From outside the bar, a resounding *CLANG* could be heard. It sounded like somebody dropped a full saucepan from their window onto the street below, though much louder. The noise, strange though it was, was gone in an instant and nothing seemed to come of it.

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Outside, though, things are moving rather quickly. The streets were surprisingly clear, so there wasn't much commotion when the man popped into existance with nary a blur or waver in space/time, upside down, wearing breastplate and wielding a warhammer as if he were surrounded by foes.
Gravity ensued rapidly, bringing the man down to earth with a painful-looking *CLANG*. He picked himself up tenderly, swaying noticeably as he did so. He looked around with uncomprehending eyes before moving towards the largest source of sound nearby, a brightly lit building with a sign above proclaiming it to be Trog's Tavern...