Dave

In a place where legends gather, where gods drink beside thieves and warlords, where the very laws of reality bend to the whims of The Last Home, Dave is just some guy having a pint. He is unremarkable in every possible way—average height, average build, brown hair, brown eyes, dressed in clothes that look neither new nor particularly cared for. If one were to describe him later, they would struggle to recall anything specific. And yet, Dave exists.

He exists so absolutely, so firmly, that it is unsettling. Some whisper that he was the first patron, that the inn formed around him, as eternal and unshakable as the fire in the hearth. Others claim he is the embodiment of the inn itself, its soul given form. A few, driven to madness by the implications, insist that Dave created reality itself and simply forgot.

Dave, if asked, will only shrug, sip his drink, and say, “Dunno, mate. Fancy a pint?”

A Pint and a Chair—The Ritual of Dave

Dave sleeps in his chair by the fire, curled in a comfortable, rumpled sprawl. It is not reserved, but no one else sits there. Not because they fear him, but because some fundamental force of the universe discourages it. The same can be said of his drink. Dave has never spilled a pint—not during a bar fight between celestial warlords, not when the Legendary Maids turned a tavern brawl into an interdimensional incident, not even when Rika Thunderale suplexed a kraken through the taproom.

This fact has become an obsession for the Conspiracy Club, an ever-growing collection of eccentric scholars and adventurers dedicated to unraveling the enigma of Dave. Chief among their concerns is the question: What happens if Dave ever does spill his drink? Theories range from The Last Home vanishing into the void, to reality collapsing in on itself, to absolutely nothing—which, somehow, would be worse.

A Man Who Moves Without Purpose

Though most assume Dave never leaves the taproom, this is not entirely true. Occasionally, he wanders. He has been spotted in the orchard, staring up at the apple trees as if lost in thought. Once, he was found in the Library, flipping through a book he had no intention of reading. Another time, someone saw him standing in the kitchen, looking as though he was about to ask for something, only to shake his head and walk away.

No one questions it. No one stops him.

If asked, he will pause, consider the question longer than necessary, and say, “Thinking, I suppose.” And then he will return to his chair, as though the universe itself is nudging him back.

The Universe Protects Him (Or Does It?)

Dave does not dodge. He does not flinch. He does not react to danger because danger does not apply to him. Traps fail in his presence. A dagger thrown at him will inexplicably miss, even if the attacker was standing directly in front of him. A collapsing beam will stop just shy of crushing him, as if reconsidering its course. Brawls rearrange themselves around him without him needing to move.

Some believe The Last Home is protecting him. Others suspect it isn’t protection at all—just the way things are.

Dave and Lars—The Unspoken Understanding

Lars, the Keeper of The Last Home, is a man of quiet authority, feared and respected by all who enter. Gods lower their voices when speaking to him. No one questions Lars.

Except Dave.

Dave calls him Lars. Just Lars.

The first time someone overheard this, they waited, expecting a reaction. But Lars only smirked, shook his head, and poured another drink.

This revelation has deeply disturbed the Conspiracy Club, who have added it to their ever-growing list of unsolved mysteries. Does Lars know something? Does Dave? The thought unsettles them. There is an understanding between the two men—one that no one else seems privy to.

Then came The Old Man’s Visit.

One evening, a hooded figure entered the inn. He walked straight up to Lars and asked, “Is it safe?”

Lars did not hesitate. “Yes, old man. It’s safe.”

The stranger sighed in relief, turned to leave—then paused. He looked at Dave, nodded, and said, “Alright, Dave.”

The entire inn fell silent.

Dave, as always, looked mildly confused and sipped his drink.

The old man was never seen again.

No one knows what he meant. Was he asking about the sword above the bar, the one Lars polishes with unsettling care? Was he speaking of The Last Home itself, as though something beyond its walls had been waiting?

Or was he asking about Dave?

No one dares ask Lars. And Dave, as usual, offers no answers.

Final Thoughts

Dave is completely normal. Unless he isn’t.

But it’s probably best not to think about it too much.

Now,

Wanna pint?