The Game of Taverns
One of the little delights about generic fantasy is the trope of the inn or tavern. Yes, "you all meet in a tavern" is a tremendous cliché - but the tavern, being a snapshot of a culture when they're not at work, is the first and easiest way to establish the character of a place. You could, if you so desired, trace the gamer "fantasy tavern" back to The Prancing Pony, but note also that there is the Silver Eel (and its Golden Lamprey counterpart) of Lankhmar, and the difference between the two is essentially one of the first dividing points between the straight-up high fantasy pastiche of classic epic storytelling-meets-rustic familiarity and the more satirical side of sword and sorcery.
This is also true of modern watering holes and hangouts, of course, though the most famous of those in science fiction are typically on the humorous side (Milliways is the first that leaps to mind, and although I've never read Spider Robinson, I'm aware of his Cross-Time Saloon). Vampire: the Masquerade had The Succubus Club, for instance, a properly memorable establishment. I would be highly tempted to steal the name "Man's Ruin" from an Asheville tattoo parlor, if I didn't think that there was no way I could do it justice. Mainstream there are plenty of familiar establishments, of course, such as Cheers or the Bada Bing. Sometimes they are characters; sometimes they aren't. But it's a theme that endures.
We love our watering holes in games, of course, as it's a chance to show the player characters when they're not at work. (Except when they are, as my friend Jake would often be during our teenage D&D games - "any fat merchants?", he'd gleefully ask, rubbing some fictionally pickpocketish fingers together). But in order for the prospect to work, you have to make the place memorable enough that the players come back. Sometimes it's as easy as coming up with a bar that's a noted hangout for Notable People - an Elysium for vampires, a neutral ground for werewolves, a superhero (or supervillain) bar, a tavern for adventurers. But in order to really sell it, you have to hit your players from the first impression. You have to have a good name.
I love the game of naming taverns. It's always good to have at least three potential dance clup/watering hole/strip club/meat market ideas in your mind, so you can have something ready for the urban group when they hit the town. In fantasy, for instance, I like having the "rich upscale place," the "rough-around-the-edges adventurers' hangout," and "the filthy dive." I would even have IM conversations with friends about naming them (such as the time I told Kathy "never mind, got it... it'll be the Gutspike*." She probably rolled her eyes). Comedy establishment names are of course nothing new, but generally speaking the best ones don't follow the "The Whelk and Firkin" naming convention of two odd names together. That's because they run together and become indistinct, unless you can come up with a pairing that conjures an immediate image. Something themed - I want to use "the Mattock and Grave" at some point, being the death-imagery-fiend I am. Mattock and Grave, proprietors, of course.
But, see, now there's an extra wrinkle. Because my brother runs for me and Aileen now. And he gets that idea of the first impression - of saying "You could drink at the Raging Merchant or the Prone Pony." Good hangout names make you smile one way or the other; maybe in an "oh, cool" sense, but sometimes in the amused "what? Why is the pony prone?" sense. So now it's a matter of escalation. I have to make names that are just as good, even - especially - if it's just a one-shot thrown together to entertain his friends as well as Aileen and himself.
They enjoyed their visit to the Jaundiced Eye, for whatever it's worth (where the prostitutes are somewhat past their freshness expiration date but the alcohol selection is really quite impressive. The two distinctions were not related in my head until Aileen started to snicker). The scene played out like something from Lankhmar, with all the dry wit I'd hoped for and those amused, somewhat alarmed grins on the faces of the players as they considered the, shall we say, reputation of the fine establishment.
Your move, J.
*The Gutspike was on a street by a few slaughterhouses, you see. Also it was a filthy dive with the kind of clientele that has more knives than teeth. I'm still quite happy with that one.
This is also true of modern watering holes and hangouts, of course, though the most famous of those in science fiction are typically on the humorous side (Milliways is the first that leaps to mind, and although I've never read Spider Robinson, I'm aware of his Cross-Time Saloon). Vampire: the Masquerade had The Succubus Club, for instance, a properly memorable establishment. I would be highly tempted to steal the name "Man's Ruin" from an Asheville tattoo parlor, if I didn't think that there was no way I could do it justice. Mainstream there are plenty of familiar establishments, of course, such as Cheers or the Bada Bing. Sometimes they are characters; sometimes they aren't. But it's a theme that endures.
We love our watering holes in games, of course, as it's a chance to show the player characters when they're not at work. (Except when they are, as my friend Jake would often be during our teenage D&D games - "any fat merchants?", he'd gleefully ask, rubbing some fictionally pickpocketish fingers together). But in order for the prospect to work, you have to make the place memorable enough that the players come back. Sometimes it's as easy as coming up with a bar that's a noted hangout for Notable People - an Elysium for vampires, a neutral ground for werewolves, a superhero (or supervillain) bar, a tavern for adventurers. But in order to really sell it, you have to hit your players from the first impression. You have to have a good name.
I love the game of naming taverns. It's always good to have at least three potential dance clup/watering hole/strip club/meat market ideas in your mind, so you can have something ready for the urban group when they hit the town. In fantasy, for instance, I like having the "rich upscale place," the "rough-around-the-edges adventurers' hangout," and "the filthy dive." I would even have IM conversations with friends about naming them (such as the time I told Kathy "never mind, got it... it'll be the Gutspike*." She probably rolled her eyes). Comedy establishment names are of course nothing new, but generally speaking the best ones don't follow the "The Whelk and Firkin" naming convention of two odd names together. That's because they run together and become indistinct, unless you can come up with a pairing that conjures an immediate image. Something themed - I want to use "the Mattock and Grave" at some point, being the death-imagery-fiend I am. Mattock and Grave, proprietors, of course.
But, see, now there's an extra wrinkle. Because my brother runs for me and Aileen now. And he gets that idea of the first impression - of saying "You could drink at the Raging Merchant or the Prone Pony." Good hangout names make you smile one way or the other; maybe in an "oh, cool" sense, but sometimes in the amused "what? Why is the pony prone?" sense. So now it's a matter of escalation. I have to make names that are just as good, even - especially - if it's just a one-shot thrown together to entertain his friends as well as Aileen and himself.
They enjoyed their visit to the Jaundiced Eye, for whatever it's worth (where the prostitutes are somewhat past their freshness expiration date but the alcohol selection is really quite impressive. The two distinctions were not related in my head until Aileen started to snicker). The scene played out like something from Lankhmar, with all the dry wit I'd hoped for and those amused, somewhat alarmed grins on the faces of the players as they considered the, shall we say, reputation of the fine establishment.
Your move, J.
*The Gutspike was on a street by a few slaughterhouses, you see. Also it was a filthy dive with the kind of clientele that has more knives than teeth. I'm still quite happy with that one.