✲´*。.❄¨¯`*✲。❄。*。¨¯`*✲ REALM OF ALBION - KINGDOM OF CAMELOT ✲*`¯¨。*。❄。✲*`¯¨❄.。*´✲
**** DEAN MORGAN'S TAVERN *****
Chaucer was quite a unique, adventurous if quirky character, a bard always wandering to and fro cities, villages, towns, without aim or purpose other than storytelling for lords and peasants alike. Well used to improvising and stealing the limelight, bold when addressing others above his station, unafraid of the crowds at large, known and unknown.
He was a bard that enjoyed putting on dramatic attention-seeking performances and entertain passers-by with grand gestures and pomposity for a coin or two in return, even for a plate of food, or as little as a good round of clapping and clamour. He was a charlatan, a playwright, a jester who had arrived to liven any gathering he encountered.
He had arrived at Camelot, at the Capital City, a few weeks ago and spent his days getting acquainted with the city’s layout, or trying to learn some of it, for the capital was grandiose and could not be fully seen in just a week or even a month, making highly unusual friends along the way and rare acquaintances too.
After long walks passing by the many markets, squares, street shops, to check the window displays, stands and stalls, peddlers wares and assorted produce for sale, he crossed the city end to end and descended to the furthest and lowest part of the city, the rundown suburbs and slums which were the ones closest to the sewers where lowest classes dwelt.
He made his way to there, after deciding to stay at Dean Morgan's tavern, called The Night Owl, for, despite its low reputation, it was by far cheapest and most affordable accommodation too. Who knows, perhaps with his gambling or musical skills he could even earn enough to have free lodging all in all.
He entered the lively tavern with some hesitation. It was a place bustling with chatter and laughter, many of its patrons unaware of the latest events going on for they were too focused on their own affairs. Cheap food, cheaper drinks and even cheaper accommodation and lawlessness made this place highly attractive.
Normally no citizen with reputation or certain lineage would dare venture there, with some luck, not even guards would enter such notorious criminal’s den. It wasn’t entirely safe, of course, but it felt lucrative enough to be worth the risks. After all the chances of righteous warriors of importance being found there were few, which allowed him to be more bold in his words and deeds
Despite being reluctant to enter one word from Chaucer's mind "hungry" caused him to do so and take a place among the patrons, as if one more in the crowd. Onward he went to go and order some food and drinks to start with, the sooner the better.
Upon venturing inside he realized the place was darkened by lack of adequately sized windows or sufficient ventilation which gave it a slightly sinister look and feel and a rather stale air. Overall, it was poorly lit by oil lamps and candles, here and there, sparsely distributed. The building was dark due to the scarce narrow windows being sparingly distributed along the walls, such could make any honest traveller already feel rather tense and edgy at venturing deeper into such a place. But, he, himself was not exactly the pinnacle of honesty and it was the only place still open at this late hour.
There was a large dining hall, with many more private side dining rooms for the more wealthy or deadly, the main hall mostly crowded by patrons of all sorts of races and allegiances, some playing cards, throwing daggers and making bets, other chatting lively or having quiet meals by themselves. It was a bandits' den for sure though the air today was more lively, friendly and festive.
His eyes trailed around the establishment, taking in the surroundings. Amid the gloomy room, poorly lit up by candles upon tables, there was the glowing hearth. The room was filled with light smoke from the burning wood from the fireplace which gave light, warmth and a homely feeling to the establishment, making the air heavy but not at all unpleasant.
He noticed the mismatched furniture that contrasted with the impeccable royal palace furnishings where he had just been playing at a few hours before. Here it was all assorted, some repaired, others, like the couch, left stained to the point it was hard to tell its true colour. The furniture all around was clearly dated and well used, if actually misused and battered. It was distasteful and tatty, patched and mended but clearly without any intention to restore it to its original condition, rather, simply kept usable despite the discoloration and damage. Not one piece was alike any other there. The mismatch was an oddity compared to the lavish perfection of grand palaces and wealthy manors where he often stayed at.
From time to time, as he entered further, passing tables, benches, stools and sofas, there was a stronger whiff of tobacco here and there from the pipes being smoked by the seasoned patrons, it was clear to him that the crowded building was filled to the brim. Some of the customers were arguing, with accusations of cheating or fraud soon escalating to scuffles, here and there, before another round of drinks made them all settle down and carry on. There was laughter spilling everywhere, even into the private reserved side rooms, so many of then that it looked like a beehive.
Glancing down at the floor, he observed it was just as stained and worn and neglected as the furniture itself. The deeper Chaucer got into the tavern, the stronger were the scents of the food being cooked, baking breads, roasting meats, grilled vegetables and steaming hot pots which were bound to make anyone hungry at any time and he was famished. He needed food and this place was as good as any, the background chatter giving it a greater appeal.
Onward he walk until he approached the worktop at the far end ordering his food. He took a stool by a free table and patiently waited to be served, he smiled broadly at the roast chicken and vegetables when they finally came, scoffing the meal down rather quickly and getting to work, finally taking note of the other clientele which caused him to swallow hard.
Clearly the riff raff of society was all piled there, but stunningly there were also countless lords and ladies, royalty, knights and warriors, healers and mages, there were darker beings, notorious thieves and dubious merchants, unsuspecting travellers of every walk of life all congregated under this one roof, merry making in their way
He licked his fingers as he was finishing the last of the chicken. His silence was mostly due to the fact that our poor bard had been rather hungry since his arrival. Yet circumstances were unique, they were prompting him to speak, of course, he couldn't reject the opportunity to catch attention and good graces so he finished scoffing his bread crumbs quickly and rose to his feet, taking a quick gulp of wine, slurping it, before putting down the goblet.
He rose to his feet, took a deep courageous breath and brought up his lute, striking the cords and walking around the dinning room to tell of his stories to whoever wished to hear him, even if the lyrics were rather provocative and could be taken as treason. Whether he would end up in trouble, that remained to be seen.
"My lords, my ladies,
gentry and commoners,
I will serenade you tonight
and make this place bright"
He proceeded to escort every arrival to whatever table they chose, playing a few strings and hums and introducing the new arrival to whomever was already sat at the table, a conversation starter before moving onto the next table.
**** DEAN MORGAN'S TAVERN *****
Chaucer was quite a unique, adventurous if quirky character, a bard always wandering to and fro cities, villages, towns, without aim or purpose other than storytelling for lords and peasants alike. Well used to improvising and stealing the limelight, bold when addressing others above his station, unafraid of the crowds at large, known and unknown.
He was a bard that enjoyed putting on dramatic attention-seeking performances and entertain passers-by with grand gestures and pomposity for a coin or two in return, even for a plate of food, or as little as a good round of clapping and clamour. He was a charlatan, a playwright, a jester who had arrived to liven any gathering he encountered.
He had arrived at Camelot, at the Capital City, a few weeks ago and spent his days getting acquainted with the city’s layout, or trying to learn some of it, for the capital was grandiose and could not be fully seen in just a week or even a month, making highly unusual friends along the way and rare acquaintances too.
After long walks passing by the many markets, squares, street shops, to check the window displays, stands and stalls, peddlers wares and assorted produce for sale, he crossed the city end to end and descended to the furthest and lowest part of the city, the rundown suburbs and slums which were the ones closest to the sewers where lowest classes dwelt.
He made his way to there, after deciding to stay at Dean Morgan's tavern, called The Night Owl, for, despite its low reputation, it was by far cheapest and most affordable accommodation too. Who knows, perhaps with his gambling or musical skills he could even earn enough to have free lodging all in all.
He entered the lively tavern with some hesitation. It was a place bustling with chatter and laughter, many of its patrons unaware of the latest events going on for they were too focused on their own affairs. Cheap food, cheaper drinks and even cheaper accommodation and lawlessness made this place highly attractive.
Normally no citizen with reputation or certain lineage would dare venture there, with some luck, not even guards would enter such notorious criminal’s den. It wasn’t entirely safe, of course, but it felt lucrative enough to be worth the risks. After all the chances of righteous warriors of importance being found there were few, which allowed him to be more bold in his words and deeds
Despite being reluctant to enter one word from Chaucer's mind "hungry" caused him to do so and take a place among the patrons, as if one more in the crowd. Onward he went to go and order some food and drinks to start with, the sooner the better.
Upon venturing inside he realized the place was darkened by lack of adequately sized windows or sufficient ventilation which gave it a slightly sinister look and feel and a rather stale air. Overall, it was poorly lit by oil lamps and candles, here and there, sparsely distributed. The building was dark due to the scarce narrow windows being sparingly distributed along the walls, such could make any honest traveller already feel rather tense and edgy at venturing deeper into such a place. But, he, himself was not exactly the pinnacle of honesty and it was the only place still open at this late hour.
There was a large dining hall, with many more private side dining rooms for the more wealthy or deadly, the main hall mostly crowded by patrons of all sorts of races and allegiances, some playing cards, throwing daggers and making bets, other chatting lively or having quiet meals by themselves. It was a bandits' den for sure though the air today was more lively, friendly and festive.
His eyes trailed around the establishment, taking in the surroundings. Amid the gloomy room, poorly lit up by candles upon tables, there was the glowing hearth. The room was filled with light smoke from the burning wood from the fireplace which gave light, warmth and a homely feeling to the establishment, making the air heavy but not at all unpleasant.
He noticed the mismatched furniture that contrasted with the impeccable royal palace furnishings where he had just been playing at a few hours before. Here it was all assorted, some repaired, others, like the couch, left stained to the point it was hard to tell its true colour. The furniture all around was clearly dated and well used, if actually misused and battered. It was distasteful and tatty, patched and mended but clearly without any intention to restore it to its original condition, rather, simply kept usable despite the discoloration and damage. Not one piece was alike any other there. The mismatch was an oddity compared to the lavish perfection of grand palaces and wealthy manors where he often stayed at.
From time to time, as he entered further, passing tables, benches, stools and sofas, there was a stronger whiff of tobacco here and there from the pipes being smoked by the seasoned patrons, it was clear to him that the crowded building was filled to the brim. Some of the customers were arguing, with accusations of cheating or fraud soon escalating to scuffles, here and there, before another round of drinks made them all settle down and carry on. There was laughter spilling everywhere, even into the private reserved side rooms, so many of then that it looked like a beehive.
Glancing down at the floor, he observed it was just as stained and worn and neglected as the furniture itself. The deeper Chaucer got into the tavern, the stronger were the scents of the food being cooked, baking breads, roasting meats, grilled vegetables and steaming hot pots which were bound to make anyone hungry at any time and he was famished. He needed food and this place was as good as any, the background chatter giving it a greater appeal.
Onward he walk until he approached the worktop at the far end ordering his food. He took a stool by a free table and patiently waited to be served, he smiled broadly at the roast chicken and vegetables when they finally came, scoffing the meal down rather quickly and getting to work, finally taking note of the other clientele which caused him to swallow hard.
Clearly the riff raff of society was all piled there, but stunningly there were also countless lords and ladies, royalty, knights and warriors, healers and mages, there were darker beings, notorious thieves and dubious merchants, unsuspecting travellers of every walk of life all congregated under this one roof, merry making in their way
He licked his fingers as he was finishing the last of the chicken. His silence was mostly due to the fact that our poor bard had been rather hungry since his arrival. Yet circumstances were unique, they were prompting him to speak, of course, he couldn't reject the opportunity to catch attention and good graces so he finished scoffing his bread crumbs quickly and rose to his feet, taking a quick gulp of wine, slurping it, before putting down the goblet.
He rose to his feet, took a deep courageous breath and brought up his lute, striking the cords and walking around the dinning room to tell of his stories to whoever wished to hear him, even if the lyrics were rather provocative and could be taken as treason. Whether he would end up in trouble, that remained to be seen.
"My lords, my ladies,
gentry and commoners,
I will serenade you tonight
and make this place bright"
He proceeded to escort every arrival to whatever table they chose, playing a few strings and hums and introducing the new arrival to whomever was already sat at the table, a conversation starter before moving onto the next table.
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