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Yuletide in Tancourt (Round 12.5)


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The Muddy Mug, lived up to its name. Its patrons, clad in mud-stained clothes, carried the essence of the tanning vats with them. The tavern, a dimly lit refuge in the heart of Bethel Giruc, bore the weight of countless stories etched into its worn, wooden beams. Its patrons, a mix of tired tannery workers and mud-stained serfs, sought solace from the hardships of the day. The air was thick with the pungent aroma of ale and the faint tang of freshly tanned leather. The warmth of the hearth flickered, casting shadows that danced upon the walls adorned with faded tannery guild symbols.

Whenever someone walks into the tavern the low hum of conversation would cease momentarily, and curious eyes turn towards the newcomers. The barkeep, a stout man with a weathered face, would glance up from polishing a mug with a dirty rag and offer a gruff nod. The room would quickly resume its murmur, and the newcomer would find an open table in the far drafty corner.

A group of tanners, their faces pale by years of labor unseen by the sun, huddled over a table strewn with tankards. The clinking of mugs and hearty laughter echoed through the tavern. Nearby, a trio of serfs sat nursing their drinks, exchanging hushed whispers about the day's toil.

Once a table of newcomers is gathered, enough for a server to make a tip, a barkeep walks up to take their order. "New faces in the Mug," he mumbled, wiping his hands on a leather apron. "Not from around here, are ya? Seasonal workers here to help out for the holiday?"

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  • 2 weeks later...

A trio of witches, exhausted from the day, look up at the barkeep with tired smiles. The shortest of the bunch, a small plump lass with rosy cheeks, speaks up, "Yeah, something like that. We've brought a herd of cattle all the way from Tir Buwch. What's Yuletide without hot milk with chocolate or cozy wool socks? Goddess knows how you've all done without."

"No socks? How'd they survive the Winter?" One of the other two witches chimed in, horrified. He was a gangly man with a mess of dark curly hair under his wide brimmed hat. "At least we've come to the rescue. Not just with the wooly cows, but blankets and cloth already spun and woven. I'd say that deserves a round of ale."

"And something to eat if you don't mind. I'm famished!" the third admitted. It was difficult to see their face or form under their thick hat and cloak, but somehow they radiated fatigue even more than their companions.

At that, the others stopped their complaining. "Oh yeah I'm starved. Whatever food you've got please," they said almost simultaneously.

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Twas the night before Yuletide and all through the realm

Not a creature was stirring without barding or helm

For the traveling burglar Merlyn Sant Klaws

Had ran through Ruin with his Merry Outlaws!

Fleeing the blasted island with prancing fast speed

He traveled where his skills were in great need!

On beastback and mist they roamed and they capered

To bogs and great mucks midst the tannery labored

But this was no average Yuletide for Old Klaws to be Smug

This is the Yuletide where he stayed at the one and only Muddy Mug.

Coming through the entrance was a Merlyn and what appeared to be several short people following behind him. The white-haired and sylvan tallest amongst them had a jovial energy, but the company he kept seemed little better than ruffians, and mean-mugged any patrons unbegotten enough to draw eye contact with them. "We're traveling merchants. Nothing more than good patrons of respectable commerce."

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