Storm closes her eyes and groans quietly. "I dunno, Nill. I dunno."

The draconian turns her attention back to her mug but her eyes glance at the fae stranger occassionaly. 

The barkeep looks down at the gem. He doesn't touch it. His lips press together in a firm line as he stares at the polished rock on his counter. He idly scratches his chin.

"Now. I don' think of meself as a... Scholar or nuthin' but I know the stories." The barkeep shakes his head. "Not had many winged customers though-" He looks over at Storm and Nill before he returns to the stranger. "Gettin' ta be more often these days." 

The barkeep puts his hands on his hips. "I ain't acceptin' a rock to buy what li'l ale we got left. I know the stories 'bout yer kind. Makin' deals an' all. If'n I touch tha' there rock, you be spectin' somethin' fer it. Tha' right, fellow?"

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