The scene is a torchlit medieval pub patronized by foul-smelling, snaggle-toothed men in filthy clothing. The door opens and a blast of frigid winter air is followed by two huge, tough-looking vikings. They stomp in, shaking the snow off their furs, and the first one pounds a great fist onto the bar.
"Keep! Two meads!" he says in a harsh, low, gravelly voice. The bartender pours two draughts and slides the flagons over to the giant men.
The bigger of the two vikings then raises a finger, stares into the eyes of the quaking barkeep, and says, "Could we get these to go? And I'd like a straw."
