(@twispby and @RossM) There is indeed a gathering of interesting strangers at the Tally, and Alice looks pleased and extremely curious.
It’s mostly dark in the common room, but 7 people are sitting around the crackling fire swapping stories.
The storyteller is an older man in rough garments, though baring the ornamentation of an official rank. He’s a gruff man telling dour tales, though he seems to have a ‘stiff upper lip’ approach, and the group laughs occasionally at his dry observations. Mirk recognizes immediately that he’s wearing the regalia of an Eastvale Reeve. Mirk’s homeland of Eastvale is ruled by a counsel of Lords (called The Branch), who administrate their holdings through the local Reeves, so this would be the equivalent of a mayor - though Eastvale towns tend to be small and relatively poor.
Listening intently are two rogish half-elves, who appear to be almost identical twins. Their green eyes flick back and forth, and they seem to be dueling with the storyteller for laughs from the rest with deftly inserted comments and quips. The Reeve doesn’t rile up easy despite their needling, and chuckles along with the group.
Aside the very slightly taller half-elf leaning on his arm is a well-built young lady with red hair and a frequent laugh. She looks well into her cups at this point, and looks ready to fall asleep, but she’s obviously quite determined to stay awake and admire her dashing companion.
The fifth is a guard of the low plaza, his armor carefully discarded and gleaming in the flickering light.
A well coifed mercenary with golden teeth strokes his waxed mustache, rapier at his feet.
A huge half-orc in comfortable furs rumbles concern nearest the storyteller, voicing interest in investigating the Eastvale problem.
Alice hesitates, then approaches the group, taking one of the empty seats near the twins.
“What’s this? A little princess come to the Tally?” The plaza guard points her out.
“Not a princess, I’m…” Alice thinks, “I’m an adventurer.”
The groups laughs, and Alice is embarrassed, but the twins are too interested to let her clam up.
“Now, now! That’s enough, especially from you, York” the shorter twin gestures at the guard. “Adventurers are a noble breed, not like your bumbling plaza outfit! Tell me brave adventurer, what is your name, and what is you quest?”
“I don’t have a quest yet, and I think I need a new name. Mine isn’t… Very Adventurer-y.”
The fancy mercenary leans forward, teeth sparkling, “A name is most critical, to cut a figure, to woo admirers, and to leave your mark. I too took a new name when I left my home and set out to find my way. Later, I got new names to fit my deeds. They call me Golden Laderian, and the Silent Sting.”
The Eastvale Reeve looks amused.
“Such pomp fits the city well, but adventure is found in all sorts of places. You’ll need a name that can be dragged through the mud and still sound strong.”
“You are very small.” The half-orc barbarian scratches his head. “You should have a big sounding name, to confuse your foes.”
This conversation will doubtless continue until Alice has picked an adventurer nickname.
You may engage the group, (or a member of it) or go to sleep.