Dragon's Roost Tavern

A tavern near the southern gates, managed by a dwarf.

Noska Darr is staying here.

Described like this by Sand:

After some more time weaving through the Iron Quarter's streets, you approach another beacon of sound and light. While you avoided goblin reverie in the chosen route, the laughter, shouting, and cursing here is decidedly Dwarvish. A large wooden structure, technically three stories tall, rises up to meet the city's roofs. It was certainly built by dwarves, its wooden supports looking more like decorated stone pillars, beige stucco stylized to give the feeling of rough scales in some places. Blocky windows, their forms made up of rough angles and thick bars, let the warm light leak onto the street, and patrons walk in and out- the latter in worse shape.

Most importantly, you understand the source of the Roost's name. Cutting through what must have been the space worth two rooms, a gigantic statue of a dragon, made of bronze parts and scraps in a way that Frozz would be proud to see, roosts upon a nest made up of many smaller pieces of brass shavings and rebar.

Indeed, you hear the sound of music coming from within, a mixture of singing and instruments.

Entering the Roost, your senses are assaulted all at once. The scent of honey, fruits, and meats fights against the alcohol dispersed all throughout, both in breath and sticky puddles- some being cleaned, others ignored. Conversations layer over each other until they become a single frenetic cacophony.

To your left, a wooden stage rises up from the tavern's floor, adorned by decorated wooden pillars, marked by wings, eggs, and scales, as well as beautiful red velvet curtains. They look to have texture and color variance, but those are probably just stains.

Up there, three musicians peddle their trade. At the front, a young dwarven lady plays a silver flute. Dark green eyeshadow contrasts with the red of her lipstick and ginger of a short beard falling from her chin, lacking a mustache and braided with flowers and gemstones. She taps her foot to keep the rhythm, not missing a beat.

Behind, an old dwarf with eyebrows so big they cover up his eyes plays a drum with lethargy, like a worker on autopilot. Another dwarf, considerably younger but still with silver strands amongst his copper mane, turns the handle of a strange wooden mechanical instrument on his lap, covered in string and buttons that resemble an accordion's.

To your right, the room descends two steps down into a rectangular hole that fits a good four tables. They are occupied by a group of workers in GMEC attire, somewhere between a discussion and friendly banter where one claims superiority over the other's works.

Couples weave dances between tables, workdays are finalized, and in general a lot of drink is thrown down the hatch.

A dwarf wearing a neat uniform marked by scales, and small brass rivets as well as a dragon-shaped brooch waves his hand at you all from a few tables away, just next to the railing that leads down to the den of squabbling workers. There, you notice Noska Darr is seated with a mug in hand.