In a city known for drinking and colorful characters, no establishment has more of the two than the Black Wrack. Proudly declaring itself Stormreach’s biggest tavern, the Wrack is nestled against the silver wall on the Red Ring’s north side. The main room is spacious and loud, with a ceiling high enough for the likes of the minotaur Kolos (page 102) to walk without stooping.
The Black Wrack is owned and operated by a nononsense but good-natured fellow named Handlon the Brick (NG male human barbarian 2/ranger 4). Called Brick by his regular customers, Handlon arrived alone in the city aboard a cargo ship in late 976 YK. By the start of 978, he had designed and completed initial construction on the tavern. Within days of its grand opening, the Black Wrack had become one of the city’s most popular watering holes. There are many reasons for this, but chief among them—aside from the wide selection of affordable drinks—is Handlon’s one rule: All are welcome to his hospitality, regardless of race or cultural heritage. If a squabble erupts, it gets taken outside immediately, or Handlon puts an end to it, often abruptly and painfully. Everyone’s gold is good at the Black Wrack.
Today the tavern’s popularity is at an all-time high, thanks in part to its widely used wall of notices. What began as a way for Handlon to add some color to his otherwise boring decor has grown into an invaluable resource for adventurers and explorers. It started when he invited his patrons to place job postings, want ads, and other notices on the tavern’s north wall. This proved so popular that Handlon soon formalized the practice, organizing the postings into different classifications. Within a few years, many adventurers who arrived in Stormreach knew to check the wall for opportunities that might be in the offing. New arrivals already know of the wall if they succeed on a DC 15 Knowledge (local) check.
Handlon’s animal companion is an enormous mastiff (essentially a riding dog), which spends most of its time either sprawled out on the floor by the bar or tracing a lazy perimeter around the tavern’s interior. Its name is Sascha, and no matter how drunk or rowdy the Wrack’s patrons get, they know not to involve the dog in their shenanigans, lest they rouse the animal’s ire or that of its owner.