ooc: Intro post blatantly borrowed/edited from Saur's Tavern. If you have any questions where this came from, go here: http://www.reallifeforums.com/viewtopic.php?t=112
IC:
Describing the tavern would be pointless. They're all the same, really, with only minor differences setting them apart. Maybe this one has a few more windows, or that one has a few more trophy heads on the wall, but a pub is a pub. But the surroundings aren't entirely important, you are here to drink, and hang out with friends from times past, companions from previous adventures. So, come along, sit down for a while, and spend your hard earned gold while your at it.

"Come one come all, to Saur's Ta.. er, Crossroads Tavern. With Saur of on another adventure I am your new host, Nathanial Rotsdam. I may not have the legendary bartending skills of the great Saurenath Naïlo, but I shall do my best. I sell all kinds of drinks, and still have some of Saur's ale, so if you care to join us, then come sit down, if you want a specialty drink, just ask. Oh, and stupidity is not permitted in this here tavern, so you would do well to watch your act. If you require a room, The Whore's Nipple is just up the stairs, so just ask and your room will be arranged."

An older man walks through the tavern door. He appears to be in his mid- to late sixties, but carries himself with a fierce dignity. His face is rugged and travel-worn, with a rough stubble covering his square jaw and a scar across the right eye, the eye milky and blind from the wound that had left the scar. His hair, despite shocks of grey on the temples, is full and dark. He wears an old faded-black cloak, the bottom is tattered and frayed and there are numerous areas where the cloak has been stitched, but it is uncertain whether the holes had been torn or slashed. His leather boots look as if they've seen far too many miles. Underneath the cloak, all that is visible is a pair of dark trousers and a tarnished chainmail cuirass. There is an odd bulge on the left side of his waist, as if he wore a large, very full pouch. Upon entering the tavern, he strides to the bar and takes a seat.

"Is there anything that I can get for you? We have a selection of fine wines, meads, and ales, or if there is something else that tickles your fancy, I could likely scrounge it up."

The old man speaks in a deep voice.
"Scotch. Neat."

Nathanial reaches under the bar and pulls out an old dusty bottle with a cork shoved in it. Nathanial pulls out the cork, and begins pouring the liquid inside out without putting a cup down. Before a drop of the scoth hits the bartop a glas materializes out of nowhere, and is quickly filled.
"Its nice to know he left a few old tricks around before he left," Nathanial mutters to himself before passing the class of scotch down to the old man.

"That will be two gold, please.. What brings a traveller such as yourself this far out?"

A deep, guttural moan is heard from the back of the bar.
Where in the 'ell am I?
A dwarf, in tattered, and frankly, quite smelly armor moves about on the floor.
Wooden floor. Wooden stools.... I smell alcohol. I'm in a bar! But why do I feel so creaky.
Suli gets up from the floor, and wanders over to the bar. His beared notably longer and more unmanaged than a dwarf prefers. His hair has taken a similar habit, and as he saunters toward the bar, he begins popping his various joints. He turns towards Nathanial, and asks in a puzzled tone:
Pardon me, but who are you, and where is Saur?

"Forgotten me already, Suli? Its Nathanial.. A mug of dwarven ale for you as usual?"
Nathanial reaches under the bar, and both Suli and the old man hear a strange sound as he pulls back out a frosted mug, and fills it from the tap.

A young man with long hair and a full, but well-trimmed, beard walks in the door. He glances around at the tavern with a confused look before walking up to the bartender. He leans on it, using his forearem to support himself with his other hand resting on said forearm. Glancing at the bartender, he asks:

"Can I get a shot of whiskey, the good stuff that burns on the way down? Not that junk that sticks inside your mouth and makes you wanna puke."

He pauses for a couple seconds while the bartender gets the bottle, shifting so that his back rests against the bar along with both of his elbows.

"I thought this was supposed to be Saur's Tavern. Did I get the directions wrong?"

Suli squints his eyes, and rubs the sleep from them.
By Moradin. It is Nathanial. How have you be-
Suli gets caught up in the presence of his beloved dwarven ale, and as soon as Nathanial hands it to him, he begins to quaff it deeply.
Delicious concoction of the gods! It feels like it has been so long!

The old man reaches into his cloak and produces two fat gold coins, bearing the face and seal of a long dead king on them, and lays them on the bar in front of the bartender.
"Business."

He reaches for the glass of scotch and sips it slowly, obviously savoring it.

Nathanial digs around under the bar for a few minutes, and brings up another old, dusty bottle for the young man. He digs around a little while longer and pulls out a glass with a couple ice cubes in it, and sets them both down in front of the young man.

"No, good sir, you are in the proper place. Saur wandered off on a quest as he has been known to do from time to time. He should be back eventually, but your guess is as good as mine."

As Suli embibes his drink, he gets an idea. He vaguely remembers drinking a long time ago, then waking up on the floor just moments ago.
Nathanial. What happened to this place? I vaguely remember drinking, and then remember waking up on the floor. It feels like much time has passed since then. What happened?

A tall man in a trench-coat, suit, and fedora walks through the door. There is a slight smell of burning flesh, but it dissapates quickly as the man walks up to the bar, looking a bit weakened, he locks eye's with the bartender for a breif moment. He barely manages to rasp his request.

"Blood..."

as he speaks, you can see the tips of fangs slightly revealed.

He turns around and glances at the glass before looking up at the bartender.

"Um, excuse me. I asked for a shot of whiskey, not whiskey on the rocks, though I'll gladly take the bottle and pour them myself should you provide a shot glass."

A man, or rather something that most closely resembles a man for he was easily seven feet tall and three and a half feet round, lumbers through the doors. The man looks grizzeled, as if this were his first forray indoors in several months. After quickly scanning his surroundings he makes his way to the bar and manages, after several attempts, to place an order without stuttering incoherently:

G-g-g-ive m-m-m-e yo-yo-ur st-st-st-rongest d-d-d-rink p-p-p-p-lease

As he finishes a slight grin crosses his scruffy face, pleased that he was able to place his order. The man lookes down and notices the diminuitve stool beside him. The grin turnes into a frown as he realizes that this was going to be another night of drinking while performing a precarious balancing act in his seat.