ALE VATS
Looming over you are six large, sturdy oak vats of ale arranged in a neat pyramidal stack and held together with iron bands. You can sense a faint magical aura surrounding them. You notice a small ladder leaning against the side of the vats, and next to the ladder with a look of dismay stands the dwarven barmaid.
As you take a closer look at the six large vats of ale, you can sense the subtle magical energies emanating from the fermented brews, indicating that perhaps they were brewed using enchanted ingredients. They seem to be well-maintained and cared for, as there are no signs of leakage or damage. Each vat is labeled with either a name or a rune, or perhaps both, but they’re turned in such a way that you can’t see them at the same time.
Unfortunately, you’re not strong enough 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? You think I’d do something to Auberon, just to have the Inn?! He was like a father to me! I don’t know what twisting thoughts your magic keeps you thinking, but you’re greatly mistaken. Though, I guess there’s more than one capable individual under the Dread Dragon’s roof this evening.
What do I mean? 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!”
Unfortunately, you’re not strong enough 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? You think I’d do something to Auberon, just to have the Inn?! He was like a father to me! I don’t know what twisting thoughts your magic keeps you thinking, but you’re greatly mistaken. Though, I guess there’s more than one capable individual under the Dread Dragon’s roof this evening.
What do I mean? 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!”