ALE VATS
Towering above you are six large vats of ale stacked upon one another, each one made of sturdy oak and held together with iron bands. You can smell the sweet aroma of the ale wafting up to your nostrils, making your mouth water. You notice a small ladder leaning against the side of the vats, and next to the ladder with a look of dismay is the Dwarven barmaid.
The large oak vats of ale are stacked on top of each other into a pyramid, but well fitted in place and in no danger of barreling out of control. The vats appear to be labeled with either a name or a strange symbol, or maybe both, but they’re turned in such a way that you can’t see both the symbol and the name. They look heavy, but not so heavy that someone such as yourself couldn’t rotate them if need be.
(Tap the sides of the barrels to rotate them.)
Off to one side, eyeing the beer vats but clearly lost in her own thoughts is the dwarven barmaid. She shakes her head as you approach, and her mane of red curls catches in the lantern light, turning burnished gold. Having shaken herself from her reverie, she turns to meet your approach head on.
“An interrogation is it? Someone must, I guess. Here it is then. I’m Anrin Brawnbraid. Auberon hired me on as barkeep a few years back, and this Inn has been my life ever since. I can’t…”
Her voice catches for a moment and she glances down at her hands, looking at what appears to be a stock list for the nearby vats of ale. Despite her gruff exterior, her voice is surprisingly gentle and friendly, and you can’t help but feel at ease in her presence. She sighs before picking back up.
“I just have to keep this place running. It’s what Auberon would have wanted. I’m assuming I’ll just take things over from here on and… hold on, do you think I had something to do with Auberon’s murder? Flex your brain, rather than your muscles, and you’ll see you’re mighty mistaken. You think I’d do something to Auberon, just to have the Inn?! He was like a father to me! The Dread Dragon isn’t worth his loss. I’m not the only one with motive here!
Who is? Well, if we’re talking about drive and willingness to do dark deeds, there’s one patron here that’d be at the top of my list. That sorceress, she’s got fangs, literal and metaphorical. Auberon told me himself one night after too many drinks that she’s still bitter that he passed her over all those years ago. I wouldn’t trust a sorcerer as far as I could throw ‘em, and her not half that. She’s got dark magic running through her veins, and that sort of thing always tells. What is it they say, ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’? Imagine the sort of fury you’d find if the woman scorned was an Infernal, with a heart fueled by hellfire!”
(Tap the sides of the barrels to rotate them.)
Off to one side, eyeing the beer vats but clearly lost in her own thoughts is the dwarven barmaid. She shakes her head as you approach, and her mane of red curls catches in the lantern light, turning burnished gold. Having shaken herself from her reverie, she turns to meet your approach head on.
“An interrogation is it? Someone must, I guess. Here it is then. I’m Anrin Brawnbraid. Auberon hired me on as barkeep a few years back, and this Inn has been my life ever since. I can’t…”
Her voice catches for a moment and she glances down at her hands, looking at what appears to be a stock list for the nearby vats of ale. Despite her gruff exterior, her voice is surprisingly gentle and friendly, and you can’t help but feel at ease in her presence. She sighs before picking back up.
“I just have to keep this place running. It’s what Auberon would have wanted. I’m assuming I’ll just take things over from here on and… hold on, do you think I had something to do with Auberon’s murder? Flex your brain, rather than your muscles, and you’ll see you’re mighty mistaken. You think I’d do something to Auberon, just to have the Inn?! He was like a father to me! The Dread Dragon isn’t worth his loss. I’m not the only one with motive here!
Who is? Well, if we’re talking about drive and willingness to do dark deeds, there’s one patron here that’d be at the top of my list. That sorceress, she’s got fangs, literal and metaphorical. Auberon told me himself one night after too many drinks that she’s still bitter that he passed her over all those years ago. I wouldn’t trust a sorcerer as far as I could throw ‘em, and her not half that. She’s got dark magic running through her veins, and that sort of thing always tells. What is it they say, ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’? Imagine the sort of fury you’d find if the woman scorned was an Infernal, with a heart fueled by hellfire!”