[Tower_Master]

Absently blowing a lock of her curly red hair out of her eyes (dratted stuff never stays put!), the tavern wench tiredly looked around the common room of The Rusty Nail. Patronage was never high at this time of the day, but even so, this was almost unheard of, even in Windhaven. The place felt almost empty! If things continued this way for too long…Well, that was neither here nor there. The dratted gnome lying across her table in a drunken stupor, on the other hand, could be dealt with now. Sighing, she trudged over to wake him up.

“Mm, yes, Miss Scratchy, a little to the left now…A little to – Wha?” Bleary eyes opened to see the most peculiar apparition ever! What fell demon stood before him that walked on the ceiling in the guise of a tavern maid??? Such evil could not be allowed to continue! Jusht let me get my showd... The half-gnome surged up from his place on the…table? Why am I on the table? Watsh going on here? And, why doesh even the voish in my head shound drunk? Scratching unkempt brown hair, Sir Kayle the Magnifundius looked up from his newfound seat on the floor at what he now recognized as the tavern maid of this “fine establishment” – The Rushty Shpoonsh, right? Staring owlishly at her face, it took him several moments to realize she was waiting for a response…to what? When in doubtsh, jusht flirt! “My, ishn’t it a beautiful day, mish? You ish looking quite *yawn* pretty, if I do…if I do shay sho, myshelf…which I dosh!” That shhhould help. Nothing like a bitsh of charm to cover up falling on onesh rear in the middle of a inn.

“Watch your mouth, you vile little rat! As I said, you’ve been here for a good half a tenday, drinking yourself to sleep in our common room every night, and the Inn hasn’t seen a bent copper for it! Why, I have half a mind to…”

“I shahy, mish! You should watsh your tongue more carefully when addreshing a knight! Why, I am Shir Kayle the Magnifundius, Guardian of the Three Vishually Impaired Rodentsh, Scourge of –

“You’re a drunk little Gnome, that’s what you are! Knight my arse! Get out of this Inn!”

“Half-Gnome, shank you very *hic* mucsh, mish, and I havesh half a – HEY! Get you *hic* hansh off of –!”

“And stay out!”

Kayle winced as the door slammed behind the huffy barmaid. My poor tailbonesh! Wincing, dirty hands felt around his head, feeling out a new lump earned through valiant combat with evil. Thrown out in the middle of a street like a sack of potatoes by a demonic bar wench. The middle of a shtreet? Not the mosht dignified plashe for a…wait…I ish a Knight, right? Yesh, yesh, a knight. Reaching into his bag, Kayle pulled out his favorite crossbow, mournfully staring at the scratch in the finish. I really should get that fixshed. Dishgrashfull, really. “What’re we to do now, eh? Thrown out of the Clanky Shpoon – where am I shupposed to get beer now? Sho inconshiderate! People thesh daysh are -"

What exactly people these daysh were, his crossbow never found out, as Sir Kayle, still quite inebriated, slumped over and started snoring in the middle of the street, cuddling that most listening of crossbows to his chest.