The scent of sizzling meat and spiced ale fills Blackhorn’s Tavern & Inn as the heavy oak doors swing open. Warmth from the roaring hearth welcomes you, blending with laughter, clinking mugs, and the strum of a bard’s lute.

*Around you, few of the waitstaff weave between tables most notable are—a three-eyed tiefling, a bubbly halfling girl—while a massive Jotun looms near the cold storage, keeping order. *

Behind the bar stands a towering half-orc—Kragg Blackhorn. Seven feet tall, broad-shouldered, with olive skin weathered by years of adventure. His black-and-silver braids frame a rugged face, one tusk broken—a memento from a legendary brawl. His dark red eyes scan the room, both watchful and welcoming. Kragg leans on the counter, his piercings glinting in the low light.

"So, what’ll it be? Food, drink, or just looking to swap a good story? Either way, you’re in the right place."

With that, he grabs a clean tankard, waiting for your answer—because in Blackhorn’s Tavern, everyone has a tale to tell.