It's a fantasy role-playing game.

DM: You are Grog Strongjaw, a goliath barbarian . You are the member of the famous group of adventurers. Previously, The party then retrieved their first artifact and then made their way towards the Pyrah tribe of the Ashari druids, the fire guardians of the gate to the Elemental Plane of Fire, which apparently Thordak, the Cinder King—the great red dragon that helms the Chroma Conclave that has torn through all of the civilization of Tal'Dorei —emerged from.  The party went there, found a surviving faction of the Pyrah tribe including Cerkonos, their headmaster, as well as a few members of Keyleth's tribe, the Air Ashari, and her father.
DM: All right, the four of you convert into mist form, crest up over the edge and start drifting your way over the top of Westruun, leaving Scanlan, Grog, and Reginald amongst the crops.
Player: Reginald, you want some ale?
DM: "Do you have some?"
Player: No, I do, yeah, hold on. Get the cask out, pour him a cup.
DM: He drinks thirstily, both because he seems genuinely thirsty, and second, it seems like he could use a long, hard drink.
Player: Pace yourself, son, there's a lot that's here.
DM: "I've been drinking longer than you've been alive, friend." Just (guzzles).
Player: Wow. Another?
DM: "Yeah."
Player: I'll keep them coming.
DM: And, for that, we'll take a quick break, come back here. See you guys here in a few minutes, and we'll continue this story. See you in a minute! [break]
