When you've grown tired travelling down the long, bitter roads, or wish for a safe haven to escape the bustle of the streets, or when the chill of the Winter cold makes your nose run and your ears sting, or when the heat of the hot Summer sun burns your neck and dries your tongue there is only one tavern in town that will welcome you with open arms, that will find a seat for your weary bones and that will serve you some of the finest ales in all the realms. Come in and visit the Copper Coronet, you'll be pleasantly surprised.

Tales from the Copper Coronet

The First Tale: Alwlyan

ALWLYAN Smallfist was a fair maiden, 19 summers old with soft, hay coloured hair. With pouting lips, the colour of ripened cherries and skin the colour of snow which had newly fallen, she had enchanted more than a few of the local men who patronised the Copper Coronet. She had a slender, sleight frame and hypnotically beautiful leaf green eyes, which were lately, losing some of their magnetism, for the nights were long and arduous in the Copper Coronet, and albeit it may sound like it, being a serving girl was no easy job. Working from dawn until dusk and sometimes until dawn again, dealing with rowdy patrons, standing and serving and walking and cleaning and selling and collecting and tidying; each task was just as long and tiresome as the last. However, this was the only job Alwlyan could find, and she held onto it with all her force. Work was hard to come by in the rough streets of Athkatla and she'd be a fool to let this job pass her by.

Tonight the tavern was unusually quiet, and Alwlyan revelled in the near silence, the only sounds to be heard were the quiet murmurs of distant chatting and an occasional burst of laughter. She quickly rubbed her cleaning rag over the round wooden table in the corner of the room and gingerly pushed in the chairs. She flicked a strand of fair hair out of her eyes and surveyed the room. About half a dozen clients still remained in the tavern, and the number was dropping as the night grew older. Three Northmen occupied a table at the far end of the room; they all had beards just as thick as their blonde hair. They drank bottle after bottle of strong firewine heartily and talked of old adventures together. Alwlyan surmised that they were old friends who had recently met again, as their eyes were alight with the joy of reunion, and tales that had long gone untold.

Seated a couple of feet away, at a small table, was a lone mage. She had dark eyes, and her face was heavily hooded with a white robe. She drank expensive angelstone mead from a wooden goblet as she studied a sheet of paper relentlessly. Alwlyan guessed that this lady was an apprentice mage; they earned good money and often visited taverns late at night when all was quiet, so they could study their magicks in peace. Alwlyan always had a good idea about people, who they were and what they did. Working so long in a tavern had given her these insights.

The final couple were a pair of dour dwarves who sat in the centre of the room, wearing typical dwarven scowls. They drank beer and feasted like beasts on the Copper Coronet's 'finest' cooked lamb, tearing mouthfuls of hot meat right off the bone with their brown teeth. Alwlyan needn't guess who these two were; they had been in for quite awhile and had booked a room in the tavern for three days. They were dwarven traders who ventured from their subterranean homes to sell and buy with the people of Athkatla. They often visited the Coronet every few months; indeed, their haggard faces looked familiar to Alwlyan.