Today is not the door’s luckiest day. Only moments after the Captain’s arrival the door opened once again. The only difference this time was that no one entered - at least not straightaway. A voice from outside drifted in; a slightly petulant voice with a strange accent.
“Are you sure? THIS place? Oh very well then.”
Just before the door swung closed it was pushed open again and a dishevelled man strode in.
The new arrival was a man in his mid-20s, of medium height and slight build, with a shaggy unkempt hair and beard. He was dressed scruffily; even his leather armour, where it could be seen under an old cloak, looked old and tattered. He carried a spear which he used like a walking staff and all in all was not an imposing sight, apart from the gleam in his piercing green eyes.
He stopped in the centre of the room and stared around him at each customer in turn. A slightly manic look came into his eyes as he completed his examination but this only lasted a few moments. His shoulders slumped and he raised his face to the ceiling.
“I told you this was not the place!”
He walked, less boldly now, to the bar. “I will’n an ale be having, Good Sieur!” He rummaged under his cloak and produced a few coins which he placed on the bar.
Picking up his drink he walked over to an untenanted table, sat down wearily and took a long pull at his drink. He sighed with satisfaction then looked around at the assembled company, foam still on his lips and beard, “I hight Girth Snowbird and I bid ye all a Good Day.”