*Along the far wall of the Tavern thread~bare curtains part and the seemingly wizend figure of a woman enters the main room. Moving along at a sedate shuffle she crosses to the bar, her startlingly clear black~eyed gaze falls upon you... her yellowed teeth tighten their grip on the cracked stem of the pipe held there as she prepares to speak ...* "Another newcomer, aye? So ye've made yer way here and are wonderin' why ye ever bothered, eh?" ... a sound best described as a cackle is issued as she nods her head knowingly, her words punctuated by plumes of smoke.... "Yer surely not the first m'friend, and ye'll no' be the last to do so."
establishment..." .... a hand covered in tattered woolen work glove raises to gesture about the crowded tavern - its
movement strangely strong and graceful for one that appears to be a crone...leaving you more than a bit disconcerted...
"Ye'd do well to watch yer step and who ye put yer trust in. Be they man or one o' the doxies with their sweet~faced countenances, ne'er trust 'em as far as ye kin toss 'em.
Ye'll reap what ye sow 'round these parts, and the walls ha'e ears - ye'll be wise to keep that in mind afore ye open yer mouth or take on any here"...Cocking her gray head she gazes at you silently for a moment as she draws deeply from her pipe..."And if the sight o' blood and death offends ye, ye best head out now to the Kirk down the street as there's a fair bit o' that to be seen in here as well." ...with a snort of laughter she turns to take inventory of the various casks and jugs lining the wall behind her...only to turn to you again a moment later with a final word...
"I'll ha'e ye to kno' I keep my nose out of most of the doin's 'round here. I'll no' break
up a tussle if it serves a purpose, nor step into anothers quarrel or war 'long as the parties
involved clean up their mess an' their spat doesna cause Captain Graftin Hand to change the...terms... of our dealings"
...The wrinkles around the hags eyes deepen as her black gaze turns steely with intensity... "...but there's a coupla things I will
no' brook and thats the killin' of my patrons who've no involvement in the squabbles of others, nor the
cookin' o' flesh nor anythin' else in my business. The damn place near burnt to the ground when the rushes
caught flame the last time some lackwits thought this place a bleedin' firepit" ....Her teeth clench tighter on the bone stem of her pipe..."The last pair that raised my ire can testify to the price they paid- shite, the one pribbling scut is yet pickin' splinters out his arse from my usin' his hindquarters to sand the tables with, ye ken?"
....Her wrinkled features ease as she reaches below the bar for two dented pewter cups and a bottle of rye...."Now, laddie... that being said, come and ha'e yerself a shot o' my finest as it's likely the only free one ye'll get" ....cackling loudly, she tips the bottle and pours two full measures in each cup, pausing to raise hers in the general direction of the full main room before drinking....
"Welcome to the Boar"
