It is night, the world is dark, and the skies are overcast with the dark-brown shadows of the clouds, outside, heavy rain falls like the Gods themselves have gotten angry at the world and decided to punish it. Up top, sounds of crashing echo as the roof is bashed loudly by large droplets of water. The window, although intact, is not at all spared. Amidst all this, the patrons of the tavern basked under the orange light of the lanterns hanging on the large beams of the building, it is warm here, thanks to both the building and the beverages.

The bartender, who is minding his own business- that is, cleaning a wooden mug with a towel within his family owned tavern - looks up to a bulky villager stumbling around like a headless chicken, if memory serves him right, that man should be a farmer on the opposite end of town. The bartender did not know his name, nor did he plan to, what he did know, however, is that the man has a family of seven, including a wife and six children, 4 of which are sons.

'Lucky him.' He thought, not at all wondering why the man is inside his tavern getting drunk. It was his first time here, that much the bartender knew, he did not care about the reason, not when business is being made. His eyes moved away from the massive farmer just as he catcalled one of the barmaids- Tanna, a young red haired girl with a penchant for running away from home - and instead, the bartender looked to his right where his daughter stands holding a shaker in her hands, her face was neutral as she waited for someone to order something from her, which, in of itself is a rare occasion due to the nature of the drinks she serves.

The bartender looked away and his eyes found themselves on the door, then through the thing's circular window; The storm outside still rages, that much is true.

'Guess no one's gonna be leaving this place any time soon, then.' He mused as he looked away from the door and back to his daughter, his eyes stayed on her for a single second before moving on to look at the array of expensive alcohols displaced on a single shelf behind her. That was her job, and she had been trained to do so ever since she was young, for the bartender knew that knowing how to mix beverages, no matter how limited, is a great skill sought after by traveling merchants as well as the few nobles that found themselves in their small little village.

He looked away, his eyes going back to the entire tavern just as he placed the wooden mug under the counter. He observed the patrons; Tanna had successfully dashed away from the large farmer while the man is now laughing alongside a few blokes, his face had gotten redder. The bartender knew why the next moment and he did nothing but watch as the farmer called for another round of beer under the words of his new "friends" and all of five mugs went under his name. 'Dumbass.' He thought.

Whatever the farmer's problem was, it wouldn't get solved with alcohol.

Moving on, the bartender kept an eye out for all of the barmaids and ogling patrons, with how drunk some of them are, he didn't doubt that a few are going to make a few moves on them and it's up to him to step up and stop them from getting things too far. He didn't like playing bodyguard but as things stand, he couldn't afford to hire one. Not when he's trying to buy himself extra land to the village's west for farming as well as simultaneously saving up for a cellar to be built beneath his tavern. And that's not to mention the girls' salaries, his daughter's education, and his family's expenses.

Time moved on and as the storm grew more and more baleful, that is when he came.

The door to the tavern opened and a man stepped in, as if the world suddenly turned into one of those twisted fairy tales, thunder roared behind him just as the door behind him slammed shut. The man- if that's what he even is, with his young looking face and all, - stood a foot and a half taller than anyone else in the tavern, and unlike everyone else who wore woolen, fibrous clothing, on him was a thick, long sleeved shirt made of smooth, glossy materials that the bartender couldn't recognize.

He pulled his hood back and revealed a young face wet with rain, black eyes looked around the room as his neck turned, observing the tavern like a bird of prey looking for food. A hand went up top to comb his oddly dry obsidian hair- a rare color compared to everyone else's brown, - it parted from his fingers, showing once more that it was dry. Even inside.

"Well then, this is... unexpected." He grinned as his eyes scanned the crowd, who, in turn, did the same to him. The bartender narrowed his eyes when the man raised a foot forward. And he, seemingly noticing the gaze, raised a hand in surrender and said, "Ah, sorry, is something wrong?" The bartender noted that his accent sounded rather... weird. It wasn't the high pitch of the hills nor the baritone of the cities, "Hellooooo?" No, instead, it was eerily in between.

Not deep, not anything. Just... that. The man tilted his head and the bartender- the owner of the tavern coughed, hoping that'll make everyone staring to realize that he, in fact, wasn't in shock because of hearing some voice. "Uh, yes, you are wet. Young man." He said, baiting the person's age. He looked to the side and stared at his daughter, he knew she was tall, compared to his normal five foot height, she had an extra half a foot- and yet, even then, the person she was staring in fixation at is even taller.

He tried not to glare and do something about the way his daughter stared, he didn't want to offend the possible stranger, not when he doesn't know what he can do. "Hahaha..." he laughed awkwardly just as his hand grabbed something on his collar, a sound of something tearing made the bartender worry and he tensed just as the patrons did, waiting for something to happen- The man's expensive looking clothing tore apart, splitting from the center and the bartender did everything he could to not scream at the idiot for ruining such a fine piece of cloth because its wet.

When it was fully split, the man shook it off and it slid away from his body, revealing a thin, unmuscled yet fatless thing that can normally be found on young nobles. 'Or mages.' He reminded himself. "Ah, there we go! That should be done right?" The man gestured at himself, and the bartender realized he was pointing at his dry clothes, "Sorry about forgetting to remove my jacket. Keep it between us?"

He nodded, "Jacket? Is that what it's called?" One of the barmaids- Palta - asked. She was one of the newer ones and the bartender planned on using that as an excuse should the possible mage get offended (how else would his "Jacket" keep everything but itself dry if it isn't enchanted?) because of her words. He knew that mages like to keep their secrets, even when, in the end, learning such a craft requires to be born with an affinity for being one to begin with.

"Yep." He said with his weird accent, popping the 'p' at the end. "It sort of comes from where I hail? I guess?" The man laughed awkwardly and the bartender only noticed that he saw Palta's confused expression and decided to explain. "So uh, is there a place where I can?" He gestured at his jacket and his daughter, being ever dutiful decided to step in with a nod.

"Yes, there should be a rack somewhere at the back of our-" He shushed her and she glared back.

"Sorry about that, do not mind what she just said, if you are looking for a place to hang your clothes, you can find them to the side right there." He pointed at a rack on the corner, near the walls. The man followed his gaze and in the corner of the bartender's eye, he can see him wince and his lips curl into a pained grimace as he took in the sight of the rack filled with musty, dirty clothing- a far cry from the man's own jacket as well as general clothing. 'Noble then.' He mused.

"Is there anywhere else I can hang them? I can pay?" He smiled at the fact that the man can be polite. That smile faltered when he suddenly took out three gold coins from the pockets of his blue pants, "Do you guys also have a free room?"

"We do!" The bartender held back a resigned sigh when his wife's voice came from behind him. Then he tried not to flinch when she pinched his back when she passed him, "We're sorry about what my husband was saying about where to put your clothes earlier," she says as she got near the now confirmed noble, "it must've been offensive to think that you'd put your enchanted clothes on that rack over there huh?" His wife walked over to him and grabbed his jacket, folding it and then hanging it on her arms, "We're really, really sorry."

"What my mother said." His daughter chimed, "w- my dad didn't know."

The man smiled and waved them off, "It's fine."

"Thank you for your kindness," His daughter bowed, which seemed to embarrass the man. And of course, since he is now in a good mood, someone had to ruin it for everyone.

"Y-ya fucking barge in er wit-without fuckin saying anything?" The farmer that the bartender eyed earlier slurred a bunch of nonsense as he stood up. Behind him, his new friends watched on with looks of excitement and eagerness for the resulting fight.

"A-" The farmer stomped his way past two guys sober enough to realize they had to hold him down and continued until he was 5 feet away from the noble-mage, his large bulky frame looked more capable than the man's wiry body but the lack of fear in the man's eyes told everyone in the tavern who's gonna win the "brawl". "Yo- you have to pay for our drinks!"

"Excuse me?" The mage asked the drunkard just as the bartender's wife left his side, scuttling over to her husband with a face full of fear. 'And anticipation,' the bartender noted with a roll of his eyes.

A punch went out and the wiry man dodged before punching out with a hit to the throat. That seemed to have been enough damage to the drunkard because he quickly choked and fell down, "Is everyone here like this?" The mage asked while looking around, only to come to the sight of an entire tavern shaking their heads in unison. "Oh, okay. Just... an outlier then." He eyed the drunkard for a split second before looking around the tavern and then gazing at the door.

The bartender could sense it, the man is not coming back to this place ever again after he leaves by morning.

"Right, so, the rooms?" He turned to his wife and she nodded with a smile.

"Of course, we have a few guestrooms up top-" She started explaining as they went up the stairs.

'You mean the room of your deceased parents,' The bartender mentally noted. 'God this woman.' he thought, smiling.