at the rim of his glass. Ilfred's stare pierced through his reverie as she said, "So, whatchu want elf-boyo drinkman?"

"Ah, just a leeetle bit more of that. . . that. . ." he paused for a moment, lost in thought. . . "ah, that Chateau Beauxbeux from the Grimwald Forest, ah . . . Year 19823 of the dwarf king Kriegshammer. . ." If it's possible for a race as arrogant as the Elves to be both worried and puzzled at the same time, he certainly seemed so, as he blurted "ah, no. . . wait, that's not it. . . it was. . . ah. . ."

We shall never know what the wine was- but we're sure it was good stuff, for when Ilfred threw the elf into the Drunk Tank(which also does triple duty as a jacuzzi and emergency vampire barrier) he took quite awhile figuring out:

A. Which end was up
B. Why he was suddenly surrounded by mermen
C. That water isn't air

Eventually, however, these questions were happily settled by the judicious application of a sharp trident to his elfly posterior, whereupon our poor(and thus far, unnamed) protagonist . . .

[This message has been edited by Argh (edited 22 May 2001).]

[monty]

***setting elaborated***
Monty the Plebeian King entered the Boars Head, made his way to one of the darker sections and finds himself a comfortable rock to lean back on. He throws his mostly brown (severely worn and multi-patched) cloak on the ground to keep the dust off of his royal posterior, whips out a large wineskin supposedly filled with an amusing liquor that he traded for this afternoon, and prepares to take a squirt of the brew.
Monty sat down on cloak. He can't quite recall the name that the stranger called the liquor(and strange he was, appearing out of nowhere on a wide soft thing).
The fella had said the drink was called, something, didn't actually make sense. It sounded something like a "Pan Galag-tick Gargle-BLasta." Well, he understood the reference to Pan, but he had never heard of a Galag tick. Maybe the drink was made from the blood of the Galag tick, wherever that was.
Oh well, he had drunk weirder things before. Monty squirted a shot into his mouth, and suddenly had the feeling that his head had been hit by a large brick that had been rather unpleasantly wrapped around a lemon. He was just beginning to reel from this (good thing he was already on the ground) when he suddenly had the feeling that he had been hit in the head again!, this time with a large lemon that had been rather pleasantly wrapped around a brick.
Monty settled down for a light snooze, thinking Hmm...has quite a kick, that one. Nice aftertast...


[This message has been edited by monty (edited 18 May 2001).]

[This message has been edited by monty (edited 18 May 2001).]

[VampiricDread]

Cautiously, I entered the Pub. I know nothing's amiss because it's quite late, but people fill the room with music and laughter.
Nevertheless, I feel the comfort of my wooden, hidden weaponry, my special throwing vials of Holy water, and the rest of my equipment in my fight against those foul creatures known as vampires.

I've lost my family, friends, and too many party adventurers to them, but I see some others in a corner, that fit the description of survivors in this wretched land. One was peculiar about the wine, the other was a non-chalant, charming person.

I'll approach them. Maybe they can help to fight off this plague I dedicated my life to eliminate...

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I wish I had more time to adventure...

[This message has been edited by VampiricDread (edited 18 May 2001).]

[monty]

****
Monty wakes up, looks around in confusion.
"What the H*ll? This isn't Hoom Forest!"
He looks over to the right and sees an old friend. Trying to sit up, Monty realizes that the world is still an unsteady place. He decides to call from the comfort of the floor.
"Hey VampiricDread! How's it hanging?! You got to try some of this. Got it off of this guy named Arthur. Don't think he was the legendary King though."

[Drago]

After raising his mug of ale high, Drago sits down and puts his feet up on a nearby rock. This adventurer has traveled long and far during his journeys through the years. He has been a poet, a dragon slayer, and many other things. Enough to encompass several lifetimes. Now he finds himself in this strange pub full of laughter and revelry. He sees a few friends around from jouneys past. "Hello VampiricDread and Monty. A toast to your health," he says. He takes a sip of his ale; closes his eyes and rest his head up against the wall. He decides to relax for a bit.

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"My soul to nothingness: but I will strive against all doubtings, and will keep alive..." ~ John Keats's Sleep and Poetry

[Argh]

A Vampire whose name is unpronouncably vague entered the Boar's Head Pub, swinging something vaguely disturbing from his right fist. It almost looked like a small head on a chain, when the light hit it right. . . and he had a scowling, grim visage that suggested that he occasionally dined on Hunters.

Seating himself at a distant table, between a sour-faced Troll and a lovely(but deadly) Neelu, the Vampire ordered from one of the harried Halfling waiters, who tried to take the order as quickly as possible: "hi, thisistheBoar'sHeadPubandI'mGloffliyourserverwould youcareforsomethingtodrinkoreat?" Knowing that the Halfling would screw up anything else, the Vampire kept it simple and said, "blood, shaken, not stirred" in an icy voice. The poor Halfling then set a new land speed record heading for the kitchen, knocking over a befuddled Owlbear that had somehow gotten past the bouncers.

Meanwhile(there's always a meanwhile, isn't there?) Bargehead the Garrolous Dwarf entered the hall with a host of other talkative bowing dwarves in variously colored clothes. They kept muttering snatches of songs that hadn't been popular for long ages past- something about "under hill and under stone" while they scuffled across the chipped wooden floor.
Bargehead stopped before Ilfred, and asked in his loud(and garrolous) voice, "So, what do ya have 'ere, ya pansy barkeep? Got any beer worth the drinking? Aye, it's all the same with these here bars and pubs and clubs and cafes these days, ain't it? No Dwarf canna get beer worth fighting and scrapping over, nosirree, what d'ya say to that, eh?"

Ilfred, who'd just as soon bite your head off than speak to Dwarves at all, scowled down her long warty nose. It could be seen that she held a full magnum of Bertle's Best Booze in one scruffy hand, and was contemplating the kind of exit interview one has when one has smashed a patron into smallish bits, when. . .

[Argh]

The elven lord suddenly noticed something swimming out on the edge of his(usually) keen vision. If he hadn't been nearly so drunk(and wet and kicked and poked, mind you) he'd have noticed that it was the sad visage of a Vampire Hunter, and the Hunter was lookind down from a great distance- or perhaps that was just the wine.

Unfortunately, just at that moment there was some sort of confusing noise in the background- it seemed that a whole crowd of people were singing, "Oh ee Oh, Oh e Oh!" over and over again, for no apparant reason.
Dusting himself off(which is hard to do when one is soaking wet), the still nameless elven lord introduced himself to the Hunter now standing before him in the traditional Elf manner, by slapping both of the Hunter's cheeks and singing a bar from "My Way".

Now that the formalities were over, the elven lord grinned and gestured over to a table, saying, "Boy, do I have a tale to tell you!"

[This message has been edited by Argh (edited 22 May 2001).]

[VampiricDread]

Soon after greeting the party, I noticed the Vampire that entered the Pub. My blood boiled at its sight, and a deep desire to exact revenge came up.

Seeing how tense I was, Monty pulled me down to sit and handed me a mug of frosty ale, whispering "Not here, not now."

Trying hard to dominate my emotions, I sat and replied "Not here, yes. But not yet".

Then I saw the thing being served blood by an afraid Halfling...

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I wish I had more time to adventure...