If you succeed on a DC14 persuasion check, the barkeep will disclose, "that poor old sod has been sitting in that chair since my grand-dad owned the tavern. Comes in every day looking for 'Cressida.' She's never gonna show, but after a while we lost the heart to keep telling him as much. Way I see it, he ain't hurting anyone, even if he does pay in electrum..."
They want to show of their amazing cloak they just made and will try to convince the party's Rogue/Warlock to commission them a custom cloak. Because come on... tattered brown leather is soooo 1369 DR!!!!
"You all meet in a tavern." The whole table groans, but the DM continues, pointing around the table. "You're tending bar, you're waiting tables, you're cooking, and you're washing dishes."
I actually like this for a low fantasy game. Interesting subversion of a trope. Maybe the PCs see the usual strider NPC plot-hooking some NPC adventurers in the very first scene of the game and then get wrapped up in the events of the plot incidentally. You can then use that adventuring group as rivals, or if it's a horror game, you can sacrifice them to a monster to demonstrate to the PCs that they have no hope of fighting the thing directly. Or they can eavesdrop on some other kind of important conversation- a city official or high ranking priest paying a bribe to some low-life. A masked figure dealing in contraband magical artifacts. Maybe a literal monster just walks in an sits down to order a drink, terrifying the hell out of all the patrons.
"Showing - when used properly..." Even just that is honestly a great thing to say. Both showing and telling have their place. It is okay to tell, just make sure it's the right time to do so.
[I won a 4E supplemental book with this once upon a time. It is still up on DM Samuel's web-page RPG Musings, I just copy & pasted from there, since it was mine to start with, though folks should feel free to use it if they desire to. The competition was for an adventure hook, but the opener includes the description of a tavern.] You find yourself in a dark inn as a result of rain falling outside. The room is dark and filled with smoke from the chimney not having been cleaned recently. The doors remain open to keep the individuals within from being overcome by the smoke. The constant sound of the rain falling creates a dull roar that washes out all but the closest of conversations. Only rarely does the thunder catch everyone off guard, because the lightning lights up almost the entire room just long enough to prepare. The moisture seems to have infused everything, and it makes the cold settle into everyone’s bones. Even the halfling serving wench seems especially surly tonight. The only good thing is that the minstrel has some tunes that are new to you, and he seems to be good with his pipes. Another crash of thunder, and this time it seemed to catch almost everyone off guard. The wench makes her rounds and refills your heated spiced rum, she seems nervous but it’s probably just the weather putting her on edge. Then someone’s voice is heard outside, the other patrons stay in their seats and one yells, “Hey you’re closer to the door, see what that racket is.” As one of the PCs gets the to the doorway, they hear someone screaming, “Fire! It’s at the church!!!”-“” (Note: If no one volunteers to go to the door the voices are heard, but the words cannot be made out until someone from outside runs to the door and shouts into the inn, “The church is afire, come quick!“)
The remark about ex-cultists taking a warm hearth as a bad memory did spark a little writing prompt for me. "A fire roars, singing hairs off your forearm. Clangs and clatters fill your ears - steel on steel, metal sword on wooden shield. The pull of bowstrings strikes your... no. Not bowstrings. Is that a lute? You stir yourself, finding the fire contained in a hearth, calmed after some drunkard thought it'd be funny to throw their mug of ale in it. A muscular woman with a face of anger threatens to throw him out. The clangs and clatter merely the sounds of people cheering their latest adventure, bringing together their mugs and slamming them on the table. You take a deep breath. You're fine." Definitely needs refinement, but I think it'd be a fun way to bring someone in who gets lost in their backstory.
I love doing stuff like this for players! It can be hard to roleplay an internal world, and it’s a great way to help them bring a character to life while building out that narrative. You wrote a great, quick example, too!
The wide doors of the CurseCure tavern are propped open letting in the warm afternoon air. The shudders, likewise, are thrown open on the west side of the room, letting in the sunshine. The smell of warm food strikes you as you enter. To your right there is a long table with several large black pots. There are peas, salt pork, cabbage, coarse bread, and similar simple dishes. There is also a sign, for those who can read, saying “Free Lunch” and in smaller writing, “with the purchase of a drink, potion, or curative.” If you look closely you may notice that there are no sweets or dairy amongst the offered food. Across the room, there is a long, uneven bar made from rough-hewn wood. Yet behind the bar there are thousands of tiny glass bottles glinting in the sunlight. Some of the tinctures seem to swirl and shimmer with a light of their own. Other bottles have filigree and crystal patterns at odds with the planks holding them up. The barkeep is a willowy, thin woman with short, curly hair; she smiles at you as you enter. You cannot see her feet. At the end of the bar is a small booth of sorts, the kind of thing you might have seen for fortune-telling. Sitting there, instead of a festooned magician, is a stout man, balding with dark hair, wearing a simple white robe. Or once was white for the chain about his neck has left black stains on his clothing. On his chest hangs an amulet depicting an eye upon a gauntlet. He, too, has a sign, “Removal of curses 1 gold. Greater Restoration negotiable. NO RESURRECTIONS!” Near the empty hearth, what at first appears to be a stuffed elk lounging on an elongated bench moves its head, using its nose, to turn the page of a book it is reading.
I love this video. Sometimes, I like to ask the players what might be happening in the tavern. It's not relevant to me or I wouldn't be trying to redirect them to the cowled man. So they can have fun adding details. Occasionally, they go wild and you get a whole side plot out of it. Probably means they were bored!
The sound of your boots crunching in the dirt breaks the stillness of the air. There you stand in the center of a street which should be crowded and full of drunken laughter on most summer evenings. Not tonight. You step over a trail in the path left by something dragged reluctantly toward the heavy oaken door on the building's face. A battered sign lays on the steps of the approach: "The Last Drop- No Vacancy." Even the moon turns its back on you as the finest sliver of a waning crescent peeks through the heavens to light your way. The door lay ahead, battered and gouged by something not human...
To tell you the truth while the added description sounds nice, I've found in some games it can leave room for misinterpretation and be unnecessarily verbose. By giving people room to interpret things as they want to, sometimes they miss the point, and by taking many words to say what a few would accomplish, you run the risk of boring the people at your table regardless of how flowery your writing is. I think there's a middle ground though. You can be terse and evocative at the same time- that's basically what poetry is.
Now, this is meant for the recurring inn in my campaign, so certain NPCs are named and assumed known: "Stepping in from the busy afternoon market, the sign proclaiming “The Artful Deed” creaks lazily in the warm, dusty breeze. The inn is a place of comparative calm, for now. Ginebra, the maid, is hanging fresh bouquets of lavender, rosemary and sweetgrass from the ceiling beams to replace the old rosebud and pearl-creeper ones. The new scent partially covers the familiar vinegary ghosts of spilled wine. Meanwhile a toothless old drunkard is making a clown show out of his attempts at stealing a glimpse up her colourful skirt. Blind Aurubilitu is strumming his lute in a slowed-down improvisation over 'The Doe Queen’s Gallop' - the change of tempo makes the otherwise jaunty tune more sombre, pensive. In the back, a youthful rake deftly juggles a few knucklebones before snatching them out of the air and throwing them on the table. The sun-tanned farmhand across from him erupts in sudden jubilation and the youth covers his face in chagrin over an obviously failed dice-toss. In front of the hearth, a girl in a green dress attends to the fowl on the roasting spit, partridges by the look of it. Unai, the one-armed proprietor, is conspicious in his absence."
As the rain turns to hail, you notice a small building at the top of the cliff overlooking the harbor. Two stories, and almost as dark as the night all around it - if it weren't for the dim light emanating from the grimy windows on the ground floor. It seems that the last time they were clean was BEFORE they were installed in these walls. Two small oil lamps are desperately giving their all to illuminate the entrance. They mostly fail. As you get closer, you realize that the wood covered walls aren't pitch black, but a dark, mossy green. And are those letters over the door? Yes. Like the rest of the building, they have seen better days, and a few are missing. Perception check (difficulty 12) reveals that this place is called "The King's Galley". Oh, you rolled a 14? Then you notice that the greenish wood seems to come from wrecked ships, and parts are still covered in shells, algae and other maritime detritus. Behind the door are heavy curtains in a dark grayish brown, designed to keep the weather out. As you open them, you are ambushed by the smell of sweat, tobacco and beer. The olfactory melange is somewhat saved by candle wax and a hint of fried onions coming from the open door behind the bar. Like the whole room, that bar is built from a haphazard mix of woods. Pinewood, walnut, beech... Has this whole tavern been built out of shipwrecks, or was it just designed to look that way? The whole parlour is filled to the brim with nautical stuff. There's mooring rope everywhere, a collection of portholes nailed to random walls, one of the tables has been built out of a clearly defunct cannon... Several wooden steering wheels are hanging from the ceiling, transformed into crude chandeliers, explaining the candle part of the smell. The other smell components are coming from the unwashed pub goers around you. An obese gnome with gray muttonchops is standing behind the bar. He's wearing a blue checkered shirt, a massive brown leather apron, and he's got a dirty towel over his shoulder. What color the towel used to be is anyone's guess. His face is red from decades of alcohol, and covered in stubble. What sticks out like a sore thumb is the lanky bard in a black and blue jester's costume, standing next to the bar. He was just about to say something when you came in, and now he's waiting for you to take a seat before he continues...
You push on the crude wooden door, which creaks on rusty hinges. Stepping through, the stench of stale beer, cheap tobacco and unwashed bodies assaults your nostrils, and the sawing and howling screeches of a talentless fiddler sounds even worse without the door muffling it. The dirt beneath your feet is sticky, almost muddy; who knows what you're stepping in - the poor light from a settled hearth struggles to illuminate the space. A long wooden table cuts the dark room in half, from behind which a gnarled and broken-faced, presumably human man eyes you suspiciously. His swollen fingers clench around a tankard, while his other hand holds a rag that may never have been clean. The man opens his mouth, revealing more gaps than teeth, and those remaining are yellowed and crooked, but says nothing. A quick glance around at the few other patrons shows you none are any cleaner, prettier, or friendlier than the man behind the table. More narrowed, squinting eyes fall upon you. You realise the fiddler, wherever they are in the gloom, has stopped their cacophony. Someone belches quietly in a corner, while two heavy-set human men appear to be eying your purses. In the intense silence, you hear knuckles cracking, and the sizzle of tobacco as someone draws on a pipe. As your eyes adjust to the haze and dark, you see a seated figure in the deep shadows beside the hearth. A cowl covers their head, and a robe makes them almost shapeless. The faintest tip of the head in your direction seems almost like an invitation...
"The Party checks their clothes at the door and enters Lady Foxx's pool party at New Brothelle." Let the Players fill in the blanks. Hemingway was not a DM. A Hook is perfect when you have removed all the fluff.
This comment is confusing. Isn't Ernest Hemingway known for being terse in his prose? Wouldn't his style support your premise that a player (or reader) can fill in the blanks?
The sign out front shows a rudimentary bed 🛌. The hobo glyphs behind the bush, beside the front door, calls it the "Shivering Monk Inn." A slate marked in chalk, "The Menu," features "Crust of bread w/ broth" and "Daily Special." The rooms feature double bunks consisting of a frame and a board. There is no hint of mat nor blanket. The wind whistles through the gaps in the rough cut boards of the walls, moaning like a discordant band of tone deaf floutists. A fat round oil lamp made of clay weilds a flame that seems to shrink from the cold and cower from the shadows. Somehow, in this place, even the word 'austere' seems extra.
The question I always had is why does there seem to be only taverns as far as eating establishments go. I don't drink alcohol IRL, so I always wanted know where all the restaurants were. One may ask what's the difference? Well, taverns (bars) serve food and restaurants serve alcohol, but each establishment is defined by being where the staff devotes the majority of their time and effort.
Certainly in medieval times, the concept of a restaurant didn't exist. You either ate at home, or you ate at a tavern. Most people ate at home, most of the time, either with homegrown or market-bought produce.
Challenge accepted : « Paul curse all of you in his head for convincing him to follow you there. He really hates Sunday evening right now. Waves of worlds submerge the tiny space where you all sit with a beverage behind you on the wooded table. Paul doesn’t even dare to take is drink as you left him maybe the worst spot around the table. Not only the folk in this dump is very loud, very drunk, they also enjoy their moment in dancing and don’t stop to stumble him. Jasmin smile looking at you Paul as she knows how shy you are, and she hope you will stop be yourself and relax a little. After all, all of you deserve it after what happened lately. And the smell of the bread in the hoven right behind the counter make her very satisfy. This is not a usual bread smell who surround slowly the place, it’s a sweet sugar savor that show the mastery of Brin. Only her can do a bread like this, and as some say, if the bread smell that good, the rest should be a divine feasting. Paul Grabbing the rust wooden table with both hand as Yalan bump him with her hip to pass in the crowd and serve another table with the first plate. The pasta looks nice, and the red sauce and the big ball of meat show the generosity of Brin. Yalan voice cut through all other to ask her lover for another round of milky bear. And Brin seem to swim with grace from one task for another and let the alcohol flow in six huge pinte at the same time. For you Garak, this place revives souvenir of festivity with your wild people. Yes, it was in the forest, with the breath and the vegetal smell around. But the same joy, the same kindness around you than around different pack of people assembled there. And you Kurt, you see in the small space something like a protective cocoon. Yes, there is no nice embroideries on the table. The walls are as gray as a rainy sky, but all clients make it shine with them owns colored outfit. And in truth all of you, yes even Paul, know how lucky you are to be sitting there tonight. And that before a pretty gypsy elves approach and succeed to take a place between you and unroll a map on the table. In her eyes, is this jewel, fire, gread or hope you see ? And at Paul surprise she whispers a “I expected to find you, there!” that even in this maddening noise you all can perceive perfectly.»
The first scene was cool enough, wasn't it? Unless the purpose is to have writing published... REALLY deep rendering all the time actually takes away player talk time. The NPC with the hood is well placed showing, the cinematic showing of everything in the tavern just seems unnecessary (though.. yes, quite immersive). I'd immerse the players by engaging them and show more about what's consequential to them.
This is a great technique right out of any beginnerst guide to creative writing. But until you show me how you can improvise this during play and with at least 50% less words, I don't think this is practical for gaming.
The improvising comes with practice, but I typically only write scenes like this for important or introductory material. I encourage people to use this technique so far as it IS practical!
The sign out front shows a rudimentary bed 🛌. The hobo glyphs behind the bush, beside the front door, calls it the "Shivering Monk Inn." A slate marked in chalk, "The Menu," features "Crust of bread w/ broth" and "Daily Special." The rooms feature double bunks consisting of a frame and a board. There is no hint of mat nor blanket. The wind whistles through the gaps in the rough cut boards of the walls, moaning like a discordant band of tone deaf floutists. A fat round oil lamp made of clay weilds a flame that seems to shrink from the cold and cower from the shadows. Somehow, in this place, even the word 'austere' seems extra.
![Noob To Max With DRAGON REWORK In Blox Fruits [FULL MOVIE]](http://i.ytimg.com/vi/LnBMOinoOvA/mqdefault.jpg)
What does the cloaked figure in the corner ACTUALLY want?
They want to sit with the party in total silence.
A friend
If you succeed on a DC14 persuasion check, the barkeep will disclose, "that poor old sod has been sitting in that chair since my grand-dad owned the tavern. Comes in every day looking for 'Cressida.' She's never gonna show, but after a while we lost the heart to keep telling him as much. Way I see it, he ain't hurting anyone, even if he does pay in electrum..."
They want to show of their amazing cloak they just made and will try to convince the party's Rogue/Warlock to commission them a custom cloak. Because come on... tattered brown leather is soooo 1369 DR!!!!
@@feywildfiend They want what everyone wants. To be loved.
"You all meet in a tavern." The whole table groans, but the DM continues, pointing around the table.
"You're tending bar, you're waiting tables, you're cooking, and you're washing dishes."
I actually like this for a low fantasy game. Interesting subversion of a trope. Maybe the PCs see the usual strider NPC plot-hooking some NPC adventurers in the very first scene of the game and then get wrapped up in the events of the plot incidentally. You can then use that adventuring group as rivals, or if it's a horror game, you can sacrifice them to a monster to demonstrate to the PCs that they have no hope of fighting the thing directly.
Or they can eavesdrop on some other kind of important conversation- a city official or high ranking priest paying a bribe to some low-life. A masked figure dealing in contraband magical artifacts. Maybe a literal monster just walks in an sits down to order a drink, terrifying the hell out of all the patrons.
You are smart, and we should listen to you
Correct
"Showing - when used properly..."
Even just that is honestly a great thing to say. Both showing and telling have their place. It is okay to tell, just make sure it's the right time to do so.
"wait... how big is the tavern"
"Oh let's say...40ft across. Why?"
"..."
"..."
"I cast fireb-"
I love the tavern start. It makes sense that most adventures start there! It's where most of mine have started - the pub! :D
[I won a 4E supplemental book with this once upon a time. It is still up on DM Samuel's web-page RPG Musings, I just copy & pasted from there, since it was mine to start with, though folks should feel free to use it if they desire to. The competition was for an adventure hook, but the opener includes the description of a tavern.]
You find yourself in a dark inn as a result of rain falling outside. The room is dark and filled with smoke from the chimney not having been cleaned recently. The doors remain open to keep the individuals within from being overcome by the smoke. The constant sound of the rain falling creates a dull roar that washes out all but the closest of conversations. Only rarely does the thunder catch everyone off guard, because the lightning lights up almost the entire room just long enough to prepare. The moisture seems to have infused everything, and it makes the cold settle into everyone’s bones. Even the halfling serving wench seems especially surly tonight. The only good thing is that the minstrel has some tunes that are new to you, and he seems to be good with his pipes.
Another crash of thunder, and this time it seemed to catch almost everyone off guard. The wench makes her rounds and refills your heated spiced rum, she seems nervous but it’s probably just the weather putting her on edge. Then someone’s voice is heard outside, the other patrons stay in their seats and one yells, “Hey you’re closer to the door, see what that racket is.”
As one of the PCs gets the to the doorway, they hear someone screaming, “Fire! It’s at the church!!!”-“”
(Note: If no one volunteers to go to the door the voices are heard, but the words cannot be made out until someone from outside runs to the door and shouts into the inn, “The church is afire, come quick!“)
They’re all hiding something, I can feel it
The remark about ex-cultists taking a warm hearth as a bad memory did spark a little writing prompt for me.
"A fire roars, singing hairs off your forearm. Clangs and clatters fill your ears - steel on steel, metal sword on wooden shield. The pull of bowstrings strikes your... no. Not bowstrings. Is that a lute? You stir yourself, finding the fire contained in a hearth, calmed after some drunkard thought it'd be funny to throw their mug of ale in it. A muscular woman with a face of anger threatens to throw him out. The clangs and clatter merely the sounds of people cheering their latest adventure, bringing together their mugs and slamming them on the table. You take a deep breath. You're fine."
Definitely needs refinement, but I think it'd be a fun way to bring someone in who gets lost in their backstory.
I love doing stuff like this for players! It can be hard to roleplay an internal world, and it’s a great way to help them bring a character to life while building out that narrative. You wrote a great, quick example, too!
The wide doors of the CurseCure tavern are propped open letting in the warm afternoon air. The shudders, likewise, are thrown open on the west side of the room, letting in the sunshine. The smell of warm food strikes you as you enter. To your right there is a long table with several large black pots. There are peas, salt pork, cabbage, coarse bread, and similar simple dishes. There is also a sign, for those who can read, saying “Free Lunch” and in smaller writing, “with the purchase of a drink, potion, or curative.” If you look closely you may notice that there are no sweets or dairy amongst the offered food.
Across the room, there is a long, uneven bar made from rough-hewn wood. Yet behind the bar there are thousands of tiny glass bottles glinting in the sunlight. Some of the tinctures seem to swirl and shimmer with a light of their own. Other bottles have filigree and crystal patterns at odds with the planks holding them up. The barkeep is a willowy, thin woman with short, curly hair; she smiles at you as you enter. You cannot see her feet.
At the end of the bar is a small booth of sorts, the kind of thing you might have seen for fortune-telling. Sitting there, instead of a festooned magician, is a stout man, balding with dark hair, wearing a simple white robe. Or once was white for the chain about his neck has left black stains on his clothing. On his chest hangs an amulet depicting an eye upon a gauntlet. He, too, has a sign, “Removal of curses 1 gold. Greater Restoration negotiable. NO RESURRECTIONS!”
Near the empty hearth, what at first appears to be a stuffed elk lounging on an elongated bench moves its head, using its nose, to turn the page of a book it is reading.
I love this video. Sometimes, I like to ask the players what might be happening in the tavern. It's not relevant to me or I wouldn't be trying to redirect them to the cowled man. So they can have fun adding details. Occasionally, they go wild and you get a whole side plot out of it. Probably means they were bored!
Every video I have an “omg genius !” Moment
Well done.
The sound of your boots crunching in the dirt breaks the stillness of the air. There you stand in the center of a street which should be crowded and full of drunken laughter on most summer evenings. Not tonight. You step over a trail in the path left by something dragged reluctantly toward the heavy oaken door on the building's face. A battered sign lays on the steps of the approach: "The Last Drop- No Vacancy." Even the moon turns its back on you as the finest sliver of a waning crescent peeks through the heavens to light your way. The door lay ahead, battered and gouged by something not human...
To tell you the truth while the added description sounds nice, I've found in some games it can leave room for misinterpretation and be unnecessarily verbose. By giving people room to interpret things as they want to, sometimes they miss the point, and by taking many words to say what a few would accomplish, you run the risk of boring the people at your table regardless of how flowery your writing is.
I think there's a middle ground though. You can be terse and evocative at the same time- that's basically what poetry is.
Now, this is meant for the recurring inn in my campaign, so certain NPCs are named and assumed known:
"Stepping in from the busy afternoon market, the sign proclaiming “The Artful Deed” creaks lazily in the warm, dusty breeze. The inn is a place of comparative calm, for now.
Ginebra, the maid, is hanging fresh bouquets of lavender, rosemary and sweetgrass from the ceiling beams to replace the old rosebud and pearl-creeper ones.
The new scent partially covers the familiar vinegary ghosts of spilled wine.
Meanwhile a toothless old drunkard is making a clown show out of his attempts at stealing a glimpse up her colourful skirt.
Blind Aurubilitu is strumming his lute in a slowed-down improvisation over 'The Doe Queen’s Gallop' - the change of tempo makes the otherwise jaunty tune more sombre, pensive.
In the back, a youthful rake deftly juggles a few knucklebones before snatching them out of the air and throwing them on the table. The sun-tanned farmhand across from him erupts in sudden jubilation and the youth covers his face in chagrin over an obviously failed dice-toss.
In front of the hearth, a girl in a green dress attends to the fowl on the roasting spit, partridges by the look of it.
Unai, the one-armed proprietor, is conspicious in his absence."
As the rain turns to hail, you notice a small building at the top of the cliff overlooking the harbor. Two stories, and almost as dark as the night all around it - if it weren't for the dim light emanating from the grimy windows on the ground floor. It seems that the last time they were clean was BEFORE they were installed in these walls. Two small oil lamps are desperately giving their all to illuminate the entrance. They mostly fail. As you get closer, you realize that the wood covered walls aren't pitch black, but a dark, mossy green. And are those letters over the door? Yes. Like the rest of the building, they have seen better days, and a few are missing. Perception check (difficulty 12) reveals that this place is called "The King's Galley".
Oh, you rolled a 14? Then you notice that the greenish wood seems to come from wrecked ships, and parts are still covered in shells, algae and other maritime detritus.
Behind the door are heavy curtains in a dark grayish brown, designed to keep the weather out. As you open them, you are ambushed by the smell of sweat, tobacco and beer. The olfactory melange is somewhat saved by candle wax and a hint of fried onions coming from the open door behind the bar.
Like the whole room, that bar is built from a haphazard mix of woods. Pinewood, walnut, beech... Has this whole tavern been built out of shipwrecks, or was it just designed to look that way?
The whole parlour is filled to the brim with nautical stuff. There's mooring rope everywhere, a collection of portholes nailed to random walls, one of the tables has been built out of a clearly defunct cannon... Several wooden steering wheels are hanging from the ceiling, transformed into crude chandeliers, explaining the candle part of the smell.
The other smell components are coming from the unwashed pub goers around you.
An obese gnome with gray muttonchops is standing behind the bar. He's wearing a blue checkered shirt, a massive brown leather apron, and he's got a dirty towel over his shoulder. What color the towel used to be is anyone's guess. His face is red from decades of alcohol, and covered in stubble.
What sticks out like a sore thumb is the lanky bard in a black and blue jester's costume, standing next to the bar. He was just about to say something when you came in, and now he's waiting for you to take a seat before he continues...
10/10, would stay here before setting off on a revenge quest to kill the whale that ate my leg
You push on the crude wooden door, which creaks on rusty hinges. Stepping through, the stench of stale beer, cheap tobacco and unwashed bodies assaults your nostrils, and the sawing and howling screeches of a talentless fiddler sounds even worse without the door muffling it. The dirt beneath your feet is sticky, almost muddy; who knows what you're stepping in - the poor light from a settled hearth struggles to illuminate the space. A long wooden table cuts the dark room in half, from behind which a gnarled and broken-faced, presumably human man eyes you suspiciously. His swollen fingers clench around a tankard, while his other hand holds a rag that may never have been clean. The man opens his mouth, revealing more gaps than teeth, and those remaining are yellowed and crooked, but says nothing. A quick glance around at the few other patrons shows you none are any cleaner, prettier, or friendlier than the man behind the table. More narrowed, squinting eyes fall upon you. You realise the fiddler, wherever they are in the gloom, has stopped their cacophony. Someone belches quietly in a corner, while two heavy-set human men appear to be eying your purses. In the intense silence, you hear knuckles cracking, and the sizzle of tobacco as someone draws on a pipe. As your eyes adjust to the haze and dark, you see a seated figure in the deep shadows beside the hearth. A cowl covers their head, and a robe makes them almost shapeless. The faintest tip of the head in your direction seems almost like an invitation...
SO good! And no chance at all the party’s bard will do everything in their power to show up that fiddler.
"The Party checks their clothes at the door and enters Lady Foxx's pool party at New Brothelle."
Let the Players fill in the blanks. Hemingway was not a DM. A Hook is perfect when you have removed all the fluff.
This comment is confusing. Isn't Ernest Hemingway known for being terse in his prose? Wouldn't his style support your premise that a player (or reader) can fill in the blanks?
He and Faulkner were the proponents of a literary style of verbosity. They would expound endlessly describing one event.
Great video
❤❤
Thank you!!
The sign out front shows a rudimentary bed 🛌. The hobo glyphs behind the bush, beside the front door, calls it the "Shivering Monk Inn."
A slate marked in chalk, "The Menu," features "Crust of bread w/ broth" and "Daily Special."
The rooms feature double bunks consisting of a frame and a board. There is no hint of mat nor blanket. The wind whistles through the gaps in the rough cut boards of the walls, moaning like a discordant band of tone deaf floutists. A fat round oil lamp made of clay weilds a flame that seems to shrink from the cold and cower from the shadows.
Somehow, in this place, even the word 'austere' seems extra.
The question I always had is why does there seem to be only taverns as far as eating establishments go. I don't drink alcohol IRL, so I always wanted know where all the restaurants were. One may ask what's the difference? Well, taverns (bars) serve food and restaurants serve alcohol, but each establishment is defined by being where the staff devotes the majority of their time and effort.
Certainly in medieval times, the concept of a restaurant didn't exist. You either ate at home, or you ate at a tavern. Most people ate at home, most of the time, either with homegrown or market-bought produce.
Not quite Greensleeves...
and when they walk out the tavern there in the feywild because it was a fey crossing whole time and anyone who gets drunk in there is take to feywild
love ur vids
The highlight of this episode... 10:01 /jk
I’m tryna fight
@@feywildfiend Roll for initiative I guess😆
Challenge accepted : « Paul curse all of you in his head for convincing him to follow you there. He really hates Sunday evening right now. Waves of worlds submerge the tiny space where you all sit with a beverage behind you on the wooded table. Paul doesn’t even dare to take is drink as you left him maybe the worst spot around the table. Not only the folk in this dump is very loud, very drunk, they also enjoy their moment in dancing and don’t stop to stumble him. Jasmin smile looking at you Paul as she knows how shy you are, and she hope you will stop be yourself and relax a little. After all, all of you deserve it after what happened lately. And the smell of the bread in the hoven right behind the counter make her very satisfy. This is not a usual bread smell who surround slowly the place, it’s a sweet sugar savor that show the mastery of Brin. Only her can do a bread like this, and as some say, if the bread smell that good, the rest should be a divine feasting. Paul Grabbing the rust wooden table with both hand as Yalan bump him with her hip to pass in the crowd and serve another table with the first plate. The pasta looks nice, and the red sauce and the big ball of meat show the generosity of Brin. Yalan voice cut through all other to ask her lover for another round of milky bear. And Brin seem to swim with grace from one task for another and let the alcohol flow in six huge pinte at the same time. For you Garak, this place revives souvenir of festivity with your wild people. Yes, it was in the forest, with the breath and the vegetal smell around. But the same joy, the same kindness around you than around different pack of people assembled there. And you Kurt, you see in the small space something like a protective cocoon. Yes, there is no nice embroideries on the table. The walls are as gray as a rainy sky, but all clients make it shine with them owns colored outfit. And in truth all of you, yes even Paul, know how lucky you are to be sitting there tonight. And that before a pretty gypsy elves approach and succeed to take a place between you and unroll a map on the table. In her eyes, is this jewel, fire, gread or hope you see ? And at Paul surprise she whispers a “I expected to find you, there!” that even in this maddening noise you all can perceive perfectly.»
The first scene was cool enough, wasn't it? Unless the purpose is to have writing published... REALLY deep rendering all the time actually takes away player talk time. The NPC with the hood is well placed showing, the cinematic showing of everything in the tavern just seems unnecessary (though.. yes, quite immersive).
I'd immerse the players by engaging them and show more about what's consequential to them.
This is a great technique right out of any beginnerst guide to creative writing. But until you show me how you can improvise this during play and with at least 50% less words, I don't think this is practical for gaming.
The improvising comes with practice, but I typically only write scenes like this for important or introductory material. I encourage people to use this technique so far as it IS practical!
The not Hemingway approach
The sign out front shows a rudimentary bed 🛌. The hobo glyphs behind the bush, beside the front door, calls it the "Shivering Monk Inn."
A slate marked in chalk, "The Menu," features "Crust of bread w/ broth" and "Daily Special."
The rooms feature double bunks consisting of a frame and a board. There is no hint of mat nor blanket. The wind whistles through the gaps in the rough cut boards of the walls, moaning like a discordant band of tone deaf floutists. A fat round oil lamp made of clay weilds a flame that seems to shrink from the cold and cower from the shadows.
Somehow, in this place, even the word 'austere' seems extra.