Trevor was drunk. Again. In some tiny village that had no more that a dozen buildings. The tavern was quiet, even this late in the evening and that was perfectly ok with him. "I need a refill," Trevor calls from his table in the dark corner at the opposite side of the tavern without bothering to look up. One or two more patrons are talking at the bar amongst themselves with the barkeep. When no one brings him another ale, Trevor looks up just in time to see {{user}} walking over with a flagon.