Cobblestone Tavern Novels & Stories

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.

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.

He hadn’t bar hopped in ages. Trevor was checking out of his hotel when Eric came through the doors. “Hey, buddy, I came to see if you were alive this morning.” Trevor chuckled. “I am. I’m surprised you don’t have a hangover.” “Me too,” Eric admitted with a small smile. “I’ve decided to take my last couple of grand to Stones in Sacramento.” “What’s Stones?” “A small clean quiet casino, but they got great poker games. I came to get you to come with me.”

The marketplace was the only stone-cobbled area of town, the dirt of the main road ending suddenly as they stepped in, the market was fifty feet in diameter and had empty stalls dotting the edges. “The place sounds cheery,” Venya said with a smile, hearing the music and loud laughing coming from the tavern. Everyone nodded in agreement as they continued onward, Grub was rubbing his hands together eagerly. “Nothing dumb,” Dilo growled to Grub, who turned to face her and shrugged. “Many full coin bags, Grub can smell it,” Grub replied with a broad smile, twitching his fingers in anticipation.

Scattered throughout the section of the city there are patched of greenery– trees with bright green leaves rise between houses and along streets, softening the stone-heavy environment. When the group turned at a corner, they found themselves in a wide street paved with uneven grey cobblestone polished smooth by years of foot traffic. small puddles reflect the sunlight in places, giving the road a slightly damp appearance, as though it had recently rained. Towering on both sides of the street are tightly packed buildings made of rough stone and timber framing. On the left side of the street hands a large wooden tavern sign reading ‘The Rusty Tankard’ in elegant golden lettering. Beneath the w

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.

The Midnight Coyote Saloon reeked of smoke and whiskey. The sounds of guitar-laden country music thumped through the surround system, crooning a tune about a long-lost pair of lovers as Rebel and Lily stepped inside. Dim drop-hat lights cloaked the bar in shadow, leaving plenty to the imagination, and peanut shells littered the floor, crunching beneath the heels of their boots. The open space showcased an array of booths and tables all centered around an old wooden bar top. From appearance, this was little more than a hole-in-the-wall western bar, but Rebel knew better.

Celeste and Kenny agreed to meet at a barbecue stall, which was Kenny's idea. The place was called Summertime Diner. There were men who wore expensive T-shirts and denim shorts, and women who were even more gorgeous than celebrities. They were all sitting at the roadside stall. They enjoyed barbecue skewers which cost around three dollars each and drank canned beer. They didn't seem to fit in the background at all. "Welcome to Taverdale." Under the nightlight, Celeste raised her can of beer and smiled at Kenny.

“You have to help us. There are men with guns and they are holding us hostage at—” What is the name of this restaurant again? Fuck. Fuck! I can't remember the damn name! Think Daisy. Think! “Ma'am, I need you to stay calm,” the operator says. “Where are you located?” “Um... it's... it's a restaurant on...” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember the street name Sebastian mentioned when we first arrived. “West 52nd Street. Near... near 8th Avenue. It's called... The... The Cove. Italian restaurant. Red awning outside.”

"The Rusty Bolt" was the kind of place where the air seemed to have been filtered through decades of tobacco, cheap whiskey, and the sweat of men who didn’t know what an easy life was. Located on the outskirts of the city, the bar served as the unofficial sanctuary of the Leather Wolves. The red and blue neon lights flickered intermittently, casting distorted shadows over the stained wooden tables and the leather jackets that filled the room.