The job had been a long and tiresome one—an all-day escort for a merchant convoy that, in the end, got robbed anyway. Not in a blaze of glory, either. Just a swift, humiliating strike, right under their noses. A waste of time, and frankly, a bruising to their pride. They were handed a pouch of silver as compensation, tossed to them like a bone to tired dogs. Not much, but enough to buy some strong drink and numb the frustration.

By dusk, the team found themselves approaching the nearest tavern, fully expecting a crumbling dive with watered-down ale and a surly barkeep. Somewhere they could drink in peace and stew in their collective irritation.

Instead, they were greeted by something else entirely.

The tavern doors burst open to a wall of sound—fiddles and flutes, boots stomping on hardwood floors, the unmistakable roar of drunken laughter and song. The scent of roasted meat and spilled beer mingled in the air, thick and inviting. Patrons danced on tables, arms slung around strangers, while a band of musicians played with such reckless joy it felt like the world might end in the morning—and no one here would mind.

“Well, damn,” Grog muttered with a grin, already pushing toward the bar. “This actually looks decent.”

Scanlan sniffed. “Please. I’ve played funerals with more life than this.”

Vax’ildan gave him a sideways glance and a shove, sending him stumbling a step forward. “Then go impress them, maestro,” he said dryly, already making his way to the nearest empty table.

Keyleth lingered by the door, her eyes scanning the crowd—half for Pike, half out of habit. Her gaze caught on the band tucked in the corner: a fiddler with fingers flying, a drummer hammering out a beat that echoed in the chest, a flutist weaving sharp notes through the air like spells. Real musicians. Good ones. For once, she thought, they wouldn’t have to listen to Scanlan trying to seduce the room with his lute and his libido.

Even Vex raised an impressed eyebrow. “Not bad,” she murmured, slipping a few coins to the tavern girl who came by with mugs already foaming.

The team scattered loosely through the room, shedding the fatigue of the day with each laugh and note of music. For a moment, at least, the convoy, the failure, the silver—all of it could wait.