The spacious but busy medieval tavern is filled with folk from all around; from the Half-Orcs playing cards in the corner to the tired Halfling barkeep.
The low afternoon sun is shining through the unwashed windows and the door slams open every few minutes with another group of adventurers.
The sticky floor leads newcomers from the entrance to the bar and around a dozen round wooden tables, most of which are littered with half-finished drinks.
Just above the row of local whiskeys displayed on a shelf above the bar a wooden plaque shows a carved out picture of a goat’s head, with a cross over one eye. Below it, the letters read ‘The One-Eyed Goat Tavern’ in common.
The low murmur of the place is interrupter with the occasional shout from the loser of the card game.
The sun sets and the lamps outside are being lit. The burning candles on the round tables melt into the wood beneath, creating a star shaped stain.
Every so often a gentlemen in robes passes the bar and says a secret password to a drunk guarding a hidden doorway, just big enough to fit a Dwarf or a Gnome.
In a booth opposite to the entrance a group of six adventurers feast on a supper. The honey glistens on the meats, the oil on the vegetables. One of them digs his fingernails sharply into a roasted chicken and rips out a drumstick. The heavy smell of the meat waters the mouth of raggedy, flea-infected dog in the corner.
A Cleric mutters an incantation to herself and makes all the windows fly open, to everyone’s annoyance and her own amusement.
Some silver and copper coins roll across the bar and land on the dirty floor where a small, unescorted child grabs them and runs out of the establishment.
A lone bard is strumming a painted, decorated lute, humming some unrecognizable lyric in a foreign tongue.
The barkeep mutters to herself as she wipes down a not-entirely clean glass.
A group of adventurers burst in through the main door and take a seat at the closest table. One of them is bleeding heavily from her thigh and the rest help her sit down, the blood spilling down the wooden chair, staining it. A friend of hers comes over and mutters some words before placing his hands on top of the wound and a faint blue energy surges from his palms, healing the woman.
A drunk in the corner falls on the floor, wakes up, looks around, and decides to go back to sleep.
A mysterious Goblin passes a note on the table to a Khajit gentleman, a cat folk, rare in these parts. They whisper something to each other, and the Khajit slips a bag of gold to the Goblin who weighs it in his hands before pocketing it.
A wide-eyed high elf woman, disguised with beggar clothing, sits at the back of the tavern. Her jewelled necklace glistens when she leans forward, catching the attention of the woman with the thigh stab wound.
Quick gush of wind startles the barkeep and she comes over to close the windows, taking them one by one, while giving the stick-eye to the giggling Cleric.
One of the adventurers by the entrance shows off his gleaming weapons to his friend, and the light reflects on the steel blade, sending little lights across the room.
A brawl starts between two drunks who fist-fight on the floor while the barkeep watches and waits for someone to intervene.
The musician starts a more well-known song and some of the Half-Orc join in with flutes. Other regulars start singing in their low and hoarse voices the solemn song of ancient battles and feared tyrant rulers.
