The Lucky Rabbits Foot Inn - But Lucky For Whom?

 

Dear Reader

Some have said that a golden glow suffuses this venerable establishment at the heart of Northymbra. Others whisper of dangerous rituals performed for the most righteous reasons. More still tell tales of the mythic heroics performed by those who serve behind the bar. Read on to find the truth behind The Lucky Rabbit’s Foot!

Those who travel well, indeed anyone passing across the breadth or depth of Northymbra, will be well aware of the ancient township of Cawbridge that nestles on the north bank of the Tinanmude. Sitting as it does at the crux of the Stanegate and Deer Street, and standing guard over the stone bridge from which the village originally devised its name, those venerable highways ensure a regular flow of beasts through the area. In turn, this ensures a regular flow of coin from their collective purse into the local inns and taverns that litter Cawbridge.

Whilst many are little more then family homes that have been turned to a more profitable purpose, one of the few structures that stands apart as a grand bastion of boozing and brusque bonhomie is The Lucky Rabbit’s Foot. Though set back from the main thoroughfares, it’s imposing dormers can be clearly seen above the roofline of lesser dwellings. If that were not sufficient to attract one’s attention, a large and brightly painted (one could even venture as far as gaudy, though it is not as gauche as it might have been) sign above the main door cannot easily be ignored.

Through the impressive oak double doors, bedecked with brightly polished bronze and iron fittings (a rarity, given the time and effort required to keep them looking so fresh), one finds a crowded bar that extends out to the two wings on either side of the building. Small, iron-barred windows allow a measly amount of natural light in, supplemented by a meagre number of fatty, sooty candles, creating a perpetual twilight that could be thought of as romantic were it not for the horde of ne’r-do-wells thronging the place. Stocky, sturdy furniture that has clearly survived more than it’s fair share of bar fights is populated by thieves, cut throats and tax-collectors of all breeds and sizes. However it must be said that the variety of sizes of furniture is laudable, accommodating for beasts of all stripes.

This is of particular note as the staff are, to a man*, all hares. Whilst that may not be surprising where an inn is run by a single family, that is not the case here. Instead they seem to be united only by two key attributes that seem bafflingly unlinked**! Firstly, each of these leporids has a personality akin to that of a hornet trapped inside a recently shaken jar. Spiteful, rude, and short-tempered are some of the more pleasant descriptors that might be levelled at them. Whilst that is generally not what one looks for in a beast participating in a service role, their collective misanthropy seemed to temper the worst behaviour from the patrons during my visit. Where their attitude alone was not enough, they proved perfectly capable of backing up their warnings with immediate action, including a very forceful ejection of one pickpocketing cat.

Unfortunately, the landlord seemed to have the worst demeanour of all. I found him behind the bar pouring the pints, whilst maintaining a constant vigil across the patrons and silently signalling to his staff with a curious system of silent nods and glances, with the odd hand gesture thrown in seemingly for clarity. The efficiency of their system, particularly as the evening wore on and the boisterous noise from the patrons swelled, was undeniable though. As I waited my turn to be served whilst propping up the bar, as there was seemingly no table service, he spoke in short, curt sentences seasoned with the kind of colourful language one does not expect to hear outside of a battlefield. When I enquired about B.O.G. discounts, I was told in no uncertain terms where about my person I could put them. In fairness, the prices are comparable to those one might pay including a B.O.G. standard discount at other establishments in the area, so it is of little consequence, and one can understand why a business owner with such small margins may not wish to wither them further.

The landlord, seemingly known only as “Sarg”, did at least get my drink, took my food order, and arranged my accommodation for the night in very short order. Despite his terrifying visage and grumpy outlook, he certainly knows what he is doing and runs a tight operation.

Speaking of his visage, the second common denominator among the staff is the wearing of a black eye patch over their left eyes. At first, I thought this may simply be an affection, or some form of uniform to distinguish the employees from the general populace; I was disavowed of this notion fairly quickly after seeing several instances of staff members lifting their patches to soothe the wounds underneath, or use said scars to intimidate, shock and surprise unwary patrons. Quite how the staff managed to universally acquire such similar injuries, or if they were recruited because of them***, seems to be a point of speculation amongst those who find themselves drinking at The Lucky Rabbit’s Foot. Certainly, none of the staff seemed forthcoming as to what misfortunes may have become them; either flat-out ignoring questions or masterfully changing the topic of conversation before any glint of truth could be discerned.

Of similar rumourous interest to the patronage is the spear hanging above Sarg’s head at the bar, held aloft by heavy black chains. The bright iron of both the shaft and head are clearly well looked after, gleaming in the flickering candlelight, though also show a patina that speaks to years of hard use despite the prodigious weight. Tied just below the rough, oversized head is a strip of cloth of the deepest crimson; perhaps unsurprisingly, rumours abound that this was not the original colour, but it has become permanently stained by the blood of the many, many souls the mighty weapon had slain. Again, beyond speculation, there was nothing concrete to back the theory up.

As stated in my introduction, many speak of the “golden glow” so entwined with The Lucky Rabbit’s Foot Inn. There is a fairly straight forward explanation in reality; above head height, and closely flanked by the majority of the candles I mentioned earlier, are a staggering number of artworks depicting golden chalices of every conceivable design. Whilst many are masterfully painted to depict the hue of that most precious of metals, a few do appear (though it is hard to tell at the distance and in such poor light) to have small amounts of gold leaf applied to enhance the effect. Far from anything magical or miraculous, though this seemingly goes over the heads of those unwilling to hear it! Quite why some beasts are so opposed to listening to reason is beyond me… Still, as with the spear and eye-patches, there is much speculation as to the meaning of the décor.

There is one aspect of The Lucky Rabbit’s Foot Inn where there is little speculation; the beer. It is brewed to be cheap and strong, down in the cellars of the Inn by the very staff serving it. As something of a connoisseur of ale, one is used to sampling the more potent brews of this fair isle; these beers are more like swigging a lightly corked wine straight from the bottle! There is no subtlety to the flavours (what little flavour there is), and although there are slightly more than a handful of varieties available to partake in, after the first three, one was incapable of discerning any difference between them. Hogswash, to be sure, but by far not the worst I have sampled; to say the very least, none of the drinks I tasted were actively unpleasant! If one is drinking to forget a difficult day, unfavourable travels, or the horrors of battle, the beer at The Lucky Rabbit’s Foot would be high on my recommendations, but for little other purpose.

The food, like the beer (it hurts my very soul to reference anything served here as “ale”), is functional and basic fayre. Salted grub loin, sharp cheeses, floury crusted loaves of bread… it will certainly fill you up and fuel you through the night but elicit little more excitement than that. I have been informed by some of the local regulars that there are frequent “themed” evenings where the food improves, such as the upcoming Roma night featuring the round, baked, highly flavoured flatbreads so popular from Roma to Sicilia, though one doubts the authenticity of such endeavours. I will say that the earwig sausage served at breakfast was welcomingly piquant, and the locally foraged mushrooms were refreshingly meaty, so perhaps breakfast is the better meal to stay for. One might suggest that this was because the staff partook of the same food themselves, if one were to give in to conspiratorial leanings.

Like many a tavern across the land, the facilities are located in a separate outbuilding behind the pub proper. As with many more modernised urban areas, this actually included a “plumbed” outflow, whisking one’s waste away almost as soon as it had been deposited, to attempt a more tasteful description. I believe a small amount of the flow from the Tinanmude is diverted through the town to flush away all detritus, leaving the facilities refreshingly odour free****. Whilst it is still not the most pleasant experience, particular during inclement weather, it is certainly better than many a septic pit still found in many of the manors and castles about Northymbra, let alone those of lesser buildings. Additionally, each seat is in its own vestibule, with a latchable door. Perhaps not the most secure place, but the privacy is appreciated. The different shades of timber used in the construction of the door frames and latches raises the suspicion that frequent repairs are made necessary by the less-than-careful (or perhaps actively vandillic) patrons.

Another surprisingly pleasant area of The Lucky Rabbit’s Foot Inn are the guest accommodations. Behind the bar, a secluded stairway leads up to the first floor. Whilst there is no door or gate barring access to the room, Sarg’s remaining eye is ever watchful and one doubts even the most stealthy of thieves would make it past him. Similarly, on the far side of the bar is a second flight of stairs leading down to the cellars. It would appear that the entire staff are quartered down there, another peculiarities of this establishment, guaranteeing security throughout the night. How they sleep around all the brewery equipment and beer stowage, one cannot fathom!

The top of the guest stairwell leads out into a broad dorm room, with a handful of beds. As with much else, they are deeply functional in aesthetic and level of comfort; the straw mattresses will afford you a reasonable night’s sleep (not accounting for the snoring of other guests you may be sharing the room with, naturally) but offer little more plushness than that. The ropes in the frames holding the mattresses aloft are at least crossbow-string taught, and regularly maintained, ensuring that at least one won’t suffer from a twisted shoulder or aching spine the following morning. The blankets and pillows provided are similarly basic and should keep you perfectly warm through the latter part of spring to early autumn, but one would suggest you bring something of a heavier thread-count if you plan on visiting during the depths of winter. This is particularly pertinent as there is no fireplace upstairs to warm the room. The latent heat from the bar downstairs, and presumably the brewery below that, keeps the worst of the chill at bay, if nothing more. As with the bar, thick candles provide a meagre illumination, with no windows to supplement it. For a sleeping quarters, that is reasonable, however one would appreciate 
more visibility when stowing one’s belongings.

To either side of the main dorm, taking up the lion’s share of each wing, are a pair of double rooms. A friendly polecat couple, travelling from Fib to see family in Defenasċīr, were kind enough to show me their room in the East wing. Whilst it could not be called luxurious, the mattress was noticeably more plump and the blankets lacked even the hint of a hole. Yes, I did write blanketS; plural! Each more than large enough to cover the bed in its entirety. One even had quite an attractive pattern woven into thick wool. Flanking each side of the bed were a pair of small wardrobes; not large enough for long term storage, but sufficient for a few days of even the bulkiest winter clothing. Certainly, this is a step or two up from the shared dorm, for those who can afford the extra pennies.

A final aspect of The Lucky Rabbit’s Foot Inn that ensures you will be well rested when staying in the accommodation is the evening entertainment more specifically, the lack thereof. Beyond the idle speculation and rumourous chatter that suffuses the bar throughout the day, there are no minstrels, orators, players, or similar making clamorous rackets late into the night. On the rare occasion of a theme night there may be a solitary musician performing, but I was assured that it was never later than sunset*****. Be prepared to entertain yourselves, if you aren’t inclined to engage in meaningless prattle with the locals.
One word of warning to those who may wish to visit The Lucky Rabbit’s Foot Inn during campaigning season; be prepared to be disappointed. According to the haggard-looking badger I had the misfortune of being unable to escape from a conversation with for almost an hour, and thus take this with as many pinches of salt as you may, it is not unusual to find the doors barred, the lights out, and the staff entirely absent with no warning whatsoever. These sudden, unexplained closures (which seemingly the staff refuse to comment upon or even acknowledge) can last anywhere between a day or two to a few weeks. Quite how such an establishment could stay in business under such circumstances is beyond me, but many other patrons did seem to agree with the badger, if not vocally support their assertions...

To summarise then; The Lucky Rabbit’s Foot Inn is cheap, if not cheerful. The beer and food suffice, if only just, but the accommodation is a step or two better in quality. Whilst the regulars are perhaps not the most favourable crowd, the staff more than ensure the venue stays safe and secure, whilst providing astonishingly efficient service, if not the most pleasant. If you can arrive when it is open, that is...

As ever, your faithful servant,

Madam E.d.A-M

*That is correct; quite unusually for such a well staffed establishment, there were no female employees. One does wonder why that might be.

**let alone linked to why they would all be working at an inn...

***such a requirement in the job description would limit the recruitment pool somewhat. Or possibly drive unemployed beasts to very desperate measures!

****To an extant; it does not help if particularly drunken patrons use the corner of the cubicle rather than the blindingly obvious seat… nor if said droppings get smeared up the walls!

*****This does rather seem to miss the point of a theme “night” to me, but I can imagine it being quite welcome if you arrived after a long day without knowing that such an event were occurring.