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Flagondrainer is always found wearing simple tunics and breeches, with an apron that long ago ceased to be white. He has a balding head of grey hair and an enormous grey beard. He keeps the beard tucked into a wide leather belt that struggles against his portly waistline, and his red nose and twinkling eyes betray the fact that he samples his own concoctions from time to time. He has a booming, resonant bass voice that shakes the glasses off of the shelf when he roars with laughter, and a hearty slap on the back from him is known to knock the mightiest of adventurers clean off their barstools. He is a sucker for a good tale, and will often spring for a round of drinks when he hears one that tickles his fancy. He knows that his establishment caters to the adventurer, and therefore can get a little rough. He has no patience for random, wanton, drunken destruction and will not hesitate to toss a patron out on his ear after a sound thrashing. He is immensely proud of his house specialty, Troll Blood Grog, which is so potent that he refuses to serve it to anyone he doen't deem to have the constitution to withstand it. |
Flagondrainer comes from a long line of tapsters, and an even longer line of casual and professional drinkers. He set out in life wanting nothing more than to honor his ancestors by becoming the greatest brewer ever to walk the face of the planet. He is well on his way to acomplishing this goal.
It is said that he was raised on moonshine and can drink the acid out of a green dragon's stomach and only suffer a mild case of heartburn. It cannot be argued that Flagondrainer has yet to meet his match in a drinking contest, which he
usually wins by placing a goblet of steaming, bubbling Troll Blood Grog in front of his opponenent, and then sitting back and laughing uproariosly at the results. |