Still in the tavern

Robert woke to a tankard thudding before his face. Blearily opening his eyes, he found his face sunken onto the table he was sprawled over, and the barkeep had just set the drink down, now judging him. Whatever.

"Cheers." He groaned as he separated cheek from wood, grasping the tankard. How late was it? He took a deep gulp, only to find it was water.

"Should help you wake up, lad. If I remember correctly, you're heading out today." The barkeep said.

Heading out? Today?

Slowly, the events of the previous night returned to Robert Faldon. Fuck. He had proclaimed to venture out on the most trying quest of them all, and then gotten shitfaced.

"To be honest, you're not exactly who I think of, when I picture someone defeating The Darkness. Not exactly a notable character, are ye?" The barkeep said, wiping the table.

The hell? He looked down at himself, clothes rumpled and stained from the previous night.

Okay, so maybe the barkeep had a point. Robert really wasn't all that remarkable. At the moment.

"Anyhow, I'm going to restock the kegs. Let me know when you're ready to pay." The man said, heading towards the back.

"W-Wait, no one paid?"

The man shook his head, unamused.

"I only have to pay for myself, right?"

"If all yer buddies happen to walk in the door before you leave, sure." He said gruffly, crossing his arms. Even though he was only a barkeep, his arms were toned, and much bigger than Robert's.

"How-How much?" Robert asked faintly.

"Let's see... the lot of you ordered... ah: forty three tankards of ale, twelve buns, four stews, and two chickens. So! That'll be... 539 gold." The man recounted succinctly with a short smile, and then went to the back.

Robert reeled at the information, barely recalling any of it.