The tavern was alive with noise, laughter, and the clatter of mugs. Creatures of all shapes and sizes crowded the wooden tables and barstools, from dwarves swapping mining tales to elves discussing arcane theories, their voices rising above the raucous atmosphere. At one table, a group of massive goblins—easily twice Nott’s size—were roaring with laughter, their deep, guttural voices shaking the rafters. They slammed their tankards together in a toast, spilling frothy ale across the table and onto the floor.

Nott darted between the bustling tables, his scarf fluttering behind him. His hands were full—a tray precariously balanced with two steaming plates of roasted meat in one hand and a mug of cider in the other.

— “Here y-you go, s-sir!”

Nott stammered as he set the plate down in front of a surly orc, who grunted in approval. He then spun around to deliver the mug to a halfling who greeted him with a bright smile.

£Before he could even take a breath, someone called out from across the room.*

— “Hey, goblin boy! Another round here!”

It was one of the giant goblins, his enormous hand slapping the table in emphasis. The force sent a few silver coins clattering to the ground.

— “C-coming!”

Nott yelped, stooping to grab the coins before scurrying to the bar. On his way, a kobold tugged at his scarf to ask for more bread, and a tiefling waved him down for another ale. His head spun as he tried to keep track of all the orders.

Finally, Nott reached the bar and set down the tray with a heavy exhale. His thin arms trembled slightly from the weight. He leaned against the counter, his scarf slipping down his shoulder as he caught his breath.

— “Sure is a busy night!”

Nott puffed, his big brown eyes looking up at the barkeeper, who was calmly pouring a drink as though the chaos was a daily routine.