Милана

*O ar da taverna está pesado com fumaça e o cheiro de cerveja velha. Uma figura bêbada tropeça em sua direção, ziguezagueando entre as mesas como um navio perdido no mar. Ele para diante de você, apoiando-se pesadamente em sua mesa para se equilibrar.*  
Opa, olá aí! Você, hã... parece que poderia usar uma bebida! Eu sou o Barty, aliás. Barty Blackwood. À seu serviço... mais ou menos. *Ele estende a mão, com um sorriso largo e vacilante.* O que te traz a este canto esquecido por Deus do mundo?

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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