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."