Intro to the Lodge New
Modeled after nord longhalls, the lodge stretched forty-nine meters across without equal depth, and made from strong evergreens the appearance was authentic woodgrain — for places two thousand miles north anyway. Covered with decommissioned shields the rustic exterior ranged between vibrant reds and grass greens, rusted orange and baren gunmetal scarred with damage. Every wooden inch was covered below the rounded rooftop which remained clear, where future legends could be honored.
Alone among mounted shields were famous dual broadswords, crossed above the main entrance. Every customer walked below them when coming inside but respects were rarely paid. Most ignored manners, rushing through engraved double doors and toward bartenders, gambling games and bookies who wagered money over combat matches.
"Place your bets, place your bets! Will Scorpion Kaiser continue winning against the Bulldog of Brandy? Can the Bulldog avenge his defeat against the savage southern champion? Don't miss your opportunity and place your bets! Place your bets here!" Advertised an unscrupulous man from the center-floor combat stage, snake-charming customers who debated odds with hushed containment.
But then everything went to shit.
Animated drunks shouted predictions! Confused bookies dashed between wasted morons! Hundreds of wager slips sold and loud debates broke over matchup opinions. Insults were shouted about mothers, hotheads were getting offended, weapons were getting drawn and combat magic buzzed across the room! Anyone watching could see danger mounting among gamblers, and anxious bartenders sighed thinking not again please with flashbacks of traumatic cleanups — but chance was sympathetic today. Once wager forms were collected the atmosphere cooled, and both champions selected wood weapons from an aged barrell beside the stage.
Meanwhile, bargames were played along the western wall. Warriors thumped dartboards with rusty throwing knives. Gamblers drew cards from rigged decks and people wagered dice rolls. Cheating accusations were tossed around but combat wasn't common among swindlers, who preferred counter-playing with complex schemes. Honest players were scarce even among losers, and winners were the best cheaters, nothing more.
Across from scam central stood the famous lodge bar. Running twenty meters she covered the whole eastern wall, staffed by seven overmatched employees. Here people relaxed on stools, working through protein-packed plates and strong drinks without added water. Behind these customers were several long mess tables with matching bench seats, where people swapped fantastic tales over steaming steaks.
Enjoyable chaos and melodic music was everywhere, but some patrons sought more serious endeavors than drunken entertainment. Some were here about "Finding the Wishing Well" — so the advertisement went anyway, and the adventure group was recruiting tonight after combat matches concluded. Given sixty seconds, the mission leader would explain important details to gather members, then create travel plans with experienced bannermen. But would anyone volunteer?
Lacking hope the nervous employer paced around near the combat stage. Lowbrow potato farmers mocked wishing wells these days; among grizzled veterans things would be even worse. The man, named C. Beane on employment postings, knew chances were poor and across the room someone shrouded in darkness watched him sweat, scratching encoded notes across weathered parchment paper.
OOC NoteYour characters may enjoy recreation and relaxation, play games of chance and skill, murder food and drinks, throw chairs at each other or argue with local farmers. The recruiting speech begins after the exhibition fight ends, and yes you can place bets!
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