You hear a commotion coming from the portal to Baccarte.
A backpack and a bundle of weapons flies through the portal, following by a gnome trussed in chains like a birthday present made of cold-forged iron. Pairs of strong hands grip each of the gnome's limbs. Another hand covers his mouth. The little creature struggles, snarling.
Just as the hands hurl the gnome into the tavern, you hear a male scream.
The gnome, chains rattling, picks himself up off the floor, chuckling to himself. Blood smears about his mouth.
From the other side of the portal, you hear a nervous, but officious voice pronounce, "Hacker Brass, for public intoxication, drunk-and-disorderly behavior, vandalism, indecency, and lewdness, you are hereby now-and-forever banished from the Isle of Baccarta. Have you any last words?"
"Yeah," says the gnome in a voice as broad as the ocean and deep as a grave, "Tells one of your constables he forgot something."
The gnome spits a finger back through the portal.
You hear another scream from the other side, followed by hysterical blubbering. "Close the portal! Close the ***** portal!"
A official copy of the proclamation and a key sail through the portal, landing at the gnome's feet, just as the gateway closes.
Chuckling in a manner reminiscent of a rabid dog growling, the gnome picks up the key and unlocks his chains. He rubs his wrists and pops his neck, muttering, "Bunch of ***** pansy ***** pirates."
"Bartender!" the gnome begins, shouting over his shoulder.
Before the little fellow even finishes the word, a bottle of prime whiskey slams against the bar-top, followed by a glass. The bartender steps away, sweating.
"Well, hell," says the gnome, turning around, "I must've been here before."
The bartender, eyes to the floor, nods nervously.
As the black-clad gnome steps into the light, you get a good look at his face.
He is entirely hairless, lacking even eyebrows or lashes. His skin has an unhealthily pale pallor. It is pocked with what may have been marks of disease or burning. The entire left side of his face is a mess, the scar tissue drawing up his lip into a perpetual sneer.
He has crazy, crazy eyes.
He climbs up and stands on top of the bar. Kicking the drinking glass to the floor, he throttles the bottle of whiskey with both hands. The bottle is easily half his height.
"Hail to the Badger King, baby," he says, slugging back the bottle and drinking half its contents.
Then, he looks at the bartender, giving him a contemptuous half-nod. The bartender sighs with relief, mops his brow, and returns to work.
The gnome raises his arms, presenting himself to all present, like a god-emperor blessing his people. "My name is Hacker Brass. If I was twice as tall, I'd be four times the man you are. Which one of you sons of ***** has got a job? And which of the rest of you sons of ***** wants an adventure?"