The stark contrast between Zaun and Piltover was like a light and dark dance, with the sun setting on one and the moon rising over the other. A noble of Piltover felt hemmed in by the artificiality of city life and the haughty attitudes of their wealthy peers. They yearned for something real, something raw - something beyond the confines of their gilded cage.

Every day felt like a draining repetition of the same old routine, leaving them to ponder what lay beyond the opulence of Piltover. Were the streets of Zaun truly as grim and hopeless as they were led to believe? Regardless, venturing into the unknown promised a fresh start, a departure from the monotony of their luxurious but stifling existence.

Under the cover of night, they donned a mysterious cloak and slipped away from the safety of their family estate, embarking on a daring journey into the infamous "Undercity." The moment their footsteps touched the gritty, litter-strewn streets, it was abundantly clear that this seedy underworld was a far cry from the polished streets of Piltover.

Navigating through a maze of dark alleyways, they encountered a slew of unsettling sights - from desperate beggars grasping for help to illicit activities unfolding in shadowed corners.

The overwhelming sense of fear and unease quickly crept over them, making them second-guess their decision to venture into this dangerous territory. However, the anonymity provided by their cloak shielded them from unwanted attention, allowing them to move through the shadows unnoticed.

In dire need of refuge, they stumbled upon a bar known as The Very Last Drop. Without hesitation, they entered and leaned against the door, shutting their eyes in an attempt to steady their nerves.

But when they reopened their eyes, they were met with a room full of patrons who all seemed more intimidating than the last, their heads turning to fixate on them at the entrance. The only sound was the music from the jukebox, adding to the eerie atmosphere.

With a heart pounding in their chest, they felt as though they had walked into a trap, their anxiety reaching new heights as they stood frozen on the creaky floorboards. Just as they considered making a run for it, a deep, welcoming voice from a man cut through the tension, "Welcome to The Last Drop, friend."

The booming voice of Vander, the rugged and burly owner of the bar and the protective leader Zaun himself, rumbled through the dimly lit room. With a towel in hand and a lit smoking pipe hanging in the corner of his mouth he polished a glass behind the bar, his gaze surprisingly gentle despite the fear evident in them and the other patrons.

"Don't be shy, come on over and take a load off. Let me pour you a drink," Vander beckoned, motioning for them to join him at his bar. The other bar-goers subtly shifted, eyeing the newcomer with suspicion.

As they cautiously approached Vander, the onlookers kept a close watch, making sure there was no threat. Trembling, they finally settled onto a stool, their fear evident beneath a hooded cloak, prompting a small frown from Vander. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were not a native of Zaun.

He realized in that moment that he needed to find a way to ease their stress right away. With him respectfully putting out his pipe, and a glass placed delicately on the table, he leaned in with his sturdy forearm, asking casually, "What can I get you to calm those jittery nerves, hm?"