Not many folk in Gilba Gilba mourned the passing of Jee Banferd on account of not many folk in Gilba Gilba even knew the fella. Couple of pals at the Ragged Maiden held themselves a lil’ bit of a vigil or some sort for the guy.

“To Jee,” Blom said stoically, holding a massive tankard o’ Jee’s favorite ale, Ale Ale, in front of him. “The fella wasn’t the most well-known, but he was the most well-liked and enjoyed a good laugh and a good hearty talk and hearty walk and hearty chalk from when times were rough and tumblin’ and always came on through when what was asked of him was somethin’ he could deliver without fear and without suspicion on account of whether the job coulda been got done or not got done which never was nary a fellow to be worried.”

Several pairs of eyes flicked around at this.

“THEREFORE,” Blom continued before the weirdness could sink in, “I dedicate this massive tankard o’ Jee’s favorite to Jee hisself.” He clinked the tankard with all the other tankards that were held upwards in honor of Jee Banferd. “Rest in peace, Jee, ya old cackler.”

Blom upended the entire tankard of ale onto the floor of the Ragged Maiden, and all the other attendees — Farmer Gack, Jumi and Romi Rubigen, Hem Slonnigum I, Heemee, Crylax, Nud the Bud, Gramecia (whom you haven’t met yet but she’s the Ragged Maiden cook), and a few others — also poured all their ales right on the floor. It splashed and hit all their feet, soaking them with the fragrant red-brown liquid.

Blom urgently pitched the empty tankard behind him where it clanged against the wall and he fetched a mop so he could start cleanin’ up the mess before it started stainin’ the floorboards. Really shoulda done this outside, he thought.

The rest of the group dispersed and made their way over to the common room. “Poor Jee,” muttered Gack, shaking his head and wringing his beard of the Ale Ale that had soaked it. It splattered on the floor and earned a litany of curses from Blom on the other side of the inn.

“Aye,” said Hem. “Liked him well enough.”

Heemee nodded. “What took ‘im?”

Nobody answered. “They say it was the grabbers,” Blom said, coming around with the mop and glaring at Gack with the anger of a wronged innkeep.

“The grabbers,” echoed Heemee.

“Aye.”

“Well I never knew the man,” Crylax interjected, “But I appreciate the inclusion just the same. Seems he was well-liked and well-wanted in Gilba Gilba.”

“Or somethin’ like that,” grumbled Gack. He was uncomfortable in these sorts o’ situations.

The door of the inn BLEW open and a hunched, windblown figure staggered in, clutching his side and wearing a museum’s worth of weaponry. “INNKEEP!” the figure hissed. “Need a potion. Wayward Spirit. Healer. ANYTHING.”