Fabian awoke with a start in a cramped completely dark space. For a moment he didn't know where he was and suspected one of the numerous enemies he'd made over the years might have tracked him down and thrown him into a trunk. Then he remembered that he'd rented the broom closet at the local fleabag inn.  He'd been napping for a few hours, so presumably night had fallen, although it was difficult to tell since there weren't any windows.

He stood up and bonked his head against a shelf, scattering a bunch of cleaning supplies all over the floor. He reached around for the doorknob, but couldn't find it from his current position. There weren't any candles handy to provide a little light either. He took a step forward and managed to get his foot stuck in a mop bucket. He gave it a good tug, but it appeared to be stuck pretty tight. He let out a sigh and inched his way forwards, looking for the exit. The bucket made a loud clanging sound as he stepped.

Eventually he found the door and stumbled out into the hallway. After the darkness of the closet, it seemed really brightly lit at first and he had to squint his eyes for a moment until they adjusted.

There was a raucous noise originating from downstairs. This sounded like a bit of much needed action to Fabian, so he waddled awkwardly to the stairs with the mop bucket still stuck to his foot. The stairs were narrower than he remembered when he had climbed them earlier that afternoon and he immediately lost his balance when he placed his bucket foot on the first step. He fell forward and tumbled roughly down the stairs.

He landed at the bottom in a heap and let out an involuntary groan. His cloak had ripped even more during his fall. On the plus side, he appeared to have dislodged his foot from the bucket.

He stood up slowly, checking to make sure he hadn't broken anything. It was likely he would have a few sizable bruises in the morning, but otherwise he thought he'd be okay. He took a minute to survey the room. The long tables were filled with large men, most of whom sported beards. They were drinking out of giant-sized tankards of ale and talking loudly. The round tables were considerably quieter, but there were no empty seats as some intense card games were being played. Most of the men here were skinny and shifty-looking other than one decidedly muscular brute whose face was covered in tattoos and scars. There was also one player whose long pointy-ears marked him unmistakably as an elf. The rest of the patrons of the tavern all seemed to be human.  A couple of them gave him a funny look after his less-than-elegant entrance into the room, but most of them were too absorbed in their drinking and card games to pay him much attention.  

There were a couple of fat wenches serving ale, but otherwise the place was a complete sausage-fest. He sincerely hoped that none of these people were the lady of the evening he'd been told about.

There was a bald man with a scraggly yellow beard and an eye-patch standing behind the bar. Fabian walked over and took a seat. "Hello, my good man. I'm a guest in this here fine establishment and none other than Maude herself told me I had a free ale coming to me."

"Yeah?" the bartender said. "Where's your voucher?"

"My voucher?" Fabian said. "What is this voucher of which you speak?"

"When you checked into the Inn, Maude gave you an ale voucher. I got to have it to give you a free ale. No voucher, no ale."

Fabian vaguely recalled that Maude had handed him a bunch of papers when he checked in. He hadn't really been paying attention to what she said because he found her unattractive, and therefore uninteresting. He had wadded the papers into a little ball and chucked them into the fireplace before he headed upstairs.

"Look, pal," Fabian said. "Maude's an old friend of mine. She said I didn't need any vouchers. In fact, she said I could drink as much as I wanted on the house."

"That doesn't sound like Maude," the bartender said as he raised his eyebrows and stroked his beard. "I'm pretty sure she doesn't have any friends. Sorry, buddy. If you want an ale it's going to cost you a shilling per tankard."

"Did I mention that Gordon the Guard sent me?" Fabian said. "Does that get me anything free?"

"Gordon the Guard?" the bartender said. "That bum skips out on his tab all the time. He owes us almost three-hundred shillings. Are you going to pay his tab for him?"

"Did I say Gordon the Guard? I meant Gordon the Bard. You know him, right? The kind of fruity fellow that plays the lute and is singing songs all the time? He sings high praises of Maude's Inn far and wide across the land. In fact, there's this certain bartender he mentions in a lot of those songs who is especially handsome and generous. What's your name again?"

"Arglebargle," the bartender said.

"Yes, that's it," Fabian said. "Arglebargle the bartender. Famous throughout the world for his willingness to give drinks on the house to noble adventurers such as myself."

"I only started working here last week," Arglebargle shrugged. "I don't remember any bards. And how could a song spread across the world so quickly?"

"You know kids these days, with their fads," Fabian said. "Who knows how they get around so fast? But somehow they do. The point is, since I'm such good friends with a man who speaks so highly of you, you should really give me some free ale. And some free dinner, too. What's the house special tonight? Is that mutton? It smells like mutton." Fabian's tummy let out a loud growl.

"This fellow really goes around singing about me as he travels through the land?" Arglebargle asked as he stroked his beard again.

"You betcha," Fabian said with a wink. "Really catchy songs, too. Once you hear them, they get stuck in your head for days." He hummed a few random notes and waved his hands from side to side.

"Well, I suppose if you're close friends with a guy like that, I guess I could spot you a few ales and a meal."

"Now you're talking, mister," Fabian said as he rubbed his belly in anticipation.

"What did you say your name was?" Arglebargle asked.

"I am Fabian the Great," Fabian said. "One of the most famous adventurers in the land. From one celebrity to another, it's nice to meet you."

"I've never heard of you," Arglebargle said with a shrug. "But if you're really so famous, you mind if we hang a sketch of you up on the wall?"

"I will gladly allow that on the condition that you hook me up with some free gambling chips so I can get in on that card game over there."

"Done," Arglebargle said as he poured a tall tankard of ale and brought out a steaming hot plate of mutton and set them in front of Fabian. "I'll go right ahead and give those chips to you right after you sit for the sketch. Meep! Get in here! I need you to sketch someone!"

"Okay, boss," a large oaf with frizzy orange hair and a peach-fuzz mustache said as he came waddling out of a back room with a piece of parchment, a feathered quill, and a small bottle of ink.

"How long is this going to take?" Fabian said as he cast an eye over at the card game. He didn't want to miss out on all the action.

"Not long," Meep said. "I'm a fast drawer. Just eat your dinner and I'll start working."

"You're not the same artist that drew the wanted poster for Patrice the Pirate, are you?" Fabian said as he took a bite out of the mutton.

"No, that was drawn by my arch-rival, Moop. I don't know why anyone hires that guy. He's not very good at drawing."

"It could be because he's your twin brother," Arglebargle said. "Maybe they think he's you."

"Could be," Meep said with a shrug. "I don't know much. All I know is how to draw."

"Well, make with the drawing already," Fabian said as he downed the last of the tankard of ale and slammed it on the bar. He motioned for another one. "There's suckers over there just waiting to be fleeced."

"I don't know what that means," Meep said. "But it sure sounds like a lot of fun."

Fabian attacked the rest of his mutton and gulped down two more tankards of ale. He was sucking the last of the grease off his fingers, when Meep announced he was finished with the portrait. He turned it around to reveal a life-like representation of Fabian with his mouth wide-open and a half-chewed piece of mutton clearly visible in it.

"Not exactly the most flattering picture of me, but you've got some skills, kid."

"Would you mind signing it before I hang it on the wall?" Arglebargle asked.

"Of course, of course," Fabian said as he took the quill and scribbled his name on it. He wasn't very skilled with the quill and so managed to leave a couple of dark inky splotches in the process along with a few grease stains from his other hand, which he had been using to hold the parchment down. "It warms my heart to know that people will be getting thrills for years to come just knowing that they are occupying the same space that I once occupied. Now, about those chips..."

"Here you go," Arglebargle said as he dumped a pile of red and black chips on the bar. "Have fun."

"I most certainly will," Fabian said as he picked up the chips in one hand and allowed them to drop into the other several times. "These look like a bunch of easy marks, if ever I've seen such a thing." He stood up and made his way to the closest card table.