"The full moon peaks around the clouds as the gray wolves cry
The hour's getting late and we've drunk every bottle dry
Just one more march from dusk 'til dawn 'til we finally arrive
At the gates of those who long ago burned our houses and took our lives"
The Dead South - The Dead South
My previous post about Role-Playing Game resting got me thinking about the role of the place of rest in RPGs. Not the place of eternal rest, which would likely concern either zombies or angels (or zombie angels) but the place where angel-zombie slaying heroes can set their heads down for the night. It's a wonder I've never played a game which has the player manage a high fantasy Inn&Tavern, given that "managerial" simulation games are an actual trend now and cRPGs have been making a comeback. After all, there's so much material to tap there.
Consider just the basic functionality of room and/or board. A few posts ago I reminisced of Planescape:Torment's Smouldering Corpse bar, with its collection of rare drinks from across dimensions. Do you see yourself importing fine dwarven rock candy (made of actual rocks, natch) or advertising fresh-squeezed maggot juice to discerning goblin palates, or brokering deals with devils for your fire-water? What about accommodating creatures of all fantasy sizes? Think yourself capable of building enough beds to fit both ogres and gnomes? Can you dig basement rooms for dwarves and a treehouse annex for elves?
Of course the clientele you manage to attract could come in handy, what with fantasy inns' uncanny magnetism for all sorts of drama, violence and intrigue. Your goblin customers might pick your pocket now and then but they'd also be the most likely to raise the alarm in case of assassins in the night. Elves and paladins are insufferable snobs, impossible to please, but you might want to roll out the red carpet while at the same time casually mentioning you've got a ghost that needs banishing by the forces of light. Vampires will pay through the nose for luxury, so long as you turn a blind eye to one of your other guests waking up a bit... drained. Werewolves can double as guard dogs when the moon is in the right phase.
And what about ancillary services? Will you accept a wizard's offer for long-term lodging just so he can build his laboratory in one of your rooms? Adventurers need a whole slew of merchants who may be willing to pay a slice of their profits for a prime location. Will you sign a contract with a potion-seller? A weapon stall for the local blacksmith's son? Would that just mean more trouble when a brawl breaks out? Maybe you should just stick with a couple of shrines to the more popular deities, so your cleric customers can conveniently kiss some divine ass before bed. What do you do if your hired minstrel happens to sing a ballad about the local duke's wife's... generous... proportions, just as he's stopping in for the night?
And what about the inn's traditional role as a hub for quest hooks? You could accumulate a well-stocked map room to cater to those looking for buried treasure, or give discounts to those adventurers willing to divulge their secret goals... which you can then sell to their competition or opposition for a tidy profit. Let one of your local "legitimate businessmen" "rent" a room at your inn in exchange for the sort of information one can only acquire in low places. Even if they can't afford rooms, keep a trough filled for your local Baker Street Irregulars in exchange for being the first to hear about new faces in town.
In truth, a few games like this either already exist or are in development, like Fortune's Tavern or Crossroads Inn or Tavern Keeper but aside from reputations as slapdash, hopelessly buggy messes, they all seem to play up a goofy, kid-friendly lighthearted atmosphere. While that can certainly be your in-game marketing strategy, it shouldn't be the tack for the game's aesthetic in itself.
Think about what actually happens during your average RPG campaign. Plagues run rampant at the mere anticipation of adventure. As soon as the hero steps into town, innocents start turning up dead in the gutter every morning, zombies swarm to outnumber rats, every evil sorceror within a week's travel starts evoking fireballs every which way like there's no tomorrow, houses start going up in a blaze every night despite being built of solid stone, dragons take to the skies like locusts and every day there's an even chance of a barbarian horde crashing their decade-long rampage into your town. If the hero "solves" any problem, it's likely by throwing a castle at it! And that's all just before the eldritch abominations show up.
Fantasy tavern management shouldn't be about cheerfully serving drinks. Your struggle to stay in business should center on your innkeeper's role as middle-man to the forces out to destroy the world, a conniving tool and accessory, a racketeer, a money-launderer, an accomplice, an enabler to the universe's gutterspawn and all the grandstanding, self-righteous loose cannons who stand in soi-disant opposition to "evil" forces. Your progress as a fantasy innkeeper should come at the cost of all your neighbours' houses going up in flames around you, the starvation of orphans and the suicide of despondent maidens, the senseless waste of bright-eyed young hopeful princes more-or-less-charming, the blazing ruination of your town, your kingdom and your world. Your victory? To remain the last building standing amidst the ashes of what might've been... and as the scattered survivors pick up the pieces, to open your doors once again to yet another band of drunken brawlers and power-hungry, cadaverous magi looking for a dark corner to lurk in.
Welcome.
Welcome, to The Wolfe's Den.
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