It's a fantasy role-playing game.

DM: You are Jester Lavorre, a tiefling cleric . You are the member of the famous group of adventurers. Previously, The party makes their way back to the Lavish Chateau, and swings by the Tidepeak, and you notices that the city does not seem to be massively changed, but the normal smoke plumes are just whips of smoke. They return to the Lavish Chateau where a few people are relaxing and having dinner.
DM: Wearing a very, very fine shirt, but is Donald Ducking it the rest of the way. Thankfully, relatively thick, thick fur down there. You'd have to pry to get a good look. But is standing there, arms crossed, and goes, "Oh, Jester!" He comes over and picks you up... Actually, no, he wouldn't recognize you because you're a tortle.
Player: Doesn't he know that I am Jester, still?
DM: Probably not. Not unless you say anything.
Player: Bluude, it's me!
DM: Now we go into the "Oh, Jester!" There we go, that's the moment.
Player: My tortle eyebrows are going like this.
DM: Right, right.
