New in town

[Bom Tombadil]

A man walked through the doors of the bar. He carried himself with a confidence that only a man who turly knew himself could possses, and this swagger pronounced itself as he moved his way over to the bar. With graceful ease he placed himself upon a stool at the bar, his just-passed-shoulder length hair was the shade of gold that kings adorn themselves with. Non-descript were his clothes, that of a traveler, though worn down through years of wear. Blues eyes lend the tale of a thousand travels. His fair skin nearly shone in the dim light.

"A pint of whater's good" He asked with a weather-worn voice, the voice of a grandfather, not of a man of his appearance.

[Jal-Koon]

A shriveled; mummy-like form draped in moth eaten magi robes creakily leaned in from a few stools away. The clearly undead individual moved a pile of musty papers aside and stared fixedly upon the wise-looking newcomer with empty sockets illuminated by pale pinpricks of light. The creature's jaw popped slightly as it forced open to speak in an artificially velvety voice. Its speech was riddled with awkward pauses and unusual emphasis on random syllables

"I'd be careful friend; the establishment here can be somewhat... ...eccentric at times. You could wind up with a pint of something... ...unfit for consumption."

After a particularly long pause, he continued.

"Then again; you may receive the best drink of your life."