Sorry we're temporary out, our last trade ship was attacked by Kongregate pirates on it's way back from Arabia. Don't worry though, we'll catch them scurvy dawgs. Meanwhile, check my about, my butler will serve you a coffee from my personal stuck. Yeah, I keep some in my warehouse in Bruges.
*Quietly looks at the people proclaiming their lack of stock while looks under the counter.*
"That was another spiced meed?" *Grabs the used mug of meed and produces another from under the counter, sliding it toward the quaffer.*
"Rumors? What sort are you looking for?" *Asks while cleaning the glass.*
All this talk of drink reminds me of the joke everyone used to make about one of the local newspapers, in that a large number of editions contained a line like "Hopkinson said he had been drinking snakebites – a mixture of lager and cider – but was unsure how much he had consumed." The drink was almost invariably snakebite, and they always defined it in a subordinate clause. (The quote is lifted directly from the paper.)
