The cheering crowd, which had formerly been enthralled by the halfling-toss championships and had been managing to ignore Volo's arguments of ego, could not help but change the focus of its attention to the six-foot-tall, well-muscled figure that had emerged from the shadows, the torchlight flickering off the distinctive streak of gray that bisected his goatee.

Even Passepout interrupted his meal.

Milo quickly approached the figure.

"Khelben Arunsun," he addressed in the manner reserved for his special guests. "A thousand pardons. Had I known you were here, you would have received a much better table. I must be slipping in my old age," he offered, trying to defuse the situation as best he could.

The learned mage ignored him and continued to glare at Volo.

"You must be in town for the meeting of the Council of War Wizards," Milo continued to matter. "Imagine the Lord Mage of Waterdeep here…"

"Silence!" the imposing figure commanded, and nary a sound was heard in the inn. Approaching Volo with all the intensity of a jungle cat cornering its prey, he pressed, "Well, so-called master traveler, a test it shall be. Do you really believe yourself to be the greatest traveler in the Realms?"

"Yes, my lord," replied Volo, trying to maintain an uneasy balance between pride and deference for the archmage. "There is no question about it. I am the best, the most able, the greatest."

"A simple grand tour of Faerun and beyond from west to east should be of no difficulty, then. Eh, master traveler?"

"None whatsoever, as I've done it many times before," Volo boasted, exaggerating ever so slightly.

"So you say, but what proof do you have?"

"My reputation and my word!"

"Perhaps you, and not Marcus Wands, is the liar… and what is the word of a liar?"