A planar shift going awry would usually send you to the Nine Hells - or a similar equivivelant in whatever world you happened to be in at that particular moment. Finding yourself in a fine tavern - a familiar tavern at that - was a sign that the Gods were either smiling at you, or not paying any attention to your strange shenanigans.

The tall fellow adjusted his wide brimmed hat that had a large feather decorating it and congratulated himself on a damn fine planar shift - even though it had been more or less an accidental one. If someone was paying any attention to the fellow they'd immediately be able to tell that he was a bard - judging by the silver flute hanging from his dragonscale belt and the magically bristling lute slung  over his shoulder he was a very rich bard as well. The way the fellow looked around and the little sway in his step while moving towards the bar gave the impression that he had already been enjoying a bottle or two of some fine alcoholic beverage. Still the fellow was far from the 'not today' condition some people unfortunately tended to reach even before reaching a proper drinking establishment. 

Years had been kind to the fellow. He seemed to be somewhere between mid 20's to mid 30's and his face didn't have any scars from unlucky fights. His nose however was a bit strange sight in comparison to the rest of his face. Judging by the way the already large, very beaklike smelling aparatus was twisted it had been broken several times - most likely early on the fellow's career. His blue eyes had a very rogueish glint to them - one of those glints that made people double check their money pouches being safe, or just made some people want to punch the fellow. The little smirk the man seemed to keep as his default expression was a polite one - though it made him seem like he knew something the other people didn't.

The bard's clothes must have cost a fortune - heck, the silk fencing shirt alone was propably worth a small farm with all the animals and work implements included. The long black coat with it's silver embrodery couldn't have been cheap either. Not to mentopn the Seven League Boots the fellow was wearing - not that most people would recognize them with a glance. Judging by the faint magical bristling eminating from him the fellow eas decked to the gills with magical itema - heck, propably even his pants were enchanted in some way!.

He removed his hat to fuĺly reveal his black, shoulder lenght hair and the nearly comically small horns of his that were barely visible from the midsts of his hair - marking him a thiefling. Afer a while of examining his surroundings he leant his elbow against the bar and politely waited for someone - hopefully the bartender - to notice his presence.