The Guzzling Host

in Banderez

The Guzzling Host squats low in the Hollow like a drunken beast that refuses to die, its walls leaning at odd angles and its patched roof sagging beneath decades of neglect. The original structure—a cramped, single-room tavern—has long since been swallowed by a sprawl of mismatched add-ons: a crooked lean-to kitchen that steams ominously in the mornings, a narrow side room where rickety booths line warped walls, and another shoddily built extension filled with uneven tables scarred by knives, fists, and spilled ale. The entire building has slowly sunk into the wet earth of the Hollow over the years, leaving the main bar half a step lower than the rest of the room; when it rains, muddy water seeps in through the floorboards until it becomes a shallow, unwelcome puddle beneath patrons’ feet.

A cracked sign hangs over the doorway, its faded paint depicting a grotesquely jolly creature—part ogre, part drunkard—guzzling from an overflowing tankard. The lantern beside the door is always dim, as though ashamed of being associated with the place, and a perpetual scent of stale beer and damp wood seeps from the open windows. Yet despite its dilapidation, the Guzzling Host is never empty. In Banderez’s lower quarter, the Host is a refuge for the desperate, the reckless, and the kind of people who consider a night without a brawl a wasted evening.

Inside the Guzzling Host

The Guzzling Host throbs with noise the moment the door creaks open. The heat from too many bodies packed into sagging rooms rolls across the space in waves, carrying the scent of cheap ale, sweat-soaked tunics, and whatever dubious stew bubbles in the lean-to kitchen. Mud sloshes underfoot around the sunken bar, a puddled pit of murky water and trampled straw that patrons ignore with practiced indifference. Lanternlight flickers against warped beams and knife-scarred tables, turning the tavern into a shifting collage of shadow, laughter, and sudden movement.

Behind the bar strides a tall, heavyset man with slicked-back dark hair, jewelled rings flashing as he pours drinks and a grin that flickers between charm and calculation (Tarris Goodharbor). He slaps tankards onto the counter with booming enthusiasm, greeting arrivals like returning champions while cataloguing their coin purses and debts with a predator’s precision. Patrons reach out to clasp his forearm, a gesture he returns warmly even as his eyes sharpen with silent appraisal.

Not far from him, standing like a stone pillar in the chaos, is a towering orc woman with mottled grey-green skin, broad tusks, and arms crossed over a chest built from decades of fighting (Kralla Stonecleaver). She watches the room with a warhound’s patience, stepping forward whenever voices rise too sharply. Tonight she interrupts a scuffle between two brutes by merely looming over them, both men suddenly finding other things to do.

On her left, a lanky youth with jittery limbs, pockmarked skin, and a tangled mop of hair (Fenno Pike) darts from table to table, collecting empty mugs while avoiding cups thrown more in celebration than anger. He yelps when a sloshing tankard misses his head by inches, then skitters out of reach with desperate agility as laughter erupts from nearby tables.

Near the crooked booths in the side room sits a wiry older woman with sunken cheeks, mud-caked boots, and fingers twitching like she’s perpetually rolling invisible dice (Darna “Quickstep” Hallow). She slams her mug against the table in triumph, shouting at a burly miner with a stained beard and hands like shovels (unnamed miner) who groans into his ale as he realizes she’s just won another round. Darna cackles, scattering copper coins with reckless cheer.

In the rear extension, two cloaked figures sit close, their posture tense: gaunt men in identical grey hooded cloaks, pale-eyed and still as hunting cats in deep grass (Rarm and Rell). They whisper in low tones, finishing each other’s sentences, while their fingers hover near hidden blades. Even the rowdiest patrons give the pair a wide berth.

At a nearby table, a stocky man with patchy stubble, a crooked nose, and arms marked with old burn scars (unnamed glassblower) drinks heavily, sloshing ale on himself as he regales companions with wild stories of kiln explosions and workplace disasters. His tablemates—a short, barrel-chested labourer with a shaved head (unnamed labourer) and a tall, rail-thin fellow with a nervous laugh (unnamed scarecrow-thin man)—cheer him on, pounding their mugs against the table in encouragement.

Near the kitchen door, a grimy woman with tangled brown hair, soot-stained sleeves, and a pot ladle clenched like a weapon (unnamed kitchen drudge) glowers at anyone who wanders too close to her lean-to domain. She slams the door shut whenever arguments flare, muttering curses about “idiots muddying her floor again.”

Closer to the main bar, a trio of rough-looking hunters, one with a missing ear, one with a wolfskin cloak, and one with mismatched boots (each unnamed) attempt to outdrink one another while tossing bones from a snapped chicken leg at Fenno, who dodges around them with near-magical desperation.

By the tilted window, a pale, reed-thin woman with wide eyes and shaking hands (unnamed Hollow beggar) sips watered ale slowly, staring into the muddy bar pit as though listening for something beneath the floorboards. Kralla keeps an eye on her—more concerned than she lets on.

All the while the tavern roars. Tankards crash, dice roll, chairs scrape, bodies collide, someone shouts for more stew, someone else threatens to break a jaw, and above it all moves Tarris Goodharbor, a grinning king among ruins, weaving through the chaos with the confidence of a man who knows every secret spoken here, and every coin that will change hands by night’s end.

Services

The Guzzling Host provides food, drink, and a measure of chaotic shelter at the lowest prices in Banderez. The ale is thin and heavily watered down, with a sour aftertaste that regulars insist you “get used to eventually.” Stronger brews exist but are either stolen, bootlegged, or dangerous enough that Tarris keeps them under lock and key. The food is barely edible but usually free of maggots, consisting mostly of greasy stews, mystery-meat pies, and bread tough enough to double as a club. There are no rooms for rent—only corners to pass out in, benches to slump over, and the floor, which is free but widely considered the least comfortable option. What the Guzzling Host offers, truly, is a place to drink away the dirt and bitterness of the Hollow without judgement.

NPCs of the Guzzling Host

Staff

Kralla Stonecleaver

Orc (Female)
Description: A towering, heavily muscled orc woman with mottled grey-green skin, braided black hair, wide tusks, and forearms like carved oak. Her sheer physical presence demands respect and shuts down trouble before it begins.
Speech & Mannerisms: Speaks in blunt, clipped words. Cracks her knuckles when annoyed. Glowers at suspicious patrons and steps forward silently whenever violence stirs.
General Information: Hired muscle for the Guzzling Host, Kralla is fiercely loyal to Tarris—not out of fear or pay, but respect. She keeps fights from turning into bloodbaths and maintains a tenuous order in the chaos.

Fenno Pike

Human (Male)
Description: A thin, nervous youth with pockmarked skin, messy hair, and jittery movements. He darts between tables with the anxious energy of someone forever expecting to be shouted at—or hit.
Speech & Mannerisms: Talks in short bursts, often stumbling over words. Flinches at sudden noise, drops mugs frequently, and scurries away from brawls with surprising speed.
General Information: Employed as the tavern’s cleaner, runner, and general dogsbody, Fenno works long hours for meagre pay. He knows every hiding place in the Host and overhears more secrets than Tarris realises.

Patrons

Darna “Quickstep” Hallow

Human (Female)
Description: A wiry woman in her early fifties with sharp features, sunken cheeks, and quick dark eyes. Her boots are always muddy, her fingers always twitching, as though ready to flee or fight.
Speech & Mannerisms: Chatters rapidly, slurring when drunk, and punctuates her stories with mug slams. Fidgets with her belt pouch, especially when gambling.
General Information: A former courier turned tavern regular, Darna spends most nights gambling away what little coin she earns. Her gossip is plentiful, unreliable, and often entertaining. Tarris keeps a close tally of her debts.

Rarm Grey (One of the Grey Twins)

Human (Male)
Description: A gaunt man wrapped in a grey hooded cloak, with pale eyes, hollow cheeks, and an unsettling stillness. His movements are precise, quiet, and difficult to track.
Speech & Mannerisms: Speaks in whispers, often finishing sentences his brother begins. Watches others intently while barely moving.
General Information: Rumoured to be a smuggler, cutpurse, or worse, Rarm uses the Guzzling Host as a neutral meeting ground. Locals keep their distance, and even Tarris rarely pushes him.

Rell Grey (One of the Grey Twins)

Human (Male)
Description: Nearly identical to his brother Rarm—gaunt, pale, and wrapped in a hooded grey cloak. His eyes track movement like a predator storing details for later.
Speech & Mannerisms: Finishes Rarm’s sentences, whispers with eerie calm, and never removes his gloves.
General Information: Rell is the quieter and more patient of the twins. Together, they form a fearsome reputation neither confirms nor denies. They watch the Host like hawks, waiting for opportunities only they understand.

Rumours in the Guzzling Host

– Tarris knows every debt owed in the Hollow—and every secret whispered too loudly.
– Kralla Stonecleaver once killed a man with a soup ladle and kept serving stew.
– Tarris supposedly keeps a ledger locked away that could ruin half the Hollow.
– Fenno Pike is said to have seen something monstrous crawl out of the muddy bar pit one stormy night.
– Some say the kitchen lean-to once collapsed during a brawl, killing no one—but injuring everyone.