Old Kartakan Inn and Taverna
The Old Kartakan Inn and Taverna sits on the corner of Skald’s oldest market square, its timber frame sagging like an old song, yet its lanterns ever-bright and windows ever-warm. This establishment, the most famous in all Kartakass, is a fixture of local tradition and theatrical lore, a place where every song has been sung, every tale told—but never quite the same way twice.
Though he rarely claims it directly, the inn is owned by Harkon Lukas, Kartakass’s darklord and most infamous bard. He appears at irregular intervals, often under a different guise, to drink, perform, or scout talent. His agents keep the inn's performances running nightly—free to locals, costly for outsiders—ensuring a constant tide of song, satire, and sorrow. A performer who wins the room may win Lukas’s patronage. A performer who fails may disappear before sunrise.
The staff are all charming and well-trained, but slightly too rehearsed in their hospitality. Some say they’re actors in Lukas’s long-running, domain-spanning play.
The menu changes seasonally, but always includes:
- Spiced black wine with anise and berries—called the Wolf’s Smile
- Stonebread and blood-sausage stew, a Kartakan staple
- Ginger-caramel flutes, pastries shaped like instruments
The inn is a hub of gossip and hidden deals, frequented by traveling minstrels, merchants, and secret police of the Velvet Curtain. Deals are struck between verses. Poison slips into mugs beneath applause. A carefully played tune might unlock secret panels in the floor—or memories not your own.
The Old Kartakan Inn and Taverna is more than a tavern. It’s a trap in the shape of a welcome, a place where songs live forever—and sometimes the singers do, too, whether they wish to or not.
Architecture
Inside, the Old Kartakan exudes woodsmoke, spiced wine, and candlelight. Worn but polished tables crowd a wide central floor, flanked by balconies where guests can observe—or perform. Musical instruments hang from the rafters: old lutes, cracked fiddles, a harp with one ghostly note. The bar itself is carved with the names of a hundred forgotten bards and inscribed with verses of Kartakan folk ballads. Despite its cheer, there's something strange in the acoustics—songs echo too long, and whispers travel where they shouldn’t.
A prominent stage dominates the far wall, framed by velvet curtains that never quite stay still, even when there’s no breeze. It's said that anyone can take the stage—but not everyone leaves it the same.
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