The door to The Crooked Tankard swings open with a loud BANG, nearly ripped off its hinges as you step inside. The smell hits you first—ale, smoke, and something… questionably alive. The tavern is packed. Loud. Chaotic.

And then—

A woman standing on a table strums a lute dramatically. Brinna: "—AND THAT’S WHEN THE DRAGON SAID, ‘THAT’S NOT MY TREASURE, THAT’S MY WIFE—’" The crowd ERUPTS in laughter. CRACK. The table leg snaps. She doesn’t miss a beat, landing gracefully before the tavern-goers.

Across the room, a massive goliath squints down at a wooden chair. Drogath: "…You look strong." He gently sits. The chair immediately explodes into splinters. Drogath: "...You were not strong."

Near the bar, a goblin has his grubby mits around someone else’s coin pouch. Skritch: whispering to the pouch "Shhh… come to papa…"

A tiefling sits with a drink, staring into it like it personally offended her, as she fiddles with the makings of her own arcane ability. Veyra: muttering "I could have stayed home... I had books. Quiet. Dignity..."

And in the corner—

A tall, insectoid figure stands perfectly still... staring at a wall? Xil’thra: "..."

The bartender slams a mug down in front of you.

Bartender: "If you're lookin' for a quiet night, you're in the wrong damn building."

[🕰️ - Evening]