(Sorry about the delay in posting, but I wanted to make sure you all had time to get some character-to-character communication going before I distracted you.)
The time passes slow and uneventful as you sit and become acquainted, chatting, scheming, or whatever the case may be. The room is quiet, almost like a funeral except for the occasional bellowed laugh from somewhere across the room, gone always before you can find for certain the source.
It is a tavern, and despite the stories it feels not much unlike any other tavern you have been in: Charming, in its own way, but hardly special. But as the mystique fades into the lamp-light, a tall, gaunt figure strides in: His face is wrinkled and his beard is ghost-white, but his soft blue eyes gleam with unknown youth. Each step is firm yet still graceful, and his shoulders seem to float weightlessly in the air. The points of light across the room dance brilliant across a shining suit of armor, the flames somehow brighter on his steel than on the wick itself. He gets his glances, and responds to each with a nod and a proud yet humble smile.
He arrives at the bar, and though the bartender seems unimpressed as always, he is still quick to meet him.
"Greetings, my good man." The stranger voice is practiced and deliberate, somehow showing kindness and respect and dignity and grace all in its very timbre. "I was hoping I might have a nice drink and perhaps a meal before settling in town for the night. If your kitchen is still open, it would be an honor to have your service in this storied place."
The bartender scowls, no more or less now than ever, yet seems to have no response. Seconds pass slowly, as you realize the place has fallen silent: Finally, the barkeep's face breaks into a hearty laugh.
"Yeah, kitchen's open. What do you want?"
