The Mood in the Logar's Helm tavern was quite jolly. The Harvest was nearly halfway done for the season, and it seemed likely that this would be a good year indeed. According to Old Man Sturges, they already had more than enough to pay what the tax man wanted twenty times over, and the tax collectors weren't due to come down the river from Fort Rakarion for another month anyway. Life looked good for Penderghast for the time being. which was always a reason to celebrate.
Winters down here weren't that bad, either. Though it did get cold, very rarely did snow fall on the ground - not this far from the mountains anyway. So not only were things looking good, they were likely to stay good when Winter eventually came in a few months.
The Helm was packed with customers, mostly farmers and other town residents drinking or talking, or gambling. Doruk was behind the bar as ever, pouring ale into mugs and passing them off to the two waitresses who worked there, pretty young women named Ellana and Tori. Despite his missing arm, he was well practiced in moving quickly enough to meet the demand of his thirsty customers, as were his waitresses.
One one table, a dozen men played a dice and card game, cheering and groaning as they won and lost copper pieces back and forth. There were a few other smaller groups playing similar betting games.
It was a perfect picture of a small rural town, content with itself and its lot, looking forward to times of plenty in the months ahead.
Gardad Norcidik, was, as one might expect of a dwarf, deep in his cups, though given his almost legendary (In Penderghast anyway) capacity for ale, there was no reason to suspect he wasn't as sharp as always. In a sleepy rural village like Penderghast, he had little to do as Constable and watch captain, and most of his work in that respect was in breaking up the occasional rowdiness in the bar, or dragging out people who had drunk too much to walk home without collapsing. When there was a real bar fight - which happened every now and then - Doruk got involved as well, and his one arm packed quite the punch. Usually though, all he needed to do to restore order in a real brawl was brandish the battleaxe he kept under the bar, an enchanted weapon from his adventuring days.
"So I'm heading to Denna's hut, out in the woods, and I see this Stag right?" one Villager drunkenly retells some story or another, though so to do others to other groups. The mildly rowdy, but happy and content air of the tavern speaks of a village happy, productive and safe.
Winters down here weren't that bad, either. Though it did get cold, very rarely did snow fall on the ground - not this far from the mountains anyway. So not only were things looking good, they were likely to stay good when Winter eventually came in a few months.
The Helm was packed with customers, mostly farmers and other town residents drinking or talking, or gambling. Doruk was behind the bar as ever, pouring ale into mugs and passing them off to the two waitresses who worked there, pretty young women named Ellana and Tori. Despite his missing arm, he was well practiced in moving quickly enough to meet the demand of his thirsty customers, as were his waitresses.
One one table, a dozen men played a dice and card game, cheering and groaning as they won and lost copper pieces back and forth. There were a few other smaller groups playing similar betting games.
It was a perfect picture of a small rural town, content with itself and its lot, looking forward to times of plenty in the months ahead.
Gardad Norcidik, was, as one might expect of a dwarf, deep in his cups, though given his almost legendary (In Penderghast anyway) capacity for ale, there was no reason to suspect he wasn't as sharp as always. In a sleepy rural village like Penderghast, he had little to do as Constable and watch captain, and most of his work in that respect was in breaking up the occasional rowdiness in the bar, or dragging out people who had drunk too much to walk home without collapsing. When there was a real bar fight - which happened every now and then - Doruk got involved as well, and his one arm packed quite the punch. Usually though, all he needed to do to restore order in a real brawl was brandish the battleaxe he kept under the bar, an enchanted weapon from his adventuring days.
"So I'm heading to Denna's hut, out in the woods, and I see this Stag right?" one Villager drunkenly retells some story or another, though so to do others to other groups. The mildly rowdy, but happy and content air of the tavern speaks of a village happy, productive and safe.
