Cobblestone Tavern Novels & Stories

"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.

Word was that, young girls were kept in a secret room inside the Tavern before being transported to the brothel in el Paradiso but there was no proof that this room even existed. Lance lingered in his car, surveying the place before he set off, walking into the infamous crowded tavern. He winced, feeling suffocated. The odor was sweaty as people were grooving to the loud music that was playing infinitely. Focusing on his mission, Lance took to the bar and ordered his drinks while eyeing the man he had followed. His name was Calvary. Gabriella had briefed him about the man’s suspicious dealings once. Calvary’s gaze enviously shifted towards Lance as the bar attendant placed a six pack of Hein

Naomi Calyx’s grip tightens on my arm as he pulled me into the rundown tavern, ignoring my protests. The dim lighting cast eerie shadows on the stained walls, the flickering lanterns barely illuminating the faces of the rough-looking patrons. The pungent stench of stale beer and sweat hung heavy in the air, mixed with the sharp tang of cigarette smoke that curled around trembling fingers. In one corner, a group of men sat huddled together, puffing on their pipes and filling the room with the sweet aroma of tobacco.

Two minutes before the allotted time to meet each other, Cent’s gaze wandered around the lively and crowded tavern. Busty witches with their pointy hats served the goblins and orcs merrily. Trays of pints made of wood and filled with beer oozed inside the tavern. One zombie with flesh still intact with his body, played a lovely traveler’s song using a pipe. Some incubus with their revealing tunics danced around hand in hand with the other young witches as the customers cheered for them – some customers that were too drunk to care joined merry thumping of feet onto the wooden floor and flipping of partners with exciting turns. All in all, it was a lively and harmonious place.

I get my shit and head out of the tavern. "Look, I'm sorry, Natalie. I didn't know. Let me make it up to you. I'll get you a mutton muffin to go," he says. "Do you have any idea how stupid that name sounds?" I laugh. "Yeah, it's pretty bad. My dad is the owner of this joint and made the cheesy menu names himself," he says. "Your dad owns this place. What's it even called?" I ask. "The Troll Tavern," Collin laughs.

Nelson ventured farther until he saw the Coal Hole Tavern's sign creaking in the light breeze. The door burst open, and several men and two women stumbled out laughing. Their faces were familiar, actors he'd seen at recent plays. That was of no surprise, though. The Coal Hole was a gathering place for many actors and had even been a private theater at one time. Nelson let the men and women pass by before he caught the open door and slipped inside. The taproom was rowdy but not as unseemly as a tavern would be in other parts of London. But by nightfall the lightskirts and pickpockets would be out, much to the respective delight and despair of men brave enough to venture here after hours.

They made more small talk as they made their way to the stalwart bar that had been around far longer than they had, and stepped inside of what felt like a time capsule. The inside was dark as one would expect, small lights dotted here and there over some of the tables and the bar itself. Faux candelabra decorated the walls and provided even more soft ambiance. The smell of the ocean air swept into the open windows, keeping the old, scrubbed pine walls coated in the finest layer of salty brine. The place had always been a tavern and dated back to the early 1800s, with the ghost stories and local lore to show for it, along with the photos - some of them ancient-looking - placed haphazardly bet

I stroke my fingers to get his attention. "Yes, Madam." He responds. Following my suggestion, Red and I roam around until we find our search. Before us stands a rugged two story building that seems to go way back to the colonial era. It's a small hotel and its lobby contains a bar...or diner? I fail to grasp. Minutes later I figure it's a small tavern that's seemingly quite popular among the folks. Plenty of noise regards us, that only dies off when we finally walk in, and I'm sure our appearances stand out more than we think.

I grinned, “It's the least I can do since you're helping me find shoes to match my dress.” Brynn excitedly scrambled from behind the counter, following me out the shop. The streets weren't bustling as much. Only a few wandered about, the rest probably returned home or grabbed lunch in a random pub. “Just down the road.” I pointed, “It’s the one called Humblers Tavern.” “I don’t think I ever ate there.” “It's not much appearance wise, but their food is amazing.” “They could do with a makeover.” Brynn agreed, “Maybe some paint could do. Or-”

Dylan cracked a smile. "Are you alright?" Dylan nodded. "And this sword?" Theodore looked at the sword Dylan held in his hand. Dylan ran a hand over the head, "You came in a good time" Dylan dropped the subject, "give two hundred gold coins to the owner of the Tavern." Everyone looked at Dylan. Is she a noblewoman? Archie wondered. "Miss…" Theodore stared at Dylan intently. Dylan approached Theodore and whispered in his ear, "This tavern often suffers from looters because it's in the middle of Greavaria and Promor," he got away and broke into a smile.