Andros coughed twice, not only to clear his throat, but as well to gain the attention of the fat woman behind the bar.
"Madam I would like to have a hot grog for my sore throat."
"I'm sorry, I don't have any grog."
"No grog? A glass of whine maybe?"
"I'm sorry, no."
"I already heard, that You're not servin alcohol to anyone, but I had assumed, that You were only excluding this drunken fisherman from Your patrons."
"That's to his own best, two weeks ago he was so filled up with it, that he fell out of his boat and nearly died in the cold water."
"Now I assure You, that I neither have a boat, nor plan to row over the lake. And contrary to him I'm planning to use the grog for my health not against it. What shall I do when I meet a goblin and I'm to hoarse to cast a spell? Shall I try to beat him over the head with this lousy quarterstaff?"
"I would really like to help You, but I don't have any liquors anymore, no ale no whine, no mead no grog."
"Say which sort of tavern is this?"
"Unfortunately a very dry one,... the last caravans simply dissappeared on their way here,... and now..."
"Wait a second, You can't tell me You haven't stored anything, with the winter so near, You folks from the Dale are hoarding food like hamsters, right? Why no liquors?"
"*Sigh* See, I have supplies, down in the cellar,... but I just don't dare to go down there 'cause of...*the bartender looked left and right, but none of the local patrons seemed to be listening to their conversation* 'cause of the bugs."
"Bugs?"
"Big, nasty, ugly, however You want to describe them, mice I can deal with, rats are no great threat to me as well, but..."
"Okay okay, just tell me where the entrance to Your cellar is, and I'll get a bottle, else I wont see my grog before springtime right?"
"Seems so,... right door behind the bar."
Andros descended the stairs to the cellar. Nothing was to be heard for quite a while, until after almost a quarter of an hour the mage returned with a pale face and a bottle under his arm.
"Are You okay traveler?" the barkeeper asked worriedly.
"...You didn't tell me they were bigger than my feet..."
"I said they were big."
"...They cornered me and tried to eat me..."
"I said they were nasty."
"...I got a bottle..."
"That's vinegar... do You want me to cook You a grog with this? I You want one go back and get me another bottle." the barkeeper smiled evilly.
"You know something madame? I think I'm better buying a shawl instead."