"NO, NOT DEVIN" Zeph said in frustration, the crumpled paper clutched in his right hand, "NEVIN! YOU DEAF OLD DOLT!"

The deaf old man sitting at the pub counter looked at him excitedly. "OHHH, YOU MEAN TEVIN!"

Zeph massaged his temples, giving himself a moment to think. He'd been staying the night at a pub outside of town when he'd heard the travelers at the next table over talking about an amazing alchemist in the town of Stonevale who could create potions to cure any kind of illness. Apparently, according to them, he could even make a potion to shoot light out of your eyeballs, and a draught to allow you to see in the darkest night. It sounded far-fetched, but Zeph had promised mom he would do some study on herbs, and he had wasted most of the last month chasing someone who had stolen his third dice cube.

A tall, greasy-haired gentleman on his other side at the bar said, "Aye, I know Nevin. But I also have an empty cup." The unsavory man slid his cup across the counter towards him.

Zeph looked at him crosswise in disdain. He opened up his belt pouch, looked inside, and huffed. "Well then refill it bud." He'd spent his last few coins on a collapsing grappling hook from a trader on the road, and he was wondering if he'd made a mistake. He turned and walked across the uneven wood floor, and out the door into the open pathway.