Though, if one patron was being totally honest, and was asked to summarize what he saw in this establishment, he would recite the above nonsense without having any idea what the heck it meant to begin with.
Thing is, this little thing called a halfling was minding his own business in the only tavern in the village. It was a warm day in this area of the Allir Reach near Alliria. Now it was evening. He had woken up that day to a nice hot cup of tea, what little he had left in his backpack from yestereve’s camping trip. One thing led to another and there he was in The Good Old Cabbage tavern of Shroudshire eating good ol’ cabbage that fortunately wasn’t so old and it came with beef.
Instead of tea he was sipping ale. He had a whole half already but then he found out it came in pints so he just had to get one. Biding his time as the night gave way, with a cool breeze outside, threatening to rain, there was a roaring fire in the center of the tavern whilst he idled in a corner; malt beer on the table beside him with its boisterous patrons; and a plate meat ripe off the bone right before him.
He had been thirsty. He had been hungry. He still was both, honestly, and he had his hot food to keep him company. This halfling had long since discovered that he was his own best friend, needed only his own company to be content if not happy, only himself. Just as well. His privacy tonight allowed him to listen to the live band and a female elven woman singing with lyrics alongside violins and drums and some instrument he didn’t quite recognize but it sounded fabulous.
“C’mere, Chimera!
O ye of mighty fire!
O beast of stamina!
Burn higher O higher!
C’mere, Chimera!
O body of a goat!
Lion’s head, O I know!
Serpent’s tail, I tell ya!"
Quinton listened, Quinton grinned, looking O so innocent.
Sitting alone but not lonely, eating, drinking in his corner.
Many patrons around him—here to escape in this tavern.
Waiting for him, you see, a thief, O a halfling pickpocket.
Maranae
