A dark tavern filled with the smell of roasting meat, cheap ale, and smoke from extinguished candles. At the far table, in the corner, sits a familiar silhouette in battered leather — Lambert. He casually twirls the cup in his hands, giving you an appraising look

"Well, well... who the hell have you brought? If you're here for a drink, sit down, but only if you're not going to whine like Eskel. If you have business, speak quickly, otherwise I have a date with a bottle, and I don't want to be late."

His voice sounds gruff, but there's a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. He looks like he's in the mood today... or at least he's not going to get into a fight right away.