Frowny's

"Where the ale costs a copper, and tastes just as cheap!"

"To my left, there was a drunkard drowning his own putrid bile. To my right, a buzzed paladin was giving a man's lap the what-for in mail chausses. My own manhood shrunk away in fear as I nursed a cup of skunked ale, praying to the miserable gods above that my 'room' was half as clean as this shithole."

- Esrion, The Aftermath

Once the bustling cornerstone of Pillar Circle, Frowny's tavern squats unassumingly in the wreckage of the King's Hold slums. Sleazy businessmen and rogues that once avoided the tavern altogether flock to its shadows, and the usually chipper clientele seem to have retreated even further into their murky grog. Although this place has definitely seen better days, there's still cheap ale and more where it came from.

Purpose / Function

Once upon a long time ago, Frowny's was a bustling establishment situated in the outer ring of King's Hold. As the first permanent building in the area (now called the Pillar Circle), Frowny's was the go-to place for tired workers at the end of a long day. As the city's slums slowly grew around the tavern, Frowny made it a point to welcome every patron, as long as they didn't make a mess of his establishment. This order of business only propelled his success, creating a welcome environment for even the poorest residents of King's Hold. Decades later, this rule is still in effect, and just as popular.
Despite its dour name, a wayward adventurer could always stumble in for a pint and come out with a few new drinking buddies. The establishment's self-proclaimed "guardian angels" kept the bar clear of troublemakers, making it relatively safe for even the most timid patrons. Revelry outside the tavern would last long into the night, filling the circle with cheer until guards inevitably came to silence the rabble (or, on occasion, join the fun themselves). Jovial pokes at Frowny's ill-tempered appearance are commonplace, but the famous bartender always handles them with a grim smile and a polite nod.
A few decades later, Frowny's is nothing but a husk of its bustling past. The lounge once glowing with energy has fallen silent, its loyal patrons either dead or missing. The ragtag organization of peacekeepers has vanished, leaving room for crime and deceit in the shadowed alcoves of the bar. Despite the tavern's ups and downs, the ale hasn't dried up yet; so it lives on, stubborn as a mule.

Alterations

Besides minor maintenance and renovations, Frowny's main lounge and rooms hadn't undergone major changes. Until 1102 e.p., when the tavern fell victim to the destruction wrought by The Calamity. Everything but the sturdy stone foundation crumbled to rubble, leaving the establishment unrecognizable to all but the most devout patrons. It's since been rebuilt to a fraction of its former glory, with no time in sight for a complete renovation. It remains to be seen if Frowny's health will hold long enough for him to continue his proprietorship, or if the cornerstone of the Pillar Circle will fall into permanent ruin.

Architecture

Before the building's destruction, Frowny's was a sturdy, brown-bricked structure that stood proud among the squat buildings of Pillar Circle. The second floor of the building was decorated with stucco and half-timbering (akin to the Tudor-style homes of English descent). Mounted above the doorway was a carved sign, bearing the name of the tavern and a frowning man nursing a mug of beer. Its small latticed windows let plenty of sunlight inside, and when night fell, wrought-iron chandeliers illuminated the interior with soft candlelight. Contrary to the tavern's name, some people would describe the building's closely-grouped windows and elaborately carved archway as resembling a welcoming smile.
Inside, the warmly-lit lounge housed many red-cushioned chairs and booths for parties of all sizes. Various paintings and trophies were hung on the white stucco walls, with heavier items such as shields nailed directly to the tavern's timber frame. The bar- which displayed enough booze to inebriate an elephant- was tucked in the far left corner, across from a modest stage in the shape of a circle's quarter. Velvety red curtains were occasionally hung between the stage and the rest of the lounge to be pulled back for a dramatic flair. Around a gently crackling fireplace near the door were a variety of seats, ranging from couches to small barrels. The fearsome head of a displacer beast was mounted on the chimney, keeping a stern eye on the establishment's guests.
The second floor was located in the building's steeply pitched roof, accessible via stairs near the stage. The center of the loft was partially open to look down on the bustling tavern below, protected by a simple railing that went around the interior ledge. There were a few chairs and tables on this lofted platform, perfect for couples to get away from the noise. Three doors on the second floor led into the various rooms one could stay in, and a fourth led into a small pantry. The rooms were decorated in a similar style to the rest of the bar, minus the many decorations. In each of the rooms, there was ample space for two adventurers to spend a night comfortably.

After the Calamity (1101 e.p.)

Thanks to Frowny's loyal patrons, the tavern was able to be partially rebuilt. However, the economic issues following The Calamity in King's Hold hit its slums the hardest. The only materials available were rubble and more rubble, but it had to do. The building now only consists of the first-floor lounge, since none of the scavenged wood was sturdy enough to support two stories. Frowny's original sign was lucky enough to survive the destruction and now rests beside the squat, bowing doorway. Surprisingly, the sign has remained exactly where it was placed; perhaps the bar's good name still garners some respect. The cheery latticed windows were replaced with thin scraps of leather nailed into the wall, making the dilapidated interior gloomy day and night. Since the ceiling isn't tall enough to allow a proper chandelier, the tavern's interior is lit exclusively by the sad stumps of beeswax candles.
The lavish, welcoming interior of Frowny's has been degraded to a few tables and barrels, and the bar. Luckily the inviting fireplace remains, providing a shred of heat despite the tavern's thin walls. The bar's stock has been relegated to a few kegs of Scraper's Favorite Stout, to the chagrin of Frowny's higher-paying customers. Most of the décor has vanished too- including the stuffed displacer beast head. Pleasant music no longer drifts from the corner stage, but on occasion scattered tunes can be heard over the din of gruff voices. The center of the tavern is usually populated with sleeping folks, thankful for a place to stay in the absence of adequate housing. Waxed sheets of leather are provided to deflect leaking rainwater on stormy nights.

History

Throughout the tavern's lifetime, many a tall tale has arisen about Frowny. Some say the unassuming man is a murderer on the run, hiding in plain sight and turning his victim's blood into ale. More heroic tales describe him as a valiant knight, who put down his arms for good after slaying his evil nemesis. However, on rare lonely nights, you might catch Frowny telling his tale to a small crowd around the bar. It goes something like this...
Long before he was a barkeep, Frowny was just another soldier in the King's Hold militia. He wasn't a powerful mage or a high-ranking general, but just good enough to keep his head on for as long as he had. His love for the brew started in the barren countryside, piqued by his search for the strongest drink each passing inn to offer. In truth, Frowny wasn't a soldier at heart; just desperate to make ends meet. He'd always condemned alcohol for the drug it was, but couldn't escape the faces of his victims without a pint or two at night. Like birds to a flock, he attracted soldiers from similar backgrounds, and before long had a small group of drinking buddies he could confidently call friends. Though the three were rarely sober enough to carry each other back to the barracks, groggily waking up beside a few familiar faces was a rare comfort that young Frowny took solace in.
As they journeyed on, the inklings of a dream began to take shape among the companions. They wanted to start a tavern of their own, where people could escape from their miseries for just a few copper. With winter quickly falling upon the land, that warm, fuzzy hope brought warmth to the trio.
Three became four when they met a man named Scraper at their latest posting. He brewed the ale for a nearby tavern, and it was only right that Frowny and co. meet him after getting their socks knocked off by the strength of his work! They hit it off instantly, especially Frowny and Scraper. After a few drinks and jovial conversation, he promised his secret stout recipe to the future entrepreneurs, should they survive long enough to make use of it.
Disaster struck on a bitter winter night. The Springwinter centaurs surprised the battalion with a sudden and vicious assault, leaving the soldiers scrambling as their ranks were mercilessly sundered. Frowny may have been just good enough to survive, but this time he wasn't able to escape the fray without injury. An axe to the thigh had him carted off the front lines, his escape secured with his two friends' last breaths. Scraper suffered a similar fate that night; when he couldn't put out his burning home, he tucked his stout's recipe in a metal lockbox for Frowny to find and took up a sword in the name of his village.
Overnight, the most grievously-injured soldiers were taken to King's Hold to recover. Upon waking and discovering the fate of his three best friends, Frowny was devastated. The dream almost died on a bloodstained cot in King's Hold; until the metal lockbox found its way to Frowny a few weeks later, the secret stout recipe still intact. It was then he realized stopping now would be a dishonor to everyone that died in his name, and dedicated his time recovering to securing a building permit with his modest savings.
Luckily, Frowny was honorably discharged from the militia due to the severity of his injury. Without missing a beat, the construction of his dream tavern began.
As history would show, Frowny's flourished; people from all corners of King's Hold visited his tavern, left their sorrows at the door, and made merry. For a handful of copper, patrons could slip away into a mug of Scraper's Favorite Stout, named after Frowny's dearest companion. People listened in awe as he recalled the heroics of his soldier friends, inspired by the crested shields lining the walls. And in the voice of every wayward soldier that stumbled into his bar, he heard gratitude for every pint they received on the house. At last, the dream of Frowny and his companions had come true.

Tourism

Despite the tavern's notoriety, Frowny's hardly receives any tourism. This is in part due to a combination of the city surrounding it, and the naturally small circles that frequent the inn. Only brave sightseers will venture in the slums of King's Hold for mankind's worst ale, and even braver ones risk a night on the rat-ridden floor. To anyone but its loyal patrons, Frowny's is a total dump.

Frowny, the owner of Frowny's.

Type

Pub / Tavern / Restaurant

The House Special: "It's Chicken, I Swear"

"Though this dish has no official name, patrons often refer to it by the endearing catchphrase "It's chicken, I swear!" It's clear this dish doesn't have chicken anywhere near it, but the nickname relieves the many anxieties posed by this mysterious soup."

- Taverns of King's Hold, vol. 17

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Served in a chipped ceramic bowl and topped with desiccated greens, this porridge leaves far too much to the imagination. So much so it's unclear if the head chef knows what's in it, or rather- which is the most likely scenario- he's protecting the customer's delicate soul from the horrors of this seemingly ordinary dish.
This stew is best described as earthy, thanks to the strange vegetable mush that makes up the base of the soup's broth. Mixed in is a variety (and I mean that literally) of savory meats cooked to perfection, and perfectly-cooked potato dumplings that melt in your mouth. While it's best to ignore the occasional graininess of the broth or frighteningly hard chunks of meaty substance, there's a certain charm that only this soup's roulette of textures can bring. This dish is not recommended for children under the age of 5 (or anyone not yet able to sign a liability waiver, for that matter).

Best-Selling Ale: "Scraper's Favorite Stout"

"Without fail, every single person we asked about this stout greeted us with a belch followed by a dribble of sickness on our shoes. Since nobody stayed conscious long enough to tell us about their drink, us food journalists had to buckle down and try it ourselves."

- Taverns of King's Hold, vol. 17

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Scraper's Stout is Frowny's famous one copper ale, served in a wooden tankard with an exotic (for the area) slice of citrus. Immediately, the first thing that catches my eye is the lack of foam; which is interesting, since I saw Frowny pour the glass himself. The color of the drink is somewhere between a deep gold and pale amber, akin to a pale ale. Upon taking a sip, the color became a topic of confusion; instead of well-balanced and akin to caramel like one might expect, it had little to no flavor with a very dry finish.

Even more confusing was the fact that, after my horrible, terribly bitter first sip, I wanted more. I took a second, then a third sip, and it kept getting even worse somehow. Before I knew it I had reached the bottom of my tankard and was hailing Frowny for another, and upon receiving my beverage took another massive gulp searching for... something. I hadn't even noticed my inglorious downfall until the next morning when I, like everyone else who's ever nursed a pint of this putrid sewage, woke up in a puddle of my own spit with my pockets turned inside out.

Frowny's - Modern Day, 1112 e.p.