The old Zizz soon descended the stairs and entered the main room of the tavern, scanning his head from left to right. It was considerably busier than usual this morning, he noticed. Lots of strange folk hanging around, too.

There was some fancy-pants Rodent hanging about; could've sworn he's seen that one before. But there was something even stranger next to him; a giant Ogre was standing there with a pint in his hand (seemed like a woefully inadequate amount for a creature of his size), laughing in the Rodent's face. He couldn't see the Rodent's face, and that was a shame, because he'd probably have been putting on a funny expression.

Off in one of the corners, he squinted at the redhead witch hanging about in the shade. It wasn't an evil squint, mind you, but a competitive squint; he had been at the tavern for about a week now, and had had ample opportunity to acquaint himself with that one. He couldn't help but admire her ingenuity with that Crossbow of hers. She could prove problematic if any big-time mercenary work pops up, with all that old-school magic of hers. Cheating? Yes, but only if you got caught.

Then there was that Sheep herder at one of the tables. Best ignore that one, he thought. He'd been sneaking about 'his' land again, and he didn't seem to have a good sense of humour. The sort of person who'd go nuts if you so much as mentioned the idea of controlling animal population. Which was a shame, given the enormous Wolf he'd spotted in the area. That was going to prove quite the prize, when he had some free time.

What was particularly irritating at this time in the morning, though, was the sheer business of the place. The Zizz usually sat in one of the comfy seats off in the corner somewhere, but it seemed like that area was flooded with young fools getting drunk at nine A.M., or whatever time it was. Morons! They'd probably end up dead before the day was done, he thought as he chuckled to himself slightly, though not forgetting his irritation.

As a result of these morons, however, the Zizz was forced to manuever his way past quite a few patrons (not an easy task thanks to his height and tail swaying about) and clamber up on top a lone stool at the bar, somewhere he rarely ever sat. There was a good reason for this, which made itself apparent pretty soon.

Ignoring the great wall that was the Ogre to his left, he rummaged about in one of his belt pockets to retrieve his prized Pipe, made of dark wood as per usual Zizz preference. Removing the little cap to stop all the pre-packed 'medicinal' herbs from falling out, he removed a match from the same pocket and attempted to strike it against the bar. No luck.

He tried it again, and again, and about six more 'agains' before he could finally squeeze a little flame off it, grumbling to himself the entire time. That was another weird thing about the tavern; it always took more effort to light matches. Some sort of newfangled suppression field, perhaps, which might also explain the sheer lack of the usual bar fights he'd seen in... just about every other tavern he'd been to. Except the ones in Tarzblik, obviously. For entirely different reasons.

Finally, he stuck his Pipe in his toothy mouth and lit it with the match, waving it about afterwards to turn the fire into a little smoke puff. Of course, that was nothing compared to what happened afterwards as the Zizz began to actually smoke said Pipe, releasing much bigger puffs of smoke which spread across the bar. Of course the Zizz didn't particularly care for any inconvenience this may cause, since the calming herbal sensation had him captivated. It was enough to make him grin again, in that classic terrifying fashion Zizz were known for.