The rather rotund innkeeper stood behind the grubby bar, “washing” a filthy mug until it was even dirtier.

The newly crowned King Hugo XXXXVII stumbled into the tavern, hoping that the quarters upstairs smelled better than the downstairs.

”’Ello,” the bartender said without looking up.

“Hello,” Hugo gasped, face and armor sodden, “I was…(cough cough) wondering if you could let me stay for the night?”

“Nope.”

“No? You would just refuse a paying customer?”

“Sure.”

“What? Come on, man, I am the King of Antelle!”

“And I’m the princess. Look, prissylimbs, I don’t serve vagabonds.”

Hugo was at a loss for words. “I-ah-vagabond? Sir, I—”

“Yeah yeah, the king. That’s whatcha said. You look like a scummy, dirty, rotten, smelly, rank hobo to me!”

“Oh, are you quite sure you’re not referring to your putrid pit of an inn?”

“Why, I outta clap you’se across the ears, I do!”

“I’ll have you know I am a master of all seven levels of swordplay. ‘Twould be a mistake to try.”