A tall, slender man shoves the doors of the tavern open, and stands in the doorway for a second, staring, before he walks in, the doors just missing him in their rebound. He looks rather foolish there, standing with his hands on his hips, his chin up, legs spread strangely apart, and his eyebrows drawn into a scrutinizing scowl. He wears a suit of chainmail, covered by tattered robes that are littered with small rips, bits of what looks like vomit, seagull-poop, and a bit of blood. Clumsily roped around his waste is a large morningstar.
Addressing the tavern in general, he speaks, in a loud, booming voice.
"Greetings, gentlemen, peasants, crooks, noblemen, fishmongers, it is I, Sir Nave Redorb, champion of Zagreus, enemy to lowly fools, idol of all women living and deceased alike." He stands for a few seconds more, nodding to himself, letting the words sink in, maintaining his unwarranted condescending scowl.
"I have come from a far-off land, in search of a way back. Which one of you, such fine, cultured, handsome, groomed men, can assist me in telling me exactly where I am?" He looks at the patrons, searching their faces for any emotion other than distaste.
He lifts his voice once more.
"Ah, and barkeep! Fetch me some ale at once. I am thirstier than a dog left out in the scorching summer sun."
OOC:
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"Sir" Nave Redorb, first-level cleric leader in da house.
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