In many ways, the Trusty Tavern is the father of the modular buildings set, and it deserved to be reworked to match the other building’s color scheme. It also lacked a roof… But now it can be properly assembled alongside the other buildings!
To be frank, not many of them were sure of how the fight started. Something had been thrown, arcing across the room before impacting another patron’s head with a hefty crack. A voice had followed, laying blame on the group of Drow sequestered in the corner. That was, apparently, enough to instigate a brawl. Only moments later, the scuffle had encompassed the entire room. Dozens of drunk farmers, travelers, and even tavern staff were throwing themselves at any face they did not immediately recognize. Everyone was in chaos.
Everyone except Farley Ketch, of course, who had used the distraction to vanish up the stairs and towards the establishment’s largest room. The guilt from blaming the unassuming Drow scratched at the back of his mind. But he had to; it gave him the perfect opening. And it would be worth it.
Brevik’s Keg had no reputation for luxury and it’s ‘premiere suite’ reflected that. A price of double that of regular rooms seemingly only afforded a table and larger bed, surrounded by aged wood and unsettling portraits that matched the rest of the building. It even disappointed Ketch, who was unanimously considered to be lower than even those currently pummeling each other downstairs. But that would soon change. The room’s inhabitant, some traveling noble or merchant or similarly gold-dusted turd, was not present. Their dinner had been interrupted by a sturdy walloping, Ketch hoped. Regardless of where they had gone, their belongings had not gone with them. Ketch collected the small stack of papers from the table and made his way out.
Little had changed in the dining room colosseum. The first round of fighters had been handily eliminated and left to recover wherever they fell. The rest continued their contest. A chef had entered the fray, dirtying the white of his apron by wielding a metal pan. It was hardly sporting, but Ketch was not in a position to complain. He began weaving through the crowd, ducking under blind swings and dodging the bloodshot sight of battle-crazed workmen. Ketch danced swiftly through the room, happy to avoid the combat. But the combat was not going to avoid him.
The back of a muscle-bound caravan guard provided him cover for a few moments. His fortune was taken when the unwitting protector was felled by an even larger man of part orcish descent. A weighty body, reeking of sweat and alcohol, toppled backward and drove Ketch to the floor. The papers scattered from his grasp.
Panicked, the smaller man wriggled free and scrambled to collect the documents. A smell more chaotic than the rabble’s shouting coated the floor in sticky grime, but Ketch had no time to care. He kept low, snaking around legs to snatch his prize back. As he scrunched the last sheet into his arms, he stood back up, face to face with a bloodied, mustachioed elf, clad in resplendent blues. The turd.
The two shared a rainbow of shifting emotions, each rushing to understand their opposite. Ketch watched the man’s eyes settle on the papers, widen, then turn up in a wrathful scowl. His mouth opened, preparing to bellow a warcry to whichever of his hirelings was still conscious.
It was time for Ketch to leave. His free hand scrunched the elf’s shoulder, pulling him to trade places and allow the thief to escape.
Finally, just once, fortune favored Ketch. He used his grip to lunge forward, tossing the elf’s thinner frame behind him as he did. A quick backward glance revealed the elven man, wild scream burning his lungs, absorbing the blow meant for Ketch. The flat face of a metal frying pan carried his head to the side, dropping him against the tavern’s floor in a forced slumber.
Ketch stumbled at the sight. The rapid events had caught his attacker similarly off-guard, and the two took a moment to collect themselves. The elf was battered but breathing. He would live, with an amount of healing.
With a grateful, exasperated chuckle, Ketch backed away. A flock of hired goons found their way to the elf’s side, pulling him from the sodden stone. None of them paid any mind to the man slipping out the door and escaping into the brisk night air.
– by Troy McConnell
More content by Troy
In addition to the color scheme change, the PDF is now MUCH easier to print off and at a MUCH higher definition, so you can print it with a 1-inch grid on several US Letter sized pages – something you really couldn’t do before due to the dimensions of the building.
This map marks the start of “The Great Re-Scan” thanks to you all reaching our milestone on Patreon. At least once a week I will be re-uploading an old (pre-Dragon’s Lair) map newly conformed to our new standards, namely being at a much higher resolution (clearer when printed), easier to print, and even easier to plug into Roll20. Keep an eye out for those!
Trusty Tavern Downloads:
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