The Cold Shoulder

“I don’t know. Depending on the day I’d be much more afraid of miquella than most warriors. Lady Jade is also not one to scoff at. The ability they have at casting is impressive. I haven’t gotten the hang of it yet.”

The tavern doors swing haphazardly open as an Elf stumbles over the threshold. He is dressed in tattered and unkempt clothing covered in sticks, leaves, and bits of mud. His shoulder-length brown hair is disheveled and riddled with the selfsame twigs and leaves that adorn his clothing.

Glancing over at the table and recognizing at least some of the occupants, he smiles and waves on his way to the bar. As he approaches--and nearly collapses into--the bar, he calls out to anyone present behind the counter. "Heeeyyyyyy youuuuuuu guuuuuuys! A round- no! Two- no... Three rounds of your finest Ramtovi D’os-bawslodyu èw. Make sure it's the top shelf stuff, if you will. Not the watery swill you give to the Gètawshì."

Having placed his order, he invites himself over to the table and bows deeply. "Greetings, Salutations, and good day! How wonderful to see you all much less dead than I was anticipating. Pleasant surprise, indeed!"

"Oh you misunderstand. I never said they weren't capable mages. I was just saying that they should have someone taking the brunt of the attack so they can get their spells off. That's-" She stops midsentence as Peyote swings into the tavern and approaches their table. "I've seen you around. Who are you?"

A couple of servers approach the table and set three glasses of a lightly-colored liquid in front of each person at the table. The Elf nods in appreciation and then places a handful of gold coins on one of the servers' trays. "Put the drinks on my tab, darling. The jinglies are for you lot."

He turns to Storm and bows his head, "Peyote Blayde, my spihonti fpisku." He speaks those words in fluent Draconian as he raises his head to meet Storm's eyes. "Purveyor of goods and services. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Storm nods her head to him. "Pleasure to meet you, Peyote." She reaches for the mug in front of her. "And what is... this for? I don't mind. In fact, thank you for the drink. But what's the price?"

“Ah Peyote. Consider it my pleasure to surprise, even if it is by simply continuing to exist. I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”