The sign outside bears the painted images of a silver spade and a golden chain. “General Taylor” is carved into the great oaken expanse that serves as this establishment’s door. To the left are three giant black iron hinges, each one sending its arm out across the door to grip it firmly to the sill. The the right is the massive black iron ring that you reach out to pull. A song, sudden laughter, the quiet murmer of a dozen conversations spill out into the street as you open the door. Light also pours forth, and the warmth of several fires. You hear the clinks of tankards and smell the mixed aromas of two score spirits and ales as you enter the General Taylor Inn.

“Welcome,” says the barkeep, his eyes twinkling with friendly recognition whether you're here for the first time or the thousandth. “Make yourself at home, an’ I’ll send someought by tae take yer order. An’ please, gov, hang yer cloak near tae the mantle.”

You find a free hook among the many cloaks on the wall beside the largest fireplace. Your coat will be warm when you exit into the cool night air. A large room opens before you, with patrons at five long tables in the open expanse. Some are crowded together in groups, others sit in ones and twos. A whole table sings together at the back, while nearer to you any number of vigorous conversations spill across the tables and overlap with one another. A dozen private booths, each with a waist-high door, line the long wall opposite you. The wood is dark, and above each booth hangs a strip of pale silk, attached at one end to the ceiling, at the other to the wall. The silk sheets ripple in the currents of the room. Painted on the long wall behind you is a mural in sombre hues; you see a great battle raging between men while a great storm rages above.

You walk into the room, listening for a conversation to join. “Such a feat of skill as you've never seen,” says a burly man to your right. “Oh, he was a character all right,” laughs a young woman behind you. “Found a scroll of magic in the ruins,” says one of the small folk with his back to you. For only the tiniest span of a second the conversation pauses. In that quiet you hear, whispered emphatically from a booth on your left, “Most prestigious employment.” The general din resumes, and you see two cloaked and shadowy figures in the nearest booth. The door opens behind you, and in steps a party of unusual folks who call familiarly to the barkeep.

Alternate Core Classes

The Adventurer
“Myself, I couldn’t wait to hang my own shingle, find a lovely girl and settle down to raise a family here in town. But my sister, now she was never so happy as when we would get lost in the woods in search of fairy treasure. As soon as she was able, she lit out for the frontier with a passing caravan.”