A rather charming looking tavern situated just off the square. Some might say off to the right, some to the left, but I always say it depends entirely on where you're standing. Always the place to go to wet your whistle, your pallete, or even your plants if your coin is right. Ol' Clyde's not one to judge. Word has it that he's lookin' to hire a helping hand or two. Most likely two, seeing as its awful hard to take an order with just one hand. So come on in, pull up a stool, and bring both your hands.

Behind its oaken front doors lays the purple haze that is the interior of the Pig and Pepper. Clyde stood in his usual spot behind the counter, tail lazily swishing back and forth as he watched the patrons come and go. The same faces greeted him every day, the regulars, the ones who showed up once a week, and the ones who only came in when their significant other was being... well... less than signifcant. He'd tip his hat to those who entered, nod to those who left and keep a stern eye on those who remained.

"Horace!" he called out, prodding at the reptile asleep at the hearth with a broom. "Damnit boy, yer gonna be the end o' me!" he gave one last good poke with the wooden shaft. "Bake the tarts or I'll shove YOU in the oven." The broom was quickly replaced under the counter, taking its rightful spot next to the blood stained cricket bat.

The doors opened, a fresh face, one Clyde had yet to see. "Welcome to the Pig and Pepper, boyo!" he called out, gesturing to the seat in front of him an outstretched arm. "Every new face gets a free pint from Ol' Clyde, have a seat, kick up yer feet, enjoy yerself for a little while, or a long while if ya please." he removed his broom, prodding Horace once more. "Oi, ye ken sleep when ye get 'ome, fetch the lad a biscuit!" his attention turned back to the newcomer once more, a grin replacing the snarl that had encompassed his feline features. "Name yer poison." he says, his practiced grin plastered on his face. "Drinks come in three varieties; clear, dark, and REAL dark."