The dim lighting in the tavern didn’t really reflect the mood. The place was rather alive with activity. Laughter and jovial shouts carried over the smokey room and two musicians provided entertainment in the background; one played a lute, the other a fiddle. The music was lively and many of the patrons danced together in an open area free of furniture, directly in front of the musicians. Two of them, both large drunken men seemed ready to brawl. It was presumably over the gratuitously bosomed woman that tried to step between them, beating ferociously but fruitlessly on one of their chests. The one whose chest hadn’t been being pounded by the woman swung a mighty uppercut that struck the other right on the chin. Teeth were sent flying, tiny golden trophies erupting from the loser’s mouth. The recipient of the punch landed on the floor with a thud seemingly knocked out cold from the combination of alcohol and cranial damage. The rest of the dance floor erupted in cheers and jeers and danced with even more briskly.

The barkeep, an attractive middle aged woman of the name Sally laughed at the regular carry and whistled above the music.
“Give em’ a towel or some it.” She shouted half serious, half still laughing. 
Just then the door of the tavern cracked open and some fresh faces were presented to Sally. She hadn’t seen these folk before.
“Well.” She beamed.
“Welcome to the Daft Draft.”