[ WP ] After fulfilling your lifelong dream of opening your own bar , you notice that the clientele are very ... quest-oriented .

`` Afternoon, Sigmund!'' 
 
 I glanced up from the mug I'd been washing for the last three days at the peasant man across the room. He's my brother-in-law, and he'd been sitting at that same table since I opened my establishment three days ago. When I started washing the mug. He had n't actually ordered anything since his first ale, but he occasionally shouted greetings or compliments. Bale was an odd fellow. 
 
 `` Afternoon, Bale!'' I called cheerfully. 
 
 The Rowdy Cockatrice had been my dream since I was a boy, and when the old innkeep moved on after the fire that burned down his tavern, I jumped at the opportunity to improve my situation. The family farm provided an ample supply of hops and barley, and my uncle, a merchant in the capital, offered me a premium on imported liqueurs. The construction of the building had been easy enough- though for some reason I could n't get rid of the obnoxious glowing sign outside that just said `` BETA'' in all capital letters. 
 
 That, and not a single traveler had ever come through our town. Only the occasional lonely merchant. 
 
 There were four other peasants in the tavern, none of whom were interested in ordering a second drink. Two were engrossed in a confusing card game in the corner. 
 
 Another day passed and I was almost ready to give up when the neon glow from the BETA sign outside suddenly disappeared. I looked up but found myself unable to move my feet. And then, they appeared. 
 
 Dozens of burly men and elegant women barged through the front door at once, sometimes even phasing into one another when space ran out. All of them wore ornate armors from distant lands that must have been worth more than the entire village. And when they spoke, their words shimmered above their heads as if the gods wanted even the deaf to be able to hear them. 
 
 `` What's he got?'' asked one of the heroes to no one in particular. Half a dozen of the warriors suddenly mobbed me, inquiring about my inventory. I proudly show off my wares, but none of them seem interested in my homebrewed ale or custom mead. One or two pay me handsomely for an entire bottle of liquor only to drink it on the spot or pour the entire container into some alchemical mix. 
 
 `` You play cards?'' one asks. I smile and nod, and pull out my deck. The room watches intently as the foreigner beats me at my own game. 
 
 `` Was it fun?'' the heroes shout in unison. 
 
 `` Still not as good as Gwent,'' the victor grumbles. Crestfallen, the heroes grumble along with him for a bit but continue in their revelry, splitting into groups based on armor color and clan affiliation. There's a dance circle on one of the tables- every person is doing the same dance, but with slightly different timing. Finally the attention turns back to me. 
 
 `` Hey innkeep, what's the word on the street?'' asks the man who'd beaten me in cards earlier. 
 
 `` You might talk to Old Woman Ness up by the windmill,'' I say politely. `` Word is, some mysterious hooded figures have taken up residence in her family's ancestral estate and she's willing to reward whoever gets rid of them.'' The hero grins and sprints out of the bar. Before long, everyone in the place is clamoring to ask the same question. I send them all up to the mill. 
 
 Business booms for weeks, but eventually the adventurers' numbers dwindle. Sometimes a nostalgic hero walks in to grab a bottle of liquor for one of their peculiar recipes, sometimes they just want to play cards. Now and then I see a new face, or encounter a familiar personality of a totally different profession ( like that necromancer who so reminded me of a ranger I'd met ). 
 
 The years pass and the Rowdy Cockatrice is forgotten. It's just me, Bale, and the four other men now. None of us have moved. The mug still is n't clean. Through the window I notice the days getting shorter and the world getting smaller. Before long, the lights of the capital in the distance are gone and my shipments of spirits from my uncle stop arriving. The glowing sign reappears, this time heralding something called a `` server shutdown''. 
 
 And then it all ends. I'm happy, I think. I lived the dream. But I wish I'd gotten to see my wife again.
