Longshanks, a human of middling height, carrying a long staff, dressed in rough traveler's clothes -- not vestments -- yet displaying Fharlanghn's device prominently on his chest, ducks into the tavern. He approaches the bartender and pulls out several silver, "A tankard of hard cider or brown ale, whichever is better here, barkeep."
After securing his drink, Longshanks nods his thanks, leans back against the bar and takes a long pull, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, "Ah, that is good for clearing the dust of the road from one's throat."
He glances about the room, trying to spot the Dwarf Deves Markham:
If he doesn't see him, Longshanks will continue to drink, now sipping and nursing it, while he watches the room a bit, trying to pick up its overall mood: