Fangs and Fraternity for the Fallen
Posted: December 9th, 2021, 7:59 pm
A tavern lies in Fellsgard, just inside the southern trade district. It rests as the last building in a row facing the wall that separates the industrious southern and destitute eastern districts. The wooden boards that line the building front are whitewashed but worn, marred with the dust and grit of the years. Two large windows look out towards the gatehouse, but the dense glass allows only blurred glimpses inside the establishment. Above the door, aging painted letters proclaims the tavern's name in flowing script arched over a rendition of a grey goose.
A pair of stout oak doors with iron banding keep out the cold, rain, and beggars from the east. Patrons passing beyond the threshold, are greeted with the heady scent of mulled wine and roasting meats. Great spits rest over roaring fires along the center of the room and the raised stage occupies the final third of the central aisle. There is no bar, only an endless number of wenches and swains taking orders and delivering food to patrons. The patrons themselves sit spread among long wood tables and benches that fill the remaining floor space.
The upstairs of the tavern is an open balcony with semi-secluded booths set against the walls and clears views of the food and performances below. To use these booths, patrons must pay a deposit, to cover any skipped tabs or damaged tables.
As opposed to the ever-popular Mac's, regular visitors to the Velvet Goose tend towards the rougher sorts of people. The available food is filling, though never particularly inspired. Prices are low enough that poorer merchants and scheming ruffians can afford a decent meal and drink, but not so low that the street urchins frequent the place. This makes it a prime location for the seedier sort of deals without attracting the attention of the local watch commander. Long-time patrons, or those willing to pay, are rumored to know of many additional back alley entrances and exits to the Velvet Goose. Though, any folks who break the peace will often be left beaten and stripped in those same alleys.
Stage performances at the Velvet Goose are typically undiscovered bards or other unknowns. There's no guarantee of quality and instruments have been broken by riled patrons tossing mugs. Folks looking for a rough time, or those who want a place to disappear with a drink, look no further than the Velvet Goose.
Deborah was having a slow evening, the sort where trouble wasn't coming but the floor was bristling with customers. So much so, that they'd even started seating random people upstairs, with the strong suggestion they leave a good tip for the better service and quieter booths. None of the waitstaff were having trouble keeping the crowd contained, and the performer was working his charms with a particularly rambunctious rendition of Cecilia's rise to prominence. Everything was settled right in the perfect blend of rowdy and controlled that ensured gold poured from purses and ale didn't drench the floor. It was dreadfully boring, and so she lingered on the railing looking out over the cook fires with a pout on her plump lips.
A pair of stout oak doors with iron banding keep out the cold, rain, and beggars from the east. Patrons passing beyond the threshold, are greeted with the heady scent of mulled wine and roasting meats. Great spits rest over roaring fires along the center of the room and the raised stage occupies the final third of the central aisle. There is no bar, only an endless number of wenches and swains taking orders and delivering food to patrons. The patrons themselves sit spread among long wood tables and benches that fill the remaining floor space.
The upstairs of the tavern is an open balcony with semi-secluded booths set against the walls and clears views of the food and performances below. To use these booths, patrons must pay a deposit, to cover any skipped tabs or damaged tables.
As opposed to the ever-popular Mac's, regular visitors to the Velvet Goose tend towards the rougher sorts of people. The available food is filling, though never particularly inspired. Prices are low enough that poorer merchants and scheming ruffians can afford a decent meal and drink, but not so low that the street urchins frequent the place. This makes it a prime location for the seedier sort of deals without attracting the attention of the local watch commander. Long-time patrons, or those willing to pay, are rumored to know of many additional back alley entrances and exits to the Velvet Goose. Though, any folks who break the peace will often be left beaten and stripped in those same alleys.
Stage performances at the Velvet Goose are typically undiscovered bards or other unknowns. There's no guarantee of quality and instruments have been broken by riled patrons tossing mugs. Folks looking for a rough time, or those who want a place to disappear with a drink, look no further than the Velvet Goose.
Deborah was having a slow evening, the sort where trouble wasn't coming but the floor was bristling with customers. So much so, that they'd even started seating random people upstairs, with the strong suggestion they leave a good tip for the better service and quieter booths. None of the waitstaff were having trouble keeping the crowd contained, and the performer was working his charms with a particularly rambunctious rendition of Cecilia's rise to prominence. Everything was settled right in the perfect blend of rowdy and controlled that ensured gold poured from purses and ale didn't drench the floor. It was dreadfully boring, and so she lingered on the railing looking out over the cook fires with a pout on her plump lips.