As they entered, the hubbub fell for a moment to a low level, as various villainous-looking types, some with gaudy tattoos, some with livid, grotesque scars and all bearing weapons, cast appraising gazes at the two visitors.

Dalquist stepped up to the bar and made an imperious gesture to the bartender, a man even more muscular and imposing than the most fearsome of the steel-sporting bravos who had scrutinised Grimm and Dalquist on their entry. However, the bulky man's voice was surprisingly high and pleasant, belying his outward appearance.

However, Grimm could see this was not a man to be trifled with. Although his hair might be grey and his brow lined, the corded muscles on his giant arms showed he kept himself in good shape. The Questor imagined this human titan could handle any trouble that might arise in the tavern.

"Questor Dalquist, it is good to see you again," the landlord boomed, his mouth stretched into a broad grin. "I see you have a new companion."

"This is my fellow Questor, Grimm Afelnor, Uril," Dalquist replied, returning a polite nod. "This is his first expedition, but he is a mighty mage, nonetheless. I would take it as a signal favour if you would hold him in the same regard you do me."

"Welcome to The Broken Bottle, Questor Grimm. I am your host, Uril Shamas, and I offer you homage as a Guild wizard. A glass of Callorion Red for you, perhaps, Questor Dalquist? It's very good indeed."

Dalquist nodded.

"And what would you care to sample, Questor Grimm?"

Grimm scanned the various brews on offer, and his eyes lit on a pump legend that piqued his interest. "I think I would like to try a pint of your 'Midnight Ale', Mr. Shamas. It sounds intriguing."

"An excellent choice, Lord Mage," the landlord responded, with a friendly smile. "The brew is full-flavoured, foamy and just right for a thirsty traveller, although not for the dilettante, you understand. Please call me Uril."