The Unfortunate Frog Inn

Located in the sleepy village of Hag's End and founded in the year.... erm.... well nobody really knows, The Unfortunate Frog is far from your typical, quaint country tavern. Here you'll find misfits of all shapes and sizes looking to fleece you for coin, punch you, or hire you to punch someone else.

Flinging open its gnarled oak doors, you are warmly greeted by the unmistakeable stench of the finest blend of body odour and western ale in the Midith. A cacophony of foreign accents, laughter and swearing buffets your ears. Glancing around the room, tiny taxidermied frogs adorn the shelves, in different poses of what look to be their final moments, one dangling from the main brazier from a noose, another with his head in a miniature guillotine wearing a rather miserable expression - poor guy.
Looking straight ahead, a long piece petrified oak bar stretches almost the length of the room. Behind it, under the mounted head of a deer with a sword in its mouth, stands Alston Bivelle, the bartender and owner of the tavern, cleaning horns and flagons of various sizes. Dressed in a dirty, semi-tattered white apron and a leather belt with iron buckle, a washcloth slung over his left shoulder.
To the left is a long rectangular table with a bench either side, on one side sit 4 of the dwarfiest dwarves you ever did see. All with varying lengths and colours of facial hair, beset with beads and cords marked with various runes, their faces wet with ale as they chug down flagon after flagon. Opposite the dwarves sit a band of humans, you can see from their tattos that they are ex-members of the moonlight guard. The humans are also chugging ale as fast as possible in an attempt to steal the dwarves' title. Around them, a crowd has gathered and is chanting 'Golwen, Golwen, Golwen and Killian Killian Killian on either side. (roll a d4 to see who wins odd = human).
Looking over to the right side of the tavern, the crackle of the ancient fireplace can just about be heard through the noise. You can feel the comforting warmth on on your face, the smell of fine tobacco wafting over from the smoking pipes of two rather well-to-do looking halflings, dwarfed by their respective ornate armchairs, warming their enourmous hairy feet by the fire. Once more unto the breach, dear friends. Whatever will you do next?

Type

Pub / Tavern / Restaurant