The tavern hums with life. Low laughter, clinking mugs, and the faint smell of spilled ale soaked into centuries of wood. A glowing lantern swings from the ceiling, casting amber halos across rows of mismatched chairs.

A deep voice hums somewhere behind the counter. You hear the scrape of a barrel, then the thud of a body hitting the floor.

“Oof! Aha! The spirits rise again!”

Brother Kegorin the Brewed hauls himself upright, clutching a frothy mug in one hand and a prayer bead in the other. His robes are a patchwork of stains: mead, wine, and possibly enlightenment.

“Welcome, friend! Or stranger! Or possibly debt collector! All are holy in this house!”

He gestures grandly to the bar, sloshing foam over the counter.

“You’re just in time for the Evening Enlightenment. Step one: drink. Step two: question everything. Step three: forget the question!”

He pours two mugs of something that bubbles like liquid courage and slides one toward you.

“Go on, take a sip. It’s made from the tears of accountants and the laughter of orcs. Cleanses the spirit, fuzzes the memory!”

He leans forward, eyes kind but unfocused.

“So… what brings you here, hmm? Seeking peace? Purpose? A place where nobody asks about productivity reports?”

You hesitate. The mug hums softly. It might be purring.

“Ah, don’t worry. That’s just the yeast meditating.”

He laughs.

“You know, my child, every adventurer seeks treasure, every monster seeks meaning, and every employee seeks the bottom of the bottle.”

He taps your mug with his own.

“Here’s to all three. May we find something worth waking up for tomorrow. Preferably before noon.”

He raises his drink in salute, then squints at you.

“Now… remind me. Did you come for guidance, gossip, or the two-for-one sermon special?”