This large Tavern and Inn is located in Redmark's River District, along a wide street crowded with river-men, cutthroats, and thieves. At night the gigantic three-story stone and wood building comes alive with activity, the sound of boisterous laughs and the sight of flickering windows attracting customers from all quarters of the city. Most of the shabby clientele are locals; Dockway bully-boys or barge-sailors looking for cheap drinks, loose women, and good atmosphere. The Dragon provides the latter in quantity, for its proprietor does little to quell light violence and overtly encourages enthusiastic drinking and carousing. Weapons and armor are allowed (and a wise precaution). It’s a dangerous place but a friendly one, as long as no one harms the staff.
The Green Dragon’s inviting taproom swells to capacity of over 250 patrons on weekend evenings and remains busy into the small hours of the morning. Against the back wall, to the right of the expansive and well-stocked bar, is a raised platform supporting a private dining area with a fireplace and a long mahogany table capable of seating eight. When he is not mingling with his patrons, the Green Dragon's owner; Ricard Damaris, holds court from the dais, surrounding himself with a coterie of intriguing folk. He frequently invites special guests to join him at the so-called “Lord’s Table.”
For more than thirty years, adventurers have favored the Green Dragon Inn as a font of information about strange happenings in and around the city, unexplored tombs in the Cairn Hills, and even rumors about ruined castles and dark dungeons in the hills. The more adventurers who frequent the tavern, the deeper the information network grows, and the gregarious Ricard Damaris—seldom far from the taproom—is there to hear it all. Ricard closely follows local events these days out of curiosity, but in an earlier time, information was the sole purpose of the inn.
The kitchen’s specialty is “Dragon-mash,” a heaping bowl of under-cooked sausages and soggy potatoes large enough to please an ogre. If asked about it, Ricard smiles wistfully and recalls that years ago, the dish was first served to an ogre who frequented his establishment, but was run out of town shortly thereafter.
The inn’s second and third floors boast two-dozen rooms for rent; each accommodating up to two persons. Ricard and his staff live on the premises in a series of apartments seperated from the guest quarters.
