So, young master Fappy, did I get that right, apologies if I made a mess of it, you have behaved like a seabird, flying in, making a bunch of empty noise and shitting (pardon, my language, gentlefolk) all over the place. Perhaps you might share with us a reason why our as yet absent hostess might have invited you?
Kif grabs another tiny sandwich, eats it and deliberately dusts his beard while reaching for the refilled ale cup
The idea here, in case I was not clear, is that you have done something modest in the previous couple of weeks to warrant the honor of this invitation. You don’t have to share it, but you can, and if it’s utter baloney then It may turn out that an npc says so. Or not. And nobody has to participate in this exercise.
Fup...Foop...Fopuuuuuh….look, these old lips can't handle that fancy foreign name, so I'm just gonna call you fella, okay fella?
Fought in the army didja Kif? Did you defend against the great Hot-n-tot invasion? It's good to know these things in case I decide to include you in my memoirs. I'm a archivist and historian by trade, and though I've given that life up for one of adventure...um...well, you'd say one more fitting to my...uh...my daring nature, old habits die hard, so I've decided to record my exploits for posterity.
Barnaby pulls a new looking leather bound journal halfway from the sizeable leather satchel slung across his body and over one shoulder. He gazes around the room making sure everyone has a chance to drink the site in and then slides the book back.