The Black Jug / The Fighting Pits

At a first glance, The Black Jug doesn’t seem to be a particularly noteworthy tavern. Located in one of the less well-to-do quarters in Faline, it is certainly not a classy establishment by any means, but the floors are clean-scrubbed, the tables polished, and the large man behind the counter is jovial and amicable. Anyone is welcome to enjoy a mug of beer, a glass of decent wine, or a pipe of wyrdweed; the food, while simple, is well-made and honest farmer’s fare.

Of course, the place has seen its fair share of tavern brawls and hot-headed scuffles between inebriated patrons, but nothing worse than other places. A traveller could settle down for a meal and a drink and be on their way none the wiser.

And yet… there is something in the atmosphere. A kind of wariness, perhaps, or tension; groups of what one would assume are regulars occupying the corners of the main room, and some of them don't look like they have your best interest at heart. Sometimes the place is unexpectedly closed, and the area around the tavern is conspicuously empty of city guards.

The illustrious owner of the place is Azcasu: a well-known name, but a hard-to-catch presence, in the underworld of Faline.

The building

The Jug is a fairly large house, built around an open courtyard in the middle. A tree grows there, larger than one would think the cramped space allows, though it is gnarled and its branches stunted. Small trinkets, ribbons, and what seems like old keepsakes hang from it, as if people have been making little offerings or wishes.

The entrance is a double door, old blue-painted wood; little charms and engraved glyphs surround the doorframe. Superstition, maybe… maybe not. A fairly hefty rock is placed right next to the door, and it is carved into a crude, grinning face, with moss and algae growing on top of it: a sign, perhaps, to those who know how to read such things.

The bottom floor is the tavern, with a main drinking hall, and a handful of smaller rooms, all laid out around the courtyard. There is a covered walkway around it, as well, for those caught out in the rain.

The second floor consists mostly of smaller rooms, available to rent for a cheap sum; illicit meetings, a steamy encounter, secrets trading hands… as long as you pay, nobody cares what you use them for.

The third floor is Azcasu’s private office and residence, a place only a select handful are invited to.

The Fighting Pits

Downstairs, in the basement, is where the real, beating heart of the Black Jug is: stone floor cellars stained with blood and sweat, the walls ingrained with violence and ambition.

The underground part of the Jug is extensive, much larger than the size of the building hints at, and there is a labyrinthine tangle of old smugglers’ tunnels and get-away passages leading to and from the place. There are a handful of storage rooms, and a cellar for beverages, but those only occupy a small portion of the space.

The rest is reserved for what is simply known as The Pits…

…and that is what most people go to the Jug for: to participate in the perhaps-not-entirely-legal organized fights. On most days, the cavernous halls underneath the Jug are filled with the sounds of fighting: the slap of sweat-slicked skin against skin, a dull crack of bones, heads bashed against the walls of the pit; sounds of pain, rage, and triumph. Sometimes, a selection of weapons are allowed: knives and daggers, knuckle irons, staffs.

And on a few rare days, the sounds and sights of magic echo throughout the halls. Mages matched against each other, to see whose skills or power is the greatest, or whose strategy comes out on top. Those days draw the biggest audience, but they are also the ones with the most rigorous background control of the participants ‒ Azcasu fully knows what the price of magic can be.

The fighters wrestle for glory and fame, and of course the not-insignificant winnings; a strategic fighter with luck on their side can earn a month’s wage in one night, if they win. Some fights have higher stakes, some are merely considered practise.

There are groups of regular fighters that often occupy the pits, but everyone is welcome, should they wish to test their strength and cunning. The crowds here are a lot more diverse than what the shabby tavern upstairs might suggest; nobles and commoners alike are drawn to a violent spectacle.

(WC 759)