Boar's Hat Tavern Novels & Stories

Herne's tone seemed off for some reason, and Warren could not pinpoint why. "Not to be a wet blanket, but you'll probably need more than a drunk to get this thing to reveal itself in public." Cory reminded them. "Where hasn't he been?" Theria asked. Cory stared at the map and pointed to a lonely building, "The drunkest of the drunk go there, to the Big Chief bar and grill, where it's five o clock all the time." "Do you know the owner, and does he allow dogs in his bar?" "Cory held up a gold chip, ten years sober. Lots of ner do wells in that place. I think one of the patrons was up on a rape charge three years ago. After I got sober, Max, the bartender, refused to pour me another."

He took the hat around the bar and flung it out the back door. Once as a boy he had carried slops in a restaurant in New Orleans that actually used tablecloths, a standard of excellence which haunted him still. Every time he looked at the bare tables in the Dry Bean he felt a failure. Instead of having tablecloths, the tables were so rough you could get a splinter just running your hand over them. Also, they weren’t attractively round, since the cowboys could not be prevented from whittling on their

“We found that the day before Wilhem, the head of the black market in the North Border branch, passed away, he met someone from the Mabry family in Hattan. That person was the son of the Mabry family…” Dustin frowned. The Mabry family in Hattan… … Euphoria Lounge, located in the bustling heart of Hattan, was the biggest and most upscale bar and dance club in the city. At 8 p.m., Dustin arrived alone. He walked straight into the bar and sat at the counter. “Give me the strongest drink you have,” Dustin said indifferently. The bartender raised his eyebrows before he smiled. He poured Dustin a glass of unnamed liquor. Dustin picked it up and downed it in one go. The strong liquor burnt his thro

From his nose Boro took in the smells of food being cooked, bacon, eggs, and other rich scents filled his nostrils. Boro strode over to the bar, where several nearby lords eyed him and his sword and made disdainful faces. Boro tried to walk with confidence but the eyes on his back made him stubble from the foot of a chair. Face reddening, he straightened himself up and walked the last couple steps to the bar. "One mug of ale if you please," Boro said to the large woman wiping clean a glass mug. He dropped a few copper royals onto the counter top. " And a plate of whatever that delicious smell is as well"

His brow is permanently furrowed, and his eyes carry the cold, calculating stare of someone who has broken up more tavern brawls than he can remember. The barkeep’s jaw is clenched tightly as he wipes the countertop with a rag that looks scarcely cleaner than the surface itself. The motion is slow, practiced and absent minded. Behind him, selves packed with dusty bottles, ceramic jugs and cloudy glass flasks disappear into the shadows. The rest of the tavern is crowded with rough looking patrons hunched over wooden tabled. Most wore worn cloaks, patched leather jerkins, faded tunics and heavy traveling boots crusted with dried mud. Many of them sport thick, unkept bears and weathered faces e

I thanked him, and as soon as I stepped inside, I was hit by the greasy aroma deep-fried food. The bar had a small-town tavern vibe. The furniture was all heavy-looking wood in dark cherry that matched the bar sprawled across the back wall. A giant mural of a wolf’s head hung in the middle of the bar and was flanked by shelves on either side loaded down with bottles of liquor. It was busy as hell. Almost every table was taken, and every stool at the bar was occupied, save one at the very end. I looked around for the man I was supposed to meet.

A typical hybrid social club. Among the occupants who were awake, a light chatter filled the place, and no one seemed bothered by the visitor who infiltrated their midst. Ben reached the bar and took a seat. He removed his hat and fixed the collar of his shirt, instantly displaying a unique tattoo of a wolf's paw on the right side of his neck. The bartender, a tall Caucasian man, with a round beer belly and dull brown hair, which resembled a toupee on his circular skull approached Ben while wiping his thick meaty hands on a dirt-drenched apron, which Ben was free to assume was once white.

Only if she knew the half of it, Matt thought. “Dear, you promised me you’d be respectful. That includes Jodi and Jackie. They didn't have to fulfill Rita’s request. They’re still good girls. Also, their little attraction brings in a lot of tourists’ revenue to the town. That’s a fact whether you approve or not.” She grunted. “Let’s go inside shall we,” Jacobs groaned. They entered the bar. There was a big picture of Joe at the entryway. He was in his diner uniform proudly dawning his white chef’s hat.

Sam said to Emma and she nodded in approval. After they had eaten Lunch, Sam drove Emma to the outskirt of the town and she kept wondering why they were driving there. He parked the car in front of a bush bar with a bold inscription on top titled "SMITHS. " "Welcome to one of my bars. " Small said pointing at the bush bar to Emma. The place was zinc roofed which gave it a unique feature. The customers could be seen from the outside because there were no windows just a door. It was an open area and the vicinity had the settings of a conventional club except that it was made of bricks and roofed like an old building.

“Think on it. I give you much coin. I give many men much coin. But where does it all end up?” “Back in the alehouses…soon as we dock.” “My coin is returned…Over and over again.” “Ye clever bastar’!” Boy shook his head bemusedly. “Why you think I’m always drinking in them?” Bast chuckled. “See how they’re ran, what employees are doing there, how my tavern keepers are faring, and if their prices are reasonable…As well as the cleanliness of the facilities…” Boy stared at him wide-eyed, shaking his head as he repeated. “Clever bastar’…