Boar's Hat Tavern Novels & Stories

Instead, he shoulders open the door to a smaller tavern called the Dusty Battleaxe. Warm smells of hoppy beer and more heavy stew pour out into the night on a current of music and laughter. Round tables dot the main floor, about half full, just like the stools at the bar. On the far end, next to a roaring hearth I am grateful for after the unexpectedly cold night, sits a pair of musicians. One plucks a lute and sings roughly half the words to a drinking song I recognize the tune of while the other handles a flute with shocking mastery. The barkeep, a plump woman, smacks a patron with the rag in her hand, and the patron only laughs.

Black and scaly with a beak full of jagged sharp teeth. In the distance a child cried, the sound cutting through the bleak night, as the moon shone down on quiet streets. I made my way across town to Sapiens, an old tavern that still operated on the outskirts of Briarshire. An establishment that had been passed down through generations and had even withstood the great Lycan wars from two and a half centuries ago. With my enhanced hearing I could make out the lowly chatter of patrons and the giggles coming from the women who worked there. It was a bar, but it also doubled as a bordello house.

“There’s a bar not far from here.” THEY ENDED UP AT A bar about halfway between work and home. An off the road place that Mandy would never have pictured Carl going in to. It was a local tavern kind of place with deer heads and other stuffed animals staring blatantly at you from the wall. Carl pointed at a table under a moose head with massive antlers and walked to the bar to grab drinks. Cautiously, Mandy slid on the bench under the elk, eying it with mistrust. There was a reason nobody was sitting by this area, hopefully it wasn’t because of the beast above them.

For all he knew, or cared, Paul could quit because of his lack of interest in Paul working out in his new position. “Sure Bill. Whatever you say.” Thank heavens he didn’t need to come in first thing in the morning. Paul probably would like to see some of his pack and get to work with them. “I better go. So, I can catch him before he leaves for the day. Anything else?” “Yeah, so what is with the magically returning tavern owner?” Bill couldn’t even get the type of business correct. A tavern was more like a restaurant that served alcohol. A bar was a drinking establishment that might sell snack type foods.

The other single-story storefronts were closed up for the night, the bright white from the bar's sign the only illumination aside from the orange-ish glow of streetlamps. Her tavern was pretty large in comparison to the other buildings. The gray clapboard siding had no doubt been weathered by salt-infused sunshine and wind off the sea. It resembled a large crab shack with burgundy shutters framing the large lower and small upper window. The front door had a gold plaque indicating Locals Only, along with hours of operation and that they were closed on Sundays and Mondays. Above that was an enormous fishing hook mounted to the frame that could've taken down Moby Dick.

When I felt confident my horse would be well taken care of, I led Sage to the tavern entrance. It smelled like spilled beer and a hot meal, with a little livestock undertone. The tavern was far less bright than the sunny day outside, but it was hardly dim. There were tons of bodies moving like blood through veins inside the tavern, and I squinted as my eyes adjusted to the interior. "Well, you rat bastard, how dare you show your face here?"

Dominance layered beneath beer, leather, and rain. Hollow Creek Bar & Grill had not changed much. Same long wooden bar. Same scratched tables. Same green-shaded lights over the pool tables. Same mounted deer head above the fireplace, still wearing the ridiculous Santa hat someone probably forgot to take down five Christmases ago. For one stupid second, I almost smiled. Damien had hated that deer. Said it looked judgmental. I pushed the memory down before it could become something softer. The second I stepped farther inside, conversations thinned one by one.

Bari didn’t ask any further questions and led the group towards the tavern that was written on the scroll ‘Green Serpent Tavern’. Unlike the taverns in the other parts of the kingdom, this one reflected the true lifestyle of the gipsy where drinking was only one of the activities. There were performers, gamblers and even sporting events like blind-folded archery with live targets. “Do we have a name for the one you want to meet?” Bari asked in a low voice as they neared the tavern.

Since gin and not boxing talk was what he came for, this did not trouble him, and he was quite content to ensconce himself in a cosy corner of the tap-room and watch the prize fighters and the Corinthians drift past him to the inner sanctum. The tavern was always crowded, every young gentleman came to it, every prize fighter of note, and it was not unusual for some ambitious person to walk in and pick a quarrel with the genial host for the privilege of being able to boast afterwards that he had exchanged blows with the champion. This practice had of late become less popular, as Boa had formed a disappointing habit of hauling his would-be assailants straight before a magistrate, on the score

It sounds like a real charming place, she thought sarcastically. After Caitlin got settled at the DoubleTree Hotel, she put in the address for Hokies Bar in her GPS. When Joan had called the place a watering hole, she was spot on. It was a small place that stood alone yet close to the shore. An old dock wasn’t far away from it. Two sail boats bobbed in the water at the dock.