Cobblestone Tavern Novels & Stories

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.

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.

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.

There wasn't a tavern in town before, but people decided to turn empty buildings into makeshift taverns to accommodate the onslaught of visitors in recent months and made a hefty sum in the process. This place was called the Robust Spirit Town, but what was robust wasn't the spirit of humans. In fact, vicious beasts would emerge from the Miasma Mountain Range and injure humans and livestock. This prompted any youngster with an ambition to make a name for themselves in the prosperous cities of the East Continent. Those who remained were mostly elderly people whose families had been here for generations or good-for-nothing hooligans that lived every day meaninglessly. The man in the woven rain