"Ale," the voice seemed to resonate within the walls of the inn before the face and body it belonged to appeared in sight. A sack of 10 copper coins landed with a clink, upon the bar in front of the barkeep.
Just as the handful of patrons who'd heard the voice started to wonder if they were going mad, the owner of the voice appeared whirling into existence from a smoking fire ember.
Dressed in a grey cloak, splattered with dried mud from the hem to thigh, a stocky looking figure appeared.
"Please," the voice said - now distinctly feminine, almost spitting the word out as though she were chewing on her muddy cloak.
She leaned one elbow on the bar and tilted her hip against a stool at an odd angle.
"Ale," she said again, quietly, as though to herself.
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