After two game sessions at The Lost Dice, we decided to try the facilities at Tabletop Warfare on Prospect Road for our third gathering. They have some rooms put aside for roleplaying games and the promise was that they would be quieter since we were able to actually shut the door!
The rooms were simply phenomenal. Each were decorated with a different theme – a dungeon cell, a tavern, and a Victorian parlour. Each had two monitors and a sound system to plug a laptop into. One monitor is embedded in the table so that you could run combat encounters on it. Stunning. Here are some photos.
And yes, it was quiet. Stupid me left his folder of A3 laminated maps behind though, never to be seen again.
But enough gushing…
Through the Gates of Merridale
Sariel strode through the gates, ignoring the guards’ lingering looks. The rest of the party hurried to catch up, heading along Market Street towards their destination, the Red Rock Tavern. The upper stories of the timber-framed houses overhung the street, casting long shadows as the sun sunk behind the rooftops. Pairs of guards stood on every street corner, holding torches to keep the shadows at bay. Townsfolk hurried home, shuttering their windows. Few paused to stare at the strange group of companions striding down the street. None made eye contact.
The town square showed signs of preparations ahead of tomorrow’s market day, but the square was strangely empty of people. Fear of the Night Shades perhaps. Or perhaps it was the disquieting way in which the noose on a freshly-built gallows was swinging in the wind. Hardly a pleasant site for the market-goers in the morning.
Samira gasped as she saw the smashed windows of Azim’s Emporium of Wonders. The shop looked like it has been ransacked. Memories of her childhood rose unbidden and a sudden wave of sadness swept over her. Samira grew up in Merridale falls and knew Azim and his shelves filled with many-coloured bottles, holding tinctures, lotions, poultices and potions.
The tavern was named after the enormous red boulder that lay embedded in the road. The townsfolk seemed accustomed to it, navigating their wagons and hand carts around it without even looking up, but to the visitors it was a strange sight. Someone had painted a crude eye symbol on it – recently. Looking around at the nearby buildings, similar symbols were carved into the wooden lintels or painted on the walls.
The party made their way inside, with the wind flinging the door open suddenly. A loud voice yelled from across the room “Shut the bloody door!”
The room was filled with visitors for the town market on the morrow.