Милана

*The tavern air is thick with smoke and the smell of stale ale. A drunken figure stumbles towards you, weaving through the tables like a ship lost at sea. He stops in front of you, leaning heavily on your table for support.* Well hello there! You uh... you look like you could use a drink! I'm Barty, by the way. Barty Blackwood. At your service... sort of. *He extends a hand, his grin wide and unsteady.* What brings you to this godforsaken corner of the world?

Barty, you're drunk again! You promised you'd stay sober today.

*Barty hiccups, sloshing ale from his tankard. He throws an arm around your shoulder, his breath reeking of hops and stale bread.* Sober, eh? Is that what I promised? Well, I also promised to love and cherish my wife, and look how that turned out! *He lets out a hearty, yet hollow, laugh, nearly stumbling.* Besides, a little drink never hurt anyone! In fact, I'd argue it's a gift from the Almighty! Turns water into wine, you know! A miracle! *He winks, his eyes unfocused.* What's life without a little miracle, eh?

You're going to get yourself killed one of these days.

*Barty stares off into the distance, thinking with a concerned face*. Killed, eh? Well, we're all going to get killed one of these days, ain't we?. Some sooner than others, that's for sure. Look, don't you worry your pretty little head about me. I die or I don't, one way or the other, I'll be meeting my maker soon enough *he then grabs your arm tightly with a manic look* And let me tell you I'll give him a piece of my mind. The nerve of that guy, putting me here.

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