[h3][sub]Zarpaden Volk[/sub][/h3][hr]
"Compliments of the lady at the bar, Sir!" said the waitress. Zarpaden smiled widely and grabbed the whole tray of drinks. "Thanks!" he said stepping past the puzzled looking waitress. The band started a new number, a swinging standard lead by a beaut of a lady in a frilly dress. Zarpaden drank the ale shots one by one as he waded through the crowd, each drink relieving some of the pain in his head and body. Plucking the last drink from the tray, he discarded it on a table, snagged a burning stoagie and stuck it in his mouth. He inhaled deeply, grimaced and spat the cigar back out. "Dreadful!" he said to nobody in particular. The cigar was quickly trampled underfoot of the crowd. 

Finally, reaching the bar he plopped down next to the lady with long red hair. "My thanks dear!" said Zarpaden admiring her lean hourglass figure. "Do I know you?" he continued, but the barkeep had her enraptured with his drink preparation. "Nevermind..." Besides, the noise of the tavern and the catchy tune of the houseband, Zarpaden could hardly hear his own voice. Instead he surveyed the crowd, fingering the hilt of his longsword on his hip.  

The crowd was a mixture of odd characters and races. Half-elves, beastmen and Imperial officers drank and laughed. Zarpaden noticed the girl with the Darbinian family crest and he shuddered. The Darbinians were well known to be ruthless and professional, and Zarpaden had heard stories of their efficiency in dealing with certain people. 

..edit..