"Yeah? What, did someone just die? Lissen, mate, I just spent the last week pretendin' to trawl for fish, getting bothered by corvettes and submarines, soaked by that storm, and dodgin' those damned border patrols, all so that you guys can get roaring drunk on something better than that homebrew beer. So if someone don't let me unload these here drinks at Penelope's tavern, I'm dumping them right back in the fjord!" The fisherman was obviously not in a good mood that the last leg of his run was so unceremoniously interrupted by a deserted locked gate.
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