It's not long until you find a small tavern by the name of the Jockey Box. The building is a single-story building of stone walls, with a smooth stone floor. It doesn't look like they offer rooms for rent but you do see a handful of cots rolled up near the stone hearth. Wooden tables are scattered haphazardly around and the bar is short but serviceable. A satyr with thick ram-like horns and a white-furred lower half clops around behind the bar pouring drinks for patrons and himself.

Yommah shrugs, she can make due with what she can get. She walks toward the bar and looked toward the Satyr bartender,"You serve anything strong, I'll buy that." she says as she formulates a plan. It'll be puzzling for her to find the others, they didn't exactly explain where they should meet up if things get somewhat dicey. Though, then again, she might make an attempt on reconnaissance. It can't be that hard to find an old man and an elf, the likely possibility of that is few and far between, she thought though it was mostly wishful thinking,"Hmm, I heard that theirs stories to tell on a name. Is their a reason you name this place Jockey Box?" she says making small talk to pass the time.

The satyr's deep, raspy voice gives a short laugh, "Depends on how string you're looking for. I got Fox Den Whisky for 3 copper if you don't mind taste. But if you got the coin, I got a bottle of Death Monarch from Etsin Gazar. Real good stuff but it'll run you two silver a glass."

As he pours your choice of drink he explains the origin of the name, "Ain't nothing special or cosmic about this one really. You know that lidded compartment on the front of a compartment. It's called a jockey box. It's used to keep whatever out of the weather. Seemed like a fitting description for a tavern. Keeping you out of the weather, or what other type of storm you're trying to get out of."

"Hmm, I do not know what a Jockey Box is, but I can understand the need to protect from nature's wrath. Though, where I'm from, the weather tends to be much more violent then this land of light." Yommah says after listening to the story of this tavern's name, she then flips the bartender a gold piece,"I'll take 8 silvers and that monarch. Based from that name, what's this humble tavern protecting that's so precious other than the patrons, I find that's theirs more to it in a story than random happenstance. Then again, this is just me passing the time." she says honestly, not expecting much from this humble location she found herself in.

The satyr taps the gold on the bartop and pockets it with a smile. He begins rummaging under the bar to look for the bottle, "Pretty much just the patrons. An' if there was more, I'd be shite if I just spat it out to any and all who come in now wouldn't I?" He emerges with a almost spherical black-glass bottle. The label shows the name 'Death Monarch' around a picture of a crown wearing skull. "Here we are." He begins pouring a glass for you.

"To be honest, I think keeping the patrons is enough. Everyone needs a place they can kick back without questions asked. Sometimes its hiding from the guard, sometimes from a scorned boss or spouse. Sometimes its just to grab a drink, grab a wink, or sell me on a good drink. It's how I came by that'n there." He passes the glass over to you and pours a splash for himself to enjoy. Finally, he counts out the silver and sets them on the bar-top edge near him.
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 02:05, Mon 15 Aug 2022.

On the mention of guards, Yommah gives out a chuckle,"Heh, well I could drink to that." she says, and suddenly a handful of the silver change started floating due to some sort of psychic force, and gracefully entering into Yommah's coin pouch,"Though I do enjoy surprises, I think I can settle with that answer." she says as she took a sip of her monarch. The satyr wasn't kidding about it being the good stuff, it tasted pretty strong for a single cup. Despite its name, it tasted a bit sweeter like honey or apple juice, though it had a crisp taste of wine. Whoever was the Brewer was clearly going for a refined feel to their drink. For now, Yommah bides her time with her drink and waits patiently. She can make a return whenever it doesn't inconvenience herself.

The satyr continues to serve you and others as you lay low and enjoy the drink.

You just hanging out here for the time?

Hmm, Yep. Though, if they took too long, I'm gonna head out and find them. Though, I think I could be occupied by a random encounter here.

As you near the bottom of your drink, the door slams open and in rushes a haggard-looking bugbear. You're used to seeing those of this race as broad and strong and more to be on the giving side of a beating. But this one looks to have been more on the receiving side. One eye is bruised and nearly swollen shut and several areas of its furred hide look matted with blood. A panic is in his eyes as he looks about. The satyr nods the hobgoblin to a door behind the bar, "You know the drill, Krord." The bugbear, Krord, nods and hurries through the door.

A second after that door shuts, the main entrance bursts open again as a gold-scaled female dragonborn storms. The scales around her hands and on the blunt side of a handaxe is tinged with blood, you're sure Krord's. She cans the room then looks at the satyr. "Where is he? No use protectin' him, just speak and make it easy."

The satyr just shrugs, feigning ignorance.

"Fine," the dragonborn hisses. "I guess I'll just take a look about." She grabs the first table and flips it, sending it crashing to the floor and kicks a couple chairs over. "Not here. Let's keep going." She moves to the next and begins to repeat. The few other patrons don't seem too concerned but they are eyeing her warily as she grows closer to them.

Like I'd leave a place completely flat and uninteresting.

This message was last edited by the GM at 16:28, Thu 18 Aug 2022.

Yommah was momentarily surprised at the appearance of the goblinoid, but seeing none of the patrons or tavern keeper looked that surprised, she calmly returned to her drink. Though the sudden appearance of the dragonborn became problematic once she started breaking tables.

Yommah drinks down the last of her cup and looked toward the dragonborn,"Would you mind doing this elsewhere? I believe it is a custom here that this place is a sanctuary of sorts. Also, I personally enjoy something called peace and quiet, perhaps you know of that term of phrase."

Hah, knew there was something going on here
This message was last edited by the player at 01:29, Wed 17 Aug 2022.

Rather than busy herself with a response, the dragonborn snarls at you and hurls a stool your way.

Make a Dexterity Save.
[Private to DM: DC12 or take 1d4 damage]