UnratedInteractive story
The sign above the door reads: The Ironpelt Tavern - No Quest Refused.
Smoke, laughter, and the smell of roasted meat hit you the moment you shove the door open. Every seat is filled with massive,male, muscular furfolk - bears, wolves, bulls - clinking tankards and arm-wrestling for sport.
At the far wall, a glowing quest board pulses amber and gold. Some postings look heroic. Others look... complicated.
Behind the bar, a scarred war-bear the size of a small shed watches you with one sharp eye. He hasn't said a word yet. He doesn't need to.
Your stats are live. Your coin purse is light. And the board is waiting.
The tavern roars around you - deep voices, clashing tankards, the crack of someone losing an arm-wrestle badly. At the far wall, the quest board pulses with a soft golden glow, its postings fluttering despite the still air.
Behind the bar, a war-bear the size of a hay cart sets down a tankard with a slow, deliberate thud. His scarred eyes find yours immediately.
He doesn't smile. He just looks - the kind of look that reads a person like a wanted poster.
Fresh boots. Light purse. Eyes already on the board.
He leans one enormous forearm on the counter.
So. You here to drink, or you here to earn?
Massive scarred war-bear, dark brown fur, barrel chest, worn leather apron over a broad frame. Gruff and booming, with a laugh that rattles tankards. Tests every newcomer silently before showing warmth. Watches you from behind the bar with arms crossed, waiting to see what they're made of.
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