[Argh]

A Vampire whose name is unpronouncably vague entered the Boar's Head Pub, swinging something vaguely disturbing from his right fist. It almost looked like a small head on a chain, when the light hit it right. . . and he had a scowling, grim visage that suggested that he occasionally dined on Hunters.

Seating himself at a distant table, between a sour-faced Troll and a lovely(but deadly) Neelu, the Vampire ordered from one of the harried Halfling waiters, who tried to take the order as quickly as possible: "hi, thisistheBoar'sHeadPubandI'mGloffliyourserverwould youcareforsomethingtodrinkoreat?" Knowing that the Halfling would screw up anything else, the Vampire kept it simple and said, "blood, shaken, not stirred" in an icy voice. The poor Halfling then set a new land speed record heading for the kitchen, knocking over a befuddled Owlbear that had somehow gotten past the bouncers.

Meanwhile(there's always a meanwhile, isn't there?) Bargehead the Garrolous Dwarf entered the hall with a host of other talkative bowing dwarves in variously colored clothes. They kept muttering snatches of songs that hadn't been popular for long ages past- something about "under hill and under stone" while they scuffled across the chipped wooden floor.
Bargehead stopped before Ilfred, and asked in his loud(and garrolous) voice, "So, what do ya have 'ere, ya pansy barkeep? Got any beer worth the drinking? Aye, it's all the same with these here bars and pubs and clubs and cafes these days, ain't it? No Dwarf canna get beer worth fighting and scrapping over, nosirree, what d'ya say to that, eh?"

Ilfred, who'd just as soon bite your head off than speak to Dwarves at all, scowled down her long warty nose. It could be seen that she held a full magnum of Bertle's Best Booze in one scruffy hand, and was contemplating the kind of exit interview one has when one has smashed a patron into smallish bits, when. . .