Tinuben

It's a quiet hour at Milliways; the colliding galaxies outside the observation window swirl slowly as a soft, sad song plays through the bar from nowhere. A waitrat is sweeping under the tables, and although a few patrons are sitting in a corner carrying a quiet conversation, there's only one person at the bar: an anxious-looking elf wearing bright red and gold armor. There's a sheathed sword strapped to her belt, and a shield propped up against the bottom of her stool. 

"A bottle of Lagrave Stout, please," she says tentatively. The bottle appears in front of her, and she startles back. Then she takes it, sips, and looks impressed.