The Golden Perch Inn

The rain was deafening. Haves walked hurriedly, hunched and arms wrapped about him, clinging to his soaked traveller's cloak as teeth-clenched, he shot glances around the soppy neighbourhood for any sign of an inn or pub where he could take shelter. He grumbled miscontently as his boots sunk deeper into the increasing mass of mud. Just as a discouragingly large amount of water cascaded off his hood and down his back causing him to shiver distastefully, he was finally able to lock on to a sign indicating a "Golden Perch Inn" through the mucky weather. Relieved that the battle with the biting cold and the reluctant mud was soon to be over, he trenched over to the door and pushed it open hastily.

A rush of warm air greeted him. The sight of merry customers, glowing candles and dry surfaces increased his mood exponentially. He had not realized how parched he was. His eyes met with a jolly looking hobbit holding an amber liquid that could only be cider. The hobbit was at that moment in the midst of trying to impress a slender hat-stand with an increasingly slurred adventure he had supposedly been on. As Haves' eyes continued to allow the contents of the inn to absorb, he noticed the same drink in a dwarf's strong hand. After realizing he was still shivering and in dire need of warming up, he approached the bar and asked if he could have some of whatever those two inn personalities were having.