Roman sat at the far corner of the tavern reading an old tome about Trebuchets over a dimly lit candle. Tin cup full of lukewarm water in his hand and some scraps of dried porkskin sitting in a pewter plate at arms reach. The withered old geezer nearly made him drop his cup from the way he barged in here. The place was peacefull this evening unlike usual and the smell of fresh bread and liquor covered the entire tavern. 

Closing the book with a gentle leather clasp Roman turned to look at the Geezer. "Those coins probabbly got drop by some poor soul who got swept under from the wild currents that night. No doubt some iunlucky fool trying to make a name for himself." Roman huffed and took another book out from his pack. This one labeled "fabled lands of legend".