“Ten WHAT ?! ” The barkeep snapped, “Listen, I am in no mood for a rambling drunk this early in the day.”

“Listen to him, you rotund lackadaisical BABOON !” Horace leaned over the counter, baring his sharp teeth to convey the seriousness in his voice further.

“Lords!” The poor bartender exclaimed as he pressed his flabbergasted form against the wall behind him, “It can talk!?!”

“But will ye listen to it!?” Horace growled, annoyed with the never ending stereotype, “The C’asmal- the CRABS , as you call them, are almost here and if you leave now, you MIGHT outrun the massacre!”

“Calm down Horace,” His elderly companion whispered, glancing around to see just how many people were taking note. They all were. “You shouldn’t-”

“No, Fysch” Horace yelled, glancing over his shoulder,” We’ve been through this before! No one will listen, but this time no one will survive because of it – So, there’s no need to keep any secrets.”

Horace turned around and walk to the exit.

“Bloody animals.” He mumbled.