Moltrug’s Left Cheek
Still warm. Still dangerous. Still technically fireproof.
A Tavern That Burnt My Beard Off — And I Stayed for Seconds
Aye, I’ve drank in a lotta holes, but none of ‘em steamed me eyebrows clean off like Moltrug’s Left Cheek. It’s the kind of place ya don’t so much walk into as bake inside. Buried deep under the mountain, somewhere past the point where the stone gets soft and the air smells like rage, there’s this tavern — carved straight outta a dead lava tube, still glowin’ like it’s waitin’ to erupt again.
And there’s Grunna. Grunna Moltrug. She runs the place with one arm, two eyes, and no patience. Claimed she survived a full frontal magma surge with nothin’ but a cast-iron skillet and stubbornness — though she admits the cheek she sat on never healed quite right.
I once tried flirtin’ with her. She said I didn’t have the constitution score.
📌 Think yer tough enough for an ale that hisses back?
👉 Step deeper into the Tavern Toolshed, or send yer complaints via magma slug through the contact cave.
What in the Nine Forges Is This Place?
Moltrug’s Left Cheek is a dwarven-built pub nestled just shy of the earth’s molten tantrum. It’s the kinda place that makes a forge look like a breezy meadow. The floor pulses with heat, the mugs hiss when filled, and there’s no such thing as “cold ale” — only lava-warmed bitters and spirits served in stoneware that don’t crack.
What Keeps It Going?
A salamander lives in the back. Pays rent in heat. Drinks anything flammable.
The walls are laced with whispersteel — the kind o’ metal that remembers screams and keeps secrets.
Duergar and deep-delvers have declared it neutral ground. If ya spill blood here, yer bones vanish. Not a threat. That’s policy.
Tavern Highlights:
All chairs are stone stools. Cushions are for surfacers.
The house special is Magmaheart Grog — burns goin’ in and comin’ out.
Singing is allowed. Yellin’ is mandatory.
The taproom’s ceiling shifts — some say it’s breathin’. Others say it’s worse than that.
Who Drinks Here (and Survives)
Yer party’s not alone down here. Use these patrons to start a plot, end a feud, or launch an expedition into the deep-dark:
The Furnace Twins — bald dwarves who finish each other’s sentences and fists
Drelith of the Ash-Eyes — a duergar bard who only sings tragedies... in reverse
The Ember-Sworn Oracle — never speaks unless the hearth cracks twice
A Fire Mephit in a Suit — claims to be a liquor inspector, keeps setting the books on fire
And then there's the dog. Always asleep. Always smokin’. Never burns.
Plot Hooks & Hot Trouble
Drop yer party into Moltrug’s Left Cheek and let the heat do the talkin’. Here’s what could kick off mid-toast:
The Salamander’s Gone Cold: The elemental in the cellar stops burnin’. Grunna wants answers. Or sacrifices.
Tunnel Collapse: A new shaft opens under the wine rack. Leads somewhere… hollow.
A Patron Glows: One of the regulars starts radiatin’ heat like a sun. And laughin’ like they ain’t right in the head.
The Whispersteel Whispers Back: A party member hears voices in the walls — and they know his real name.
By Brunlin’s Missing Eyebrow, That’s a Lotta Heat for One Drink
Moltrug’s Left Cheek ain’t a spa. It’s a rite of passage. Drop it into yer next deep-delve session or use it as a hard reset when yer players are too comfy sleepin’ in elven inns and drinkin’ mint tea.
👉 Want more spots that smell like charred regrets and bad decisions? Hit the Tavern Toolshed, check the FAQ, or send a scroll that ain’t covered in soot to Mike’s contact shelf.
FAQ
Q: Is this safe to rest in?
A: Safer than sleepin’ in a gelatinous cube. Not by much. But aye — no brawlin’, and Grunna keeps the lava spirits in line.
Q: What’s the temperature inside?
A: Somewhere between forge-ready and crispy lungs. Make yer CON saves or start sweatin’.
Q: Can players buy whispersteel here?
A: Grunna don’t sell it. But it listens when ya offer a story… or a memory worth rememberin’.
