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It is Nine Bells in Waterdeep where Vic has gathered up two friends, Unbar and Valadmir, to head for the Copper Cup where they are to seek an elf named Isaril.
Apparently the elf has called on Waterdeep for aid. Vic and his friends are that aid. It will involve a jaunt into the countryside, probably taking no longer than a few days.

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Vic, or more properly, Viclas Caibella, is a male half-elf, in his mid-20s, who dabbles in arcane spells.
Unbar is a very masculine mountain dwarf, of indeterminate age, and an ardent divine follower of Moradin.
Valdamir Home, all male, all goliath, and of unstated age wields a lethal looking halberd with an air of lethal sincerity. He also bristles with a variety of of less favoured weapons.

"Look alive boys! I hear this is no ordinary elf." He will take a breath.

"The Nandars are resettling Blackstone, and they have been harvesting lumber from the forest. We are to help resolve the dispute between the Sylvans, and the Nandars. Looks like we are headed out to Blackstone with the regular patrol, and our new friend Isaril will be accompanying us."

"I'm always up for spending some time in the forest."

Vic will lead the way into the Copper Cup. Knowing he has an hour he won't be in a rush to look for the elf immediately.

"Barkeep, a morning mead for me and my friends!" He will choose a place at random. Scanning the crowd for the elf.

Having entered the Copper Cup, a large, multi-leveled barn of a place, Vic a the number of open-hearth fires, all stoked but unlit, a raised podium over to the right and a long bar stretching along the wall away to the west. There are numerous tables and open areas in between, some areas screened off by curtains. Perhaps a dozen patrons can be seen, single or in pairs, a few clearly having a very late night but mostly seem passing travelers.

The barman, a hulking man, bald as a coot apart from a ginger goatee, smiles and slowly pours three tankards of appropriately dark winter mead. "Six nebs," he says conversationally.

One long haired, baggy clothed individual is slumped over the far table. A characteristically pointed ear can be seen peeking through its owner's brown hair.

"Let's have some breakfast too." He will quietly slides a Dragon to the barkeep.

"Him too. Looks like He had a hard night."

The big fellow nods and then whistles. A young lass trots over to the bar to see the barman pointing at the 'Chowder' on the chalkboard while holding up four fingers.
The girl smiles smiles enthusiastically and trots off.

The chalkboard says:

• light ale @ 1 neb/tankard
  dark ale @ 2 nebs/tankard
  1 bottle of wine {various, ranging from 2 shards to 3 dragons}
  hot fish chowder @ 2 shards/large wooden bowl
  cinnamon butter toast @ 1 neb/plate of six hot, dripping slices

The goatee owner pushes two nebs back to Sue. "Fine. One for 'Fingers'," he says, nodding towards the collapsed figure at the far table.

***
Four bowls of hot fish chowder and a will be delivered in some number of minutes, each with a half tankard of drinking water.

"Keep the tally running for now. The balance will be yours." He will smile. "And if anyone asks we weren't here."

"Ohh the wine for 2 ahards, and a toast too. We'll take it at his table."

Vic will walk over to the table with the sleeping elf.

Expressionless the barman places a bottle of white wine on the bar with four glasses.
The pair of shards exactly cover the wine costs.

Vic walks over to 'Fingers'. Up close there is the faintest of snores.

Ok, didn't do the mat right. Before walking over he will give a second dragon, so the tip part makes sense, and they get toast.
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"This is some pretty dam good chowder. If any of you are not enjoying it or can't finish your share I'm willing to help you out." Val pounds back the ale.

The chowder tastes very peppery with a hint of old beer.The lass scurries after Vic with some toasts.

Vic passes his Ale to Val, and takes the wine glasses to the table with him. When he sits, he pours the wine.

There's a gentle snore from the body in front of him.

The the smell of hot, buttered toast hits the nostrils, causing a snuffling noise and stretching from the the previously slumped person who sits more or less straight.
It's clearly male, although really disheveled. "For me?" he says, reaching for the toast.