Frontier
Haunted
Poor prices
Second Roll Canteen
the fort canteen where the dead still answer roll call
You push open a low, iron-banded door and step into a long, narrow hall lit by whale-oil lamps that sputter as if arguing with a draft. The air smells of stewed turnips and old smoke, but beneath it rides a sharp tang of brass and oil—the scent of kit left too long in a trunk. Wooden tables are set in regimented rows; faded coat hooks and a half-mended blanket hang where uniforms once did. When the lamp light catches the far end, for a moment you glimpse a shape standing like a sentinel by the entrance—then it blinks out. A faded roll-sheet is nailed over the bar, names written in a cramped, military hand; patrons glance at it the way soldiers glance at a morning muster. Conversation drops to a wary murmur whenever someone taps a spoon against the counter, and an odd little bell above the back door rings on its own at dusk.
A weathered iron plate shaped like a bugle, dulled green with age; three punched holes along the rim echo the pattern of a military rank. The metal swings on a ragged rope and faintly rings when the wind passes. No words are painted—only a single stamped chevron.
Brenk Hunsley
Human
Manner
Quirk
Stats
Roll-Call Toddy
4 cpA hot mix of cider and a pinch of smouldered juniper; after a sip you feel unnaturally alert for one hour—advantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks to notice movements or whispers in the canteen.
Poor (5e lifestyle: about 2 sp a day)
Merri Cooke · cook
A broad-shouldered woman who ladles stew without ceremony and mutters old marching tunes to keep the dead from crowding the kitchen.
Tobin Rill · barmaid
A wiry youth who moves between tables with a tray and an uneasy smile, always avoiding the north wall where the shadows seem thickest.
Garth the Stablehand · stablehand
Keeps the horses and supplies, and swears that one grey mare will not be saddled on certain nights without shivering violently.
Sergeant Ledd
An old veteran who sleeps in the corner cot and insists he's owed a proper burial detail for a fallen squad—he's looking for Lieutenant Harrow's accusers.
Halla Two-Strings
A traveling fiddler who collects marching tunes and scraps of watch-sheets; she wants the original roll book so she can finish a song about the last watch.
Perric Dams
A cartographer mapping the frontier's abandoned posts; he's hunting the 'Cold Bore' field gun said to be buried beneath the canteen yard.
1
Lieutenant Harrow's dog tags are said to jingle beneath the floorboards by the north wall; some swear the tags call the dead to answer roll.
2
An old watch book, 'The Eastwatch Roll,' is buried in a zinc chest behind the cistern; Halla Two-Strings believes its final entry names a traitor and will finish her ballad if she finds it.
3
A rusted field gun known as the 'Cold Bore' was interred in the canteen yard after the last skirmish; Perric Dams claims its barrel hides a sealed message from Colonel Merek.
Made with the free LoreKeeper Tavern Generator · Free to use at your table · Licence
More frontier taverns
Final Roll Call
the fort canteen where the garrison still answers
The canteen sits inside the ruined outer wall of an abandoned frontier redoubt. Lantern light fights with fog that creeps in from the trench; every table is scarred with initials and tally marks…
Sod and Hearthbound
the homestead inn at the edge of the scrublands
You duck beneath a low lintel into warm, straw-scented air. Light filters through smoke-darkened rafters and a line of clay lamps, illuminating braided rugs and a patchwork of quilts hanging to dry…
The Last Dipper
the tent that stole a claim
You push aside oilcloth flaps and the smell of smoke, pickled meat and sour ale hits first. A dozen bent poles hold a patchwork tent over packed dirt; lanterns gutter in oil-smeared tin, casting…
Ledger of Broken Stakes
the tent at the edge of the badlands
You push aside the heavy canvas and step into a low, lopsided tent that smells of wet wool, frying fat, and coal smoke. Lanterns in mason jars gutter on ropes slung from the central pole; voices…
The Buckled Sled
the trappers' rendezvous on the thawing road
Steam from trade stoves and damp cloaks hangs in the low ceiling as men and women stamp snow from boots and swap measured lies over steaming stew. The common room smells of smoked meat, tallow, and…
The Winter Ledger
the trappers' rendezvous on auction week
The Winter Ledger smells of smoked meat, wet wool, and boot leather steeped in ale. Sconces gutter with tallow and a single iron chandelier swings gently over a floor strewn with straw, fur pelts…
