“Excuse me,” Barbara said, pointing to her tankard. “We ordered ale.”
“You have a poor tongue. That is ale,” Silast said. He wiped his hands on his vest.
“Are you calling me a liar?” Barbara snarled. The warrior slammed her axe into the tankard. Leaping onto the bar, she bellowed, “I know the difference between ale and beer. We ordered ale. This is beer, and it tastes like piss!”
Selena and Orin readied their blades in support of their leader. Like Barbara, they didn’t much care for the watered down dregs served them.
“Uh, oops?” Silast said. “It was an honest mistake. It’s dark back here.”
Frieda, his wife, heard enough. She snapped, “Honest? You don’t know what the word means, you fat toad. I’m not burning my corset to smoke them off you. Stop thinking with your purse and use what little brains the gods gave you. Serve them what they ordered.”
The miser best hurry. His avarice started a chain reaction, and it looks to be growing out of hand. Yep. It’s just another Saturday night down at Silast’s tavern.