In a tiny little side street in the slums of Starkvale lies an incredibly small tavern. The tavern was comprised of two small round tables, six chairs each, and a bar with another six chairs. Behind the bar where a door should be, was just a doorway that led to the very limited kitchen. To the left of the bar was a staircase that led to a loft that held the living quarters of the barkeep/barmaid, a  fiery lass in her mid twenties who was left in charge of the tavern while her father was away.... for the past few years. Normally she would be a little concerned of the security of this place with just her and her older brother, the cook. However, for the past few years, things have been a little safer than they used to be. Speaking of which...

	The doors flew open as a man went flying out, landing face first on the street. The man groaned and just stayed on the ground, too drunk to pick himself up. Allard closed the door and turned around clapping his hands together as if dusting them off, "Well, that makes about three in one night. Must be a full moon out," he said with a slight chuckle. He made his way to the edge of the bar and sat in one of the stools, stooping a little to avoid the headboard. It was short to him, but just right for Mable, the barkeep. Her family wasn't halflings or dwarves or anything, they were just short.

	Mable handed him a wooden tankard of ale, which would have gone to the other gentleman had he not got himself thrown out, to which Allard gladly accepted. "You know," she started, "I heard a new mercenary guild has just popped up close to the gate. Heard they were rewarded their own hall after defeating a death knight and rescuing a Lord."

	"Busy people, eh?" Allard took a swig from the tankard, as he knew where this was heading.
	"You should check and see they have any openings," Mable suggested, leaning over the counter and looking up at Allard,who was already shaking his head. "Why not? You could at least go and look at it."
	"I've told you before, Mable, I'm not interested in joining a guild. Much less a Merc group. They are normally in it for themselves and will slit a throat for the highest bidder so that they can afford their next pint of ale."
	Now it was Mable's turn to shake her head as she straightened up with a sigh. "Look, I know you don't like them all that much. But I've known you for five years now, and all you do is help other people, normally at your own expense. You deserve to be a little selfish now and again. you should have your own place to call home."
	"What's wrong with where I am now," Allard asked setting down his drink and crossing his arms.
	"Al," she started, a little exasperated, "Its a small shelter in an alley where you decided to string up a hammock. Its not exactly home sweet home." She undid her bun that she had for work and started braiding her long brown hair as Cooke, the cook, came out from the back and locked the front door, grabbing a seat himself. They were closed now, since they weren't an inn, they shut down around midnight.

	Allard rubbed the back of his neck and looked away for a second. She wasn't wrong. He came to this town with nothing but his personal belongings and so far that's all he still had. "But what about the tavern, I wouldn't be able to keep an eye people for you and toss them out when things get hairy." Though, as ever, it seemed she had an answer to that as well.

	"We can manage as we did before you got here. I think everyone has forgotten how nerve wracking Cooke can be with his kitchen knives. Hes got a good arm, that one."
	Cooke just smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Its true," he said with a smile. "I think its the clever that really strikes fear into their souls though," he finished with a short laugh. "I think we'll be fine here. Besides, its not like you are leaving town. You'll still live here."

	Allard turned to Cooke in disbelief. He was usually the one that sided with him in arguments. "Well, I can't believe you both want me gone so badly," he said in a fake dejected tone. He even added extra theatrics as he placed a clenching hand over his heart.
	"Oh come off it," Mable cut in as she finished her hair. "Look, we just want to see something done right by [i]you[/i] for a change. At least go up there and check it out. For me. Alright?"
	Allard looked down and grumbled before looking back up to meet her and Cooke in the eyes in turn. "Alright I'll do it, but this is the last time. No more, alright?" he questioned, particularly toward Mable as he pointed a finger at her. 
	She smiled and chuckled at her victory, however small it was. "Alright then, out out out. We've all got an early day tomorrow and I need my beauty sleep."

	Allard smiled in return and poured the remaining ale into his flask until it was full and downed the rest. "Alright, but don't be surprised if I am here tomorrow saying 'I told you so'," he said as he unlocked and headed out the door.
	"Don't worry, we will, and we will have some stew and ale here for ya. Good night, Allard," Cooke said as he closed the door. Stew and ale, good as it is, it really is all they serve.
	"G'night, Al," Mable called as well.

	"Good night," Allard waved as the heavy wood door closed and locked. He chuckled once again as he stepped over the now snoring man he had thrown out earlier and made his way back to his, uh, 'abode'.
---
	The next day, around lunchtime, Allard finally dragged himself to the doors of the guild. He had made a decision last night. If he found himself joining this guild, he would use it to support Mable and Cooke's tavern. Maybe even afford her a new one some day that would make their father proud, whether upon their father's return or from the afterlife that is.

	Upon walking up to the doors he caught the scowling eye of a couple guards at the gate, to which Allard just raised an eyebrow waved as they turned away. Although Allard didn't know it, those guards in particular had to pick a drunk man off the street last night outside of a bar that they knew Allard frequented throwing people out of.

	Allard decided that the best coarse of action would be to knock on the large doors instead of opening them without notice to anyone inside. Just randomly busting into a guild's hall seemed like something that could get you skewered, which was not the kind of attention he was looking for. Even if the guards may find it hilarious. With that thought in mind, he gave the large door three sound knocks, hoping anyone inside would be there to hear, answer, or safely beckon him inside.