"Good evenin' gentlemen," says a weathered man with a toothless grin as they arrive, "Come on in, won't you?"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:26, Sat 09 Sept 2017.

"MWAHAHAAHAAHAHAHAH!"

The gnomish illusionist titters appreciatively.

Inside the tavern they find everyone. Every failed quest character you can imagine, from Calcevorn, sitting cantankerously in a shady corner, to Berty Bickums, who wipes a grimy glass with his characteristically grimier cloth. Lady Mariel sits beside the Queen of Morn, the former looking about her with disdain, the latter with apprehension. Men and women, elves and elleth of nearly every shape and bearing fill out the establishment. Lastergon does note that there seem to be surprisingly few dwarves and varim represented among the patrons.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:35, Sat 09 Sept 2017.

"Hey," says a voice from behind him, "Hey, hey, hey! Another knight, I'm guessing. Oh, don't worry, we get a lot of your kind here. The name's Candir. Galren Candir. See what I did there?" he rolls his eyes at Lastergon's blank look, "You see, I used to be Galrin Candir, but 'i' and then 'i', you know, just, ish. So these days it's Galren Candir. Boom baby and hello ladies!"
This message was last updated by the player at 22:34, Sat 09 Sept 2017.

"Clout for the poor?" calls a man in a tattered noble's outfit, slumped against the wall by the doorway, stretching up a hand hopefully.

Lastergon moves closer to the gnome illusionist.

"You know, I wouldn't mind actually getting onto a quest at some stage," he murmurs, glancing surreptitiously at the red haired man.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:04, Thu 06 Sept 2018.

"MWAHAHAHA," says the red-haired man.

At that moment Cormris, who seemed to have disappeared for a bit, reappears, carrying what looks disturbingly like the head of Prince Aristan Carendil. A sinister, wiry man in dark armor sulks behind him.

"How was I supposed to know he was the main character?" the man grunts in annoyance.
This message was last updated by the player at 06:48, Mon 03 Sept 2018.

"What is it with you and killing people?" Cormris grunts back in irritation, "I always seem to get busy when you start entering quests..."

A rather rural looking man shuffles up to Lastergon at that moment, giving him an inebriated grin.

"Want to hear a *hic* limerick?" he asks, attempting a wink.

"Oh please don't..." Lastergon groans.

The man coughs and straightens himself as much as he can.

"There once was a Prince with no clout
You know who I'm talkin' about
He went on a quest
With a title of 'Crest'
But he didn't know when to get out!"

A series of drunken applause follows this performance.

"A cloutless prince? Very specific," mutters a grizzled man in a ranger's attire seated nearby.

A snobby looking man nearby snorts and sends the ranger a superior look.

"I believe he was referring to Marab-"

"I know who he was referring to," the ranger snaps, sending him a venomous glare.

"Sure you did," the snobby man mutters, staring sullenly at the roof, arms crossed.

"And even here you're sucking the clout out of things," remarks a weasily gnome to the wall, hypocritically. "You might as well go, Sir Snotty. Nobody wants you here."

A series of squeaks from the wall beside them indicate that the common rats agree.

At that moment a man suddenly materialises in the air above one of the tables, crashing onto the platters and mugs scattered across its surface. No one has enough clout to make any sort of indignant response as the man slides off the table and to his feet, attempting to wipe ale and cheap wine from his shirt. They note that his attire seems to be unlike any they have before seen. His shirt does not appear to be formed of wool or cotton or even silk, and his boots are of a rubbery substance they have not seen.

The man glances up as he gives up on attempting to clean his shirt, glancing around at the many eyes upon him.

"What?" he shrugs defensively, "At least I lasted longer than Fenn Shysa ever has."

The patrons gathered don't seem to be able to argue with this, and with nods and shrugs of acknowledgement they return to doing nothing.

"Hey, anyone seen Marabir round here lately?" asks Galren, approaching Lastergon, "I mean, dude, he and Aerendir practically live here, but I can't seem to find them..."