It looks like you're new here. If you want to get involved, click one of these buttons!
You limp slowly to the tavern, wincing occasionally. Your leg was torn up pretty badly in an ambush earlier; a goblin had ran you through the thigh with a spear, and it was only a hedgewitch's quick thinking that had saved you from bleeding out. The poultice she had applied soothed the pain, but it didn't make it go away entirely.
Opening the tavern's door, you are greeted by a wall of heat and noise. The tavern's inhabitants are loud and drunken; many of them are singing along to a risque ditty being sung by a trobairitz, sitting on a stool next to the roaring fireplace. Tavernhands weave through the crowd with practiced ease, depositing glasses of ale, wine, and other assorted beverages in front of patrons.
People barely spare you a glance, only smiling and nodding at you in a friendly manner as you pass them. You smile politely back, trying to hold back a grimace.
You slowly make your way to a stool in front of the bartender. You seat yourself upon the stool, then casually glance around the tavern, seeking any signs of trouble. Apart from the usual drunken lout, nobody immediately stands out as a threat, so you relax slightly and turn to the barman.
You raise your hand, front-and-forefingers extended. He coughs into his shoulder, then hurries over to you.
"Hello," he says, giving you a friendly smile. You see faint suspicion at the back of his eyes. You smile politely back at him, and are satisfied to see some of the suspicion retreat. "I haven't seen you around before. New to town, are you?"
You nod your head, not trusting yourself to speak properly. The bartender nods his head sagely himself, satisfied with his guess being correct.
"Well, you picked a grand time to visit!" he said, sweeping an arm around at the tavern. "The Solstice Festival's just about to start, you're bound to find something to do!"
You know this already, of course; the Solstice Festival was why you were here.
"My name's Tom," he continued. "What's your name?"
You pause slightly; you don't usually give out your name to people. The innkeeper seems friendly enough, though; surely, it couldn't hurt to give him your name?
You swallow, trying to relieve the dryness in your throat.
"My name is..."
[A] Sakuya Etheil. You're the daughter of a merchant from Marranhold.
Takuul Ferrin. You're the daughter of a blacksmith in Tevalak, famed for his fine armours.
[C] Eyin Veristol. You're the son of a ferryman, living your life atop the waves of Dawn's River.
[D] Urien. You're the adopted daughter of a hedgewitch.
[E] Roran Heyhork. It's not your real name, of course; but then, you don't give anyone your real name, even harmless old barkeepers. He can probably tell what kind of woman you are from your clothing, anyway.
[F] Write in. (Please write a name and a vague backstory.)