"We showed up at the prison, no issues there - Oooh, Petra was there. She does this super cool knife-trick thing, I swear I could do it better than she could if she taught me how to. Anyway, I jump right in with a cool one-liner - doesn't matter, you can ignore that, and then like - I dunno, an hour later? I meet up with this really ugly guy named Uldren. Man, that guy has some loose screws. Point being, he doesn't like me all that much, which is just fine, I don't like him either, but then he takes my gun and aims at me while I'm down and asks, 'any last words?' Well, what am I supposed to say to that? There's only one option, duh! 'How's your sister'! Hahaha! You should've seen his face. Oh yeah, and then he shot me, and I ended up here."

The tavern was a good one, albeit with low ceilings and supporting beams that were easy to bump one's head on if they were tall enough. Glass lamps were sporadically placed on the rough circular tables around the dining area, and a wide variety of different people lounged about on the short stools next to them, a gentle murmur of conversation sweeping around the room as they enjoyed their greasy drinks and their greasier food.

The bulky person manning the bar glanced up, his leathery gray hands pausing in their repetitive action of wiping the counter down. He was wearing a grimy white apron, baggy pants, and not much else. Two long twisting ears were sprouting out of the side of his head, and his square jaw had four sizable fangs poking out of his mouth. Looking back and forth, he indicated the odd figure seated on a stool, a half-empty drink of some unidentifiable frothing liquid in front of him. "Wait, wuz you talkin' ta me?"

With a dramatic sigh, the figure leaned back and almost fell off his chair, only righting himself by hooking his legs into the bars of the stool. He looked... mechanical, which was weird enough considering the lack of Artificers in the county, but he seemed perfectly real, which just added to it. Built primarily from a much-nicked blue metal, a white steel forehead and a short spike protruding from the center like a unicorn, his neon blue eyes practically sparkled with humor. Despite the obvious lack of sincerity, he put a hand to where his heart should be and pouted. "Some people just don't listen to me, you know that? I can't figure out why. I'm so interesting, after all."

The barkeep had to admit, he was definitely interesting. With the slim brown armor and the black hooded cloak, the mechanical person made quite the striking figure, albeit a confusing one. Picking up a dirty glass and rubbing the inside with the same rag he'd been cleaning the counter with, the barkeep asked, "So, whatcha doin' here? We don't get much people weirder lookin' den ye around dese parts."

There might have been a threat mixed in there somewhere, but the odd-looking person either didn't notice or didn't care. "Honestly? I have no idea what I'm doing here. I don't even know where I am. Part of me kinda wants to say I don't know who I am, but that just wouldn't be true and I'm nothing if not honest. And extremely handsome."

To say the barkeep doubted this person's honesty would be a grievous understatement, not that he would have phrased it quite so fluently. Rather, he likely would have said that if he had a mug of ale, he wouldn't have trusted this person with the froth. Regardless, he was a barkeep, not a guardsman, and he didn't ask questions. He just served whatever amounts of liquor it is that people needed when they came into his establishment.

Putting his elbows on the counter, the person continued talking cheekily. "Anyway, you know any good places to sleep around here? I haven't slept in a while, but it's pretty fun. Good beauty sleep can do wonders for a face. You might want to try it sometime, it could help with-" he gestured the barkeep in his entirety. "-all that."

Smiling grimly, the barkeep reached under the counter and put a crossbow on top of it. The crossbow consisted of four separate steel plates, dual metal cords meeting in the middle. It would have been impressive if a bear could pull back the strings and cock the crossbow, but the way the barkeep had put it on the counter suggested that he could do so with ease. The arrows fired from it would probably punch through the building and whatever happened to be behind it at the same time.

Instead of being threatened, the odd person leaned forward, giving an appreciative whistle. "Whoo boy, that's beauty right there."

The barkeep grinned again, this time far more sincerely. It was hard to find someone who had a genuine appreciation for good weapons, and this person sounded as though he knew what he was talking about. "Thankee very much. Ya wouldn' believe how hard it is to make one of dese suckas, but dey're wort every cent."

Struggling to lift the crossbow, the person appraised it a little more thoroughly, running a hand along the heft. "No. You made this? You should call yourself an artist, you ugly thing, you."

He was starting to realize that this mechanical person's insults weren't really meant to be insults, and they stung a lot less after that particular discovery. Beaming, he leaned forward and tapped the quadruple limbs. "Yeh, I'm proud o' this 'un. Her name's Bertha."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The person made a weird sort of tutting noise, putting the crossbow back on the counter with a grunt. "It's pretty big. I knew these guys forever ago, called themselves the Cabal. Big bodies, tiny heads. They made the biggest guns I ever did see. You see, they were compensating for-"

"BARKEEP! I've been robbed!"

Looking up sharply, the barkeep saw a man floundering towards them, covered from head to toe in exorbitant golden robes. To say the man was a little overweight would be polite at best and a blatant lie at worst, folds of fat visible in major proportions at his neck and stomach, and his girth made it difficult for him to make his way around the tables. Once he stopped at the counter, breathing heavily, he tried again, "I've... I've been robbed!"

The barkeep groaned mentally, but put his best helpful smile on and asked, "Is ye sure? It might just be lost under all o' that." He added the last part, gesturing at the several layers of gold and silk. Surreptitiously glancing at the mechanical person, he saw him very intentionally taking a long, long drink of the ale in his mug. He both looked as though he wasn't listening while very clearly listening, and the barkeep had a feeling he knew why.

Huffing irritably, the man said imperiously, "No, I didn't lose it, orc filth! I would never lose my money-purse - it contains all of my pocket money!"

A vein throbbed on the barkeep's forehead from the deliberately offensive insult, but he managed to maintain the smile. "How much wuzzat?"

The man folded his arms, and it was several seconds before the fat stopped jiggling. "More gold than you'll ever see in your life, peasant. If it turns out you were the miscreant who took it, I assure you-!"

The barkeep cut him off, meaningfully putting his massive hand on the equally large crossbow as he did. "Mate, I got a tavern ta run. Why an' when would I have da time to rob ye?"

The man paled at the sight, then turned away, sticking his nose into the air. "Rest assured, I shall be leaving a crushing review on this dingy hole! I'll be surprised if you ever open again!" He swept out the wooden door, ignoring the low rumble of chuckles that rose from the diners as his width briefly caught on the doorframe.

The mechanical person spoke the moment he was gone. "Well, that was just rude."

The barkeep shook his head, turning to face him. "Ya know, I'd bet good gold that yer not gonna have any pay fer that ale yer drinkin' right there."

The person snorted, then reached into his cloak. The barkeep didn't quite see where he procured it, but a moment later the person set a heavy purple silk moneybag on the counter. It was obviously full of coins, and he rummaged through it for a moment. Pulling out a thick gold coin, he put it in front of the barkeep and folded his legs, looking rather smug with himself.

Grinning, the barkeep slid the coin towards himself and put it somewhere under the counter. A slight frown crossed the person's face, and he leaned forward. "Wait, did I just overpay you?"

The barkeep chuckled deeply. "Ye've no idea how much."

He smiled hopefully. "I don't suppose I'm going to see that coin again?"

Laughing quietly to himself, the barkeep shook his head. "Naw, I figger it's a good bribe. Ya know, for not spilling da beans on ya to that feller you just stole from."

The person smiled incorrigibly. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Out of curiosity, how many drinks could I have bought with that coin?"

The barkeep grinned wider than ever, revealing his surprisingly white rows of triangular teeth. "A lot. A whole lot."

He shrugged, apparently unconcerned. "Eh, I'll pretend it was a tip. Why didn't you, ah... spill the beans, as you said?"

The barkeep's forehead scrunched as his eyebrows crashed together. "Two reasons. One, cos' dat spoiled, trashy excuse of a pig-brained brat had 'is head stuffed so far up 'is own rear pipe he could eat 'is brekkist twice."

The person whistled, impressed. "Wow. I gotta remember that one. I could probably make someone try to kill me with that kind of a line."

The barkeep continued. "And two, cos' yer so outta place ya ain't got no other option den ta be a Hero, and I try ta stay on deir good sides."

Leaning forward with an interested expression, the person asked, "Okay, I haven't heard that one before. I might be pretty heroic on a good day, but a moralist I am definitely not."

The barkeep laughed again. "Never woulda guessed. Point bein', yer a feller from a 'nuther universe as I see it, and dose guys tend to be eider murderers or knights, and dere ain't much of a in-between, ye foller me?"

He sat back, clearly surprised. "Huh. Didn't expect that. Is it, uh... common for people like-" he gestured at himself. "-me to show up? I mean, obviously they're not half as gorgeous as me, but there's gotta be more than one case of Guardian-itis floating around here."

The barkeep raised a bristly black eyebrow. "Dunno what da heck dat's supposed ta mean, but naw. I ain't seen 'nuthin like yew before."

The person took a contemplative sip of his drink, a sip that lasted a remarkably long time. "Well. That's a bit... disappointing."

With an expression of mild concern, the barkeep indicated him. "Ya need sum company? I ain't no elvish chick, but I play a mean deck o' cards. Just don't bet aginst me, got it?"

The person finished his drink, putting the now-empty mug on the counter and wiping his metal mouth. "Nah, don't worry about me. All I need is an Ace, a Queen, and maybe a few one-liners to help me out, and I'll be good. Any chance I can borrow Bertha for a few weeks?"

The barkeep snorted loudly. "Whatcha think?"

The person shrugged easily. "Eh, didn't think so. Still, nice meeting you. I might come back here sometime for a drink, especially if that - what did you call him?"

Grinning, the barkeep repeated, "A spoiled, pig-'eaded brat wid 'is head stuffed so far up 'is own rear pipe he could eat 'is brekkist twice." He was quite proud of that insult - it had taken some practice to come up with, but was no less effective for it.

The person lazily saluted him. "Yeah, if that guy ever comes back with a new purse, tell me. He's gonna keep me going for a while."

As the person started leaving, the barkeep called after him, "Mah name's Dural. I run dis bar mah way, got it? Ain't no more stealin' gonna happen here unless I say so."

The person spoke over his shoulder as he opened the door and headed out. "Nice to meet you, Dural. My name's Cayde Six. Or maybe Seven, I'm not sure yet."