At a place like Trog's, people appearing in a bright flash of light accompanied by some manner of distinctive sound is practically a common occurrence. In addition to being the favored method of transit among certain members of the regular clientele, such a spectacle is practically a tradition among newcomers.
This particular flash and noise is rather unimpressive, as if reality wanted to provide its usual announcement but couldn't muster up the effort. The flash isn't bright enough, and in an unpleasant shade of green, while the noise is barely noticeable above the usual tavern chatter. At the center of this unspectacular spectacle is a robed, childlike figure clutching a scroll who seems likely to fall down at any moment. "Not... not what was supposed to happen." he mutters.