Boar's Hat Tavern Novels & Stories

Ambroz groaned out, letting it go. We were right on our way out to grab a drink, when certain girls squealed at the both of us. “Oh my, how can two men be so good looking?!” They exclaimed, giggling and blushing on their spots. I winked at them, waving as we got down from the moving stairs Ambroz said was an escalator. On getting to the tavern, my best friend scolded me on its new name which was called a “bar.” His phone rang the minute we ordered a drink, and while I tasted this new alcohol, he went across to take the call.

He asks writing on his notepad. “You know me so well.” I smile as he walks to the kitchen. A gust of wind blows in from the front door. The tavern is a dark wood paneled den. A real working fireplace is on the far wall. Across from it is a bar lining the center of the room. Some dark tables with matching spindle chairs fill the floor. The smell of lacquer and beer fill the air. The place just opened for the day and I can also smell the grill going. “Hey man, you been here long?” Lee asks as he takes a seat next to me at the bar.

“Can you believe we’re hanging out with a famous rock band?” She giggles. We’re here to have fun, and so far, tonight has been more than fun. Reentering the bar, I halt, and Peyton does, too. Warner and Jake are at our table. I don’t want to go over there with the entire band present. I tell Peyton to go borrow a hat. I stride toward the bar. “What can I get you?” the bartender greets while drying a glass. “I realize this goes against cowboy code, but could I borrow your Stetson for a bit?”

“It’s just a tavern. No different from the ones you have back home.” I doubted that, but I stepped inside anyway. Inside the tavern, the air was thick with the scent of smoke, alcohol, and sweat. Someone was playing a fiddle on a small stage in the corner. The bartender, a muscular woman with caramel skin, was laughing at something someone else was saying as she cleaned the inside of a large mug. All around, drunken patrons laughed, played cards, and swayed to the music. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that different. While Eric and Ember got us drinks from the bar, Neil, Castor and I found a table in a dark corner. With our cloaks covering our faces and our heads bent, we looked just like the other s

My soaked clothes cling to me, and every so often Leo glances sideways, checking on me without a word. By the time we reach an inn, I’m so tired I could cry. It’s a squat timber building tucked against the side of a mossy hill, firelight flickering behind warped glass windows. The sign reads The Thistle & Boar, and smoke curls from the chimney. Inside, the warmth nearly brings me to my knees. The common room is alive with noisy laughter, clinking mugs, boots thumping against the floorboards. A red headed woman in a green velvet gown is singing in the corner, her voice strong and smooth. A man with an accent and two dogs at his feet tells a story too fast for me to follow. Behind the bar, a s

This tavern was located close to the entrance to the scorching skull desert and the only checkpoint where travelers could get a good drink and meal before they ventured on thier adventure. Aside from the other horse that stayed in the stable, nine stood out from the rest. Nine good strong horses of the elites that had only arrived minutes earlier. She slammed her jug back on the counter and let out a loud gruff. She exhaled loudly as she threw back her crimson red hair and stared at the huge taverner before her. "You call this ale? It tastes like cows piss." She spat out. The taverner wiped a stain off his moustache and said. "I'll go get you another Miss...?"

Apparently, the pub hadn't always been so creatively named. Back in the day, a full moose head had graced the entrance, earning the place the straightforward title of "The Moose Head." But time and the elements had conspired against the trophy, and during a particularly vicious storm, it had tumbled to the ground, leaving only the antlers still somewhat intact. Armand St. John, the owner and a man of practicality, had salvaged the yellowed rack, hung it up, and promptly renamed his establishment accordingly.

I straightened my posture, trying to shake off the fog in my head. “Umm… I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Barley Ale, Miss.” He rumbled, dropping his cowboy hat on the counter with a light thud. His tone was calm, but deep , like a sheriff in an old Western movie….no….he was a sheriff. “I’ll get—do you have any particular brand in mind?” I asked, just to make sure I didn’t mess up his order. “I’ll try Champions today,” he said, leaning back in his chair, making himself way too comfortable.

It was already late evening when they got there and it was business rush hour because several large groups of hunters had returned from either the plains or the forest farther away, nearer to a very very distant town that frequently made profitable deals with Tiger City's government. Some of the group of hunters had come to celebrate a successful hunt while the other groups had come to drink away their sorrows. "This, my friends, is Barnes Bar. Walk a little further down the road and you will see a big, beautiful hotel. That is Horr's hotel. They share a good business relationship with this bar." Charlie went on to give a brief history while they neared the bar's entrance.

Asher The tavern smelled like old Rogues and fresh blood. It was the kind of place that never saw daylight, being wedged between crumbling stone deep in the less wealthy edge of the capital. No banners here. No royal colors. Just soot-stained wood, a haze of smoke from cheap cigars, and a bartender who asked no questions so long as the coin was good. It was perfect. I sat in a corner booth shrouded in shadow, one boot braced against the edge of the table, the other foot planted firmly on the sticky floorboards.