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Twas dusk, the loud inebriated laughter of a small group of men an women could be heard outside the tavern. The slurred merry shout-laughs of a man roared over the laughing group, "Yvoo, Yvoo knwoo, yoovvvvr youvr alriiigh! Bu yoov-bu yoov shhhhool'n goo derrr. Miiiigh, miiiigh misssake yoooov. Liiie- lie... me." Sobbing could be heard, but a deep, roaring, boisterous voice reassures the man, "But I MUST. FOR IT TIS MINE QUEST FOR MINE OWN KITH AND KIN! REST UP MY MERRY COMPANIONS! MAY YOU DREAM OF LARGE CHESTED MILK MAIDS! BUT SIR MONTIQUE MUST CONTINUE HIS VALIANT QUEST!" and with that the door slams open with a thud.

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Ahh, drunkards. Don't you just love the noisy few? Lara sure did. The more of 'em existed, the more would visit her tavern, and the more money she made! This sounded like a rather large group. " Aye, we 'ave a group incomin', get yerselves ready. " Spoke the satyr, her voice thick with a Scottish accent, hands pointed towards a group of dwarves sat afront the bar. Each of them dressed in work attire, presumably waiters and waitresses of sorts. With a nod, they got to work, clearing off any tables that lay vacant, washin' up any dishes that needed to be washed, among many other things. There was a slight pause in production, as they all stopped and listened to the sounds of sobbing.. A look of concern appeared on the satyrs face. Were they.. Alright? Should she help? Of course, all thoughts of the sobbing man were interrupted by a boisterous man speaking out, assumably reassuring the man and his group. " We've got a loud one on our hands.. " Joked one of the waiters, causing the taverns keeper to let out a chuckle. " Aye. Seems so. No matter. We all rea- " The door was slammed open, interrupting her question. " A -.. Ah! Welcome! " The woman spoke, taking a moment to smooth out her dress, wishing to look somewhat presentable. A few brushes through that wild mane of hers would also help.. No matter.

With how much noise the man made, she assumed he must be travelling with at least thirty people.. Couldn't possibly be just him, right? "

Sir Montique

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The small horde of intoxicated day drinkers stumble in through the door, giggling, yelling, and otherwise acting the drunkard. The group of about twelve was predominately human. Though it consisted of laborers, rich folk, and the impoverished alike. What the hearty crew of the tavern may not have been prepared for was the individual at the back of the group. Now illuminated and in plain view was a humanoid skeleton of average height, dressed in fine though weathered purple noble garb of yesteryear, trimmed with tarnished gold. A sword on hip and a gilded goblet in his hand he addressed the tavern without ever opening his jaw, " HAIL! I AM THE GREAT SIR MONTIQUE! I AND MY COMPANIONS HAVE COME TO THY FAIR ESTABLISHMENT ON NOBLE QUEST!"

With his empty left hand he reaches down his own chest cavity though his garbs collar. The sound of metal shills colliding, glass smashing, and a hiss are heard before he pulls out a handful of shimmery golden coin, a ring with a large ruby still on a desiccated finger, and some kind of ancient glassy idol and then he drops them on the bar counter where the tallest worker he can find is standing behind. "Now then... SERVE US ONE OF EVERYTHING AND KEEP IT COMING!"