The air in the tavern smells of ale, food, and sweat. The main hall is lit by a few torches and candles, and is packed with patrons, who are just as varied as the rest of the people of the town. A group of soldiers drinking together with [s]pira[/s] honest sailors; a bard in a corner, a strange lute in his arms, singing an [url=http://grooveshark.com/#!/search/song?q=Archie+Fisher+The+Trooper+And+The+Maid]old ballad[/url] with a small mug on the floor nearby, asking for some coin; even a group of dwarven workers, eating and drinking loudly. 

From the backstore, comes an old, grizzled man, a red bandana tied around his head. His tan indicated that he his probably a native: with his only eye scans the dining room, and spots Gustav and Katya. Sligthly limping, probably because of his wooden left leg, he walks to their table, a strange smile on his face. 

"Foreigners, eh? 

Welcome to Kinston', lad! And compliments for yer lass. I'm da owner of this proud institution. Ye're a mercenary from da' old land, eh? Lads like ye come here all da' time. Dat's good, 'cause dey get kill'd all da time by da Forestlin's, ha!"

The man spits in a spittoon on the floor benath him, and continues to speak with his hoarse, dry voice.

"I'm just screwin' wit ye. I see ye already got yer meal. Need anythin' else? I wouldn't want my customers dead afta' their first job, ha!"