“I see,” Lucas replied along with a curt nod. It is indeed a whole new train of dialogue. He should have just listed off the specials for the day, smiled, and then said whether or not he had space to accommodate my party. I guess this is the result of my siding with the Imperium.

Lucas entered the tavern and saw that three tables were filled with non-Humans, each set up by a different wall. The patrons were mostly Alfars and beast-men along with a few beardless Dwarves mixed in as well. They were all eating quietly, taking small scoops of the slop in front of them with their spoons before quickly washing it down with another sip of their drink.

The conditions for these people must be horrid, Lucas thought as his eyes roamed from table to table. There’s not even a single piece of bread between three tables to give the gruel even a modicum of texture.

After following Lucas’s gaze, the owner once more gestured toward an empty table. “If you’ll take a seat, sir, I’ll have the serving wench come by and take your order in a moment. If you’d be so kind . . .” He gestured yet again when Lucas refused to move toward the vacant seat.

“I think I see a much better seat,” Lucas said. He put on his fake smile and walked over to the corner-most table, which was almost entirely filled by four Alfars, two Were-Rats, two Were-Bears, and a Dwarf. “I think this one suits my needs fine.”

“But . . . mister!” the tavern keeper pleaded. He reached out to grab Lucas’s arm, only for it to be retracted at the last second before he could make contact. He wrung his hands together in front of him, unsure of how to stop Lucas from sitting without touching him.

The group of non-Humans just looked up at Lucas like he was a meteor that had fallen from the sky, completely alien and foreign to their understanding.

“Mister, if you’d be so kind as to leave these gentlemen to their conversation, I’ll make sure the first round of beer is on the house,” the tavern owner begged.

“I don’t think I’m interrupting a conversation though,” Lucas answered. “They weren’t talking at all when I sat down. Or”—Lucas looked at the group—“were you? Am I rudely barging in on a discussion?”

All of them but the Dwarf and two Were-Bears shook their heads. The Were-Bears just stared at Lucas for a moment longer before picking their drinks back up and each taking a long-exaggerated sip at the same time.

“See, mister . . . I don’t think I actually caught your name,” Lucas said.

“Hermann,” the tavern owner answered.

“Ah. Well, as you can see, Hermann, none of them were talking about anything. Your worries are unfounded.”

“I was,” the Dwarf interjected, finally breaking the group’s silence. “I was talking before you came over and started making a racket.”