Friday, October 16, 2009

Song of the Day Nine, The Tavern

This tavern is not your average house of ale. The bartender is not a large brute with hair sprouting from his arms so wildly it seems to be reaching to throttle you, while his head remains bare but for the wild scruff that clings to his chin. Instead, there is a woman wearing copious quantities of makeup that completely obscure what the gods intended her to look like. She wears a dress with a neckline that leaves little to the imagination. She laughs, as she hands more alcohol to a boisterous man whose hands accidently brush her more and more often. Secretly, the woman waits for him to faint so her accomplices in the crowd can drag him off and loot his pockets. The front room is rowdy, and there is a great deal of spilled drink and vomit on the floor. No one seems to mind though, except the few nobles who enter; they immediately head for a door in the back, that when opened releases the faint sounds of snarling dogs. The place is poorly lit, with only a few logs in the stove and a candle on the bar, and infested with fleas. There are rooms for rent, but those who use them a known to be robbed, or even to disappear. However, the place is cheap, and is thus popular.

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