For the Pie

It's a beautiful day outside, warm in the sunlight and just cool enough in the shade to keep the day from being too warm for comfort. Inside the Fernwood however it is surprisingly silent. Few people are in the pub, a few solitary drinkers have taken up the tables to themselves rather than sitting at the bar. One such drinker is a large half-ourch. He sits with a lovingly crafted flail which has the face of a screaming person worked into the ball, laid out before him. He holds a drink in one hand and he stares at the weapon as if completely uncertain what to do with it. A thing certainly at odds with his person which suggests that he is a warrior by nature.

The bartender jumps in surprise, stepping back as he finds a little lutch behind the counter. Grabbing a loaf of black bread, Selia hops up onto the bartop, pasues there a moment to eye the ourch suspiciously, and drop a couple copper behind her on the bar before stepping down onto a barstool, to the back of a chair, and then stepping onto a tabletop, where she takes a seat atop the table in a pool of sunlight streaming through the window. The lutch hunches over her acquired meal, glancing sidelong around the pub.

Razen watches the little woman with the same sort of suspicion which is offered to him... and to everyone else really. He lifts a hand to touch his flail but the fingers fall short of it, his gray-green eyes wary. He rubs the hand over his face and the curly hair on top of his head. Razen lifts that hand a little higher, indicating that he wants another drink. It seems that the half-oruch is going to get himself into his cups.

Selia gnaws on her bread, ripping off more manageable chunks to chew, still wary and watching. After a couple minutes, she does relax a little, still eyeing people, but stretching out in the available sunlight. The back of one pant leg has been raggedly cut away, exposing the calf, where a snowflake scar has been carved into the flesh, apparently several weeks ago.

Now, it would be wrong to say that Razen is watching Selia overly much, but she's the only unusual thing in the bar and that does tend to draw attention. Razen glances over at the lutch and immediately notices the scar marked on her calf. A warm smile slips across his lips and he shifts his weight in his chair so that he's facing her more. "Nice scarification." He doesn't have much of an accent, but there's just enough of one to suggest his upbringing. "What does it mean?"

Selia freezes when she's addressed, staring a long moment before finishing her mouthful and swallowing. "Fuck iffen I na. Was der when I woke up. Meybe da vampire put it der. Meybe bloke wot 'elp me escape did it. Dey messed wit me 'ead, can't remember shit. But it weren't der when dey grabbed me." Her words are quiet, but tense, thick with a Low Charn accent, muddled with a bit of Undercommon and a few smatterings of something more exotic.

It takes a long moment for Razen to make his way through her accent. Once he does however what she's said doesn't make much more sense to him. He tilts his head at her. "A vampire gave it to you?" That sounds interesting if unusual, and he is clearly curious about what happened. "Come, share a drink with me and tell me your tale." He offers her a warm welcoming smile and a small motion with his hand to encourage her to join him at his table.

Selia flinches back at the offer, but relaxes again, shaking her head. "No. No drinks. 'ad me 'ead messed with enough. Up on da Mountain Road, just chatting, weird sorta bloke came wandering along. Creepy sort. Said I was pretty, wanted me ta dance fer 'im. Said no, but 'e did sumthin to my 'ead. Made sayin yes da only option. Next thing I na, wakin up outside da city. 'alf remembered dreams. White Tower. Stone 'alls. Years of tryin ta git away. Ice blue eyes, of a friend I can't remember. And a scar on me leg. Git back ta da city, git told it's only been a week."

The story, short though it is, has Razen clearly entranced. He's silent through the whole explanation of what happened, and blinks when it's done and shakes his head. "/Magic/." He says the word like it's a curse and his gray-green eyes flicker quickly to his weapon on the table and back to her again. "I would bet good money that he used magic. Shamans can do all sorts of things, make your mind do things that you do not want it to. Make you see things that are not there. Make things appear and disappear.... Make voices speak in your head."

Selia nods, keeping firmly centered in the sunlight. "Vampire magic. Domination, or sumthin. Charms and all friendly like. Messing wit memories, don't think dat were da vampire. Reckon dats either the Tower itself, or meybe da 'Mistress' wot runs it. Don't 'member nuthin 'bout 'er, 'cept da vampire kept talking 'bout 'er."

Razen lifts an eyebrow, the one that has a tattoo bisecting it and shifts his weight in his chair again. A drink is sat down beside him, but he doesn't seem to give it more than a passing amount of attention. He no longer cares about his drink. "A vampire with a mistress aye? One with a shaman tower? That sounds dangerous to me, you are lucky to come out with just a scar to show for it." He nods his head to her. A gesture of respect. "So, are you going to go looking for them?"

Selia flinches again on the tabletop, eyes wide at the very idea, keeping firmly to the pool of sunlight pouring though the pub window. "Blood and ash, no! 'ad nuff o' da shite ta last ferever. Let da DemonChomper know, blokes good fightin an' stuff. Wizards, priests, BladeGuards, an' Absolutions. Want 'em ta burn, but don't want to git anywhere near 'fore it 'appens."

Excitement flashes in Razen's eyes, and he leans forward just a little. "Demon Chomper?" He breathes the word like it's something powerful and meaningful to him. "Tell me, who has earned such a name? I would like to meet this... Demon Chomper. For certain they must be a fearsome being to earn such a title such that!"

The door to the place suddenly flies open and in skips, yup she's skipping, Kaelyn! The very bouncy (in a lot of ways) elf peers and looks around curiously, hands kind of raising some and lowering, slapping her self lightly on the hips as she raises and lowers her hands several times.

Suddenly she smiles and skips her way toward the bar before hopping up on a seat and calling out "Pudddiiiiing!" She says cheerfully "Chocolate!" She says to the barkeep who then slaps their forehead and sighs before setting about getting her order in.

Selia archs and floofs like a startled cat as Kaelyn bursts in, stareing with wide eyes for several moments before assuring herself there's not an immediate threat. A few deep breathes, and she returns focus to Razen, nodding. "DemonChomper, Brightblade Svarshan. Big ol' sith, chomps on demons literal like. Even got a special barbecue sauce 'e uses. Less so wot I've seen, busy wit 'is kids. Tired and naps a lot. But reckon any demon comes close, ain't gonna end well fer da demon."

"Or vampire in this case." Razen grins at Selia, leaning forward even more. He's like a kid being told their favorite bedtime story; eager and excited for more. He completely ignores the sudden appearance of someone else. To him all that really matters is this mysterious Demon Chomper. "Demon Chomper, Brightblade Svarshan." He utters the name with awe. "What names! It seems... Ah. I have not gotten /your/ name. Forgive me."

Razen offers Selia a large hand. "I am Razen Diharth."

The door opens about a crack and a half, before immediately closing again. A few moments go by before the door opens again, this time opening far enough to allow a short (for Sith standards, it seems) Sith-makar. Dressed in dark grey armor, the Sith's scales shine, seemingly molten copper. One can almost see the Pub reflected in the man's cheeks. He seems to consider the place for some time, half in the doorway, a long tongue flicking out as if to taste at the air.

Geir slowly steps inside, pulling the door closed behind him. Again he studies the interior and the people in it. And then shuffles to the bar, where the seating is inspected cautiously. Then the demanding Elf. Then the seating again.

Kae hears the mention of well getting one's name and spins on her stool... She then calls out "I'm Kaelyn!" she calls out cheerfully, waving both arms in the air... "I invent stuff!" She adds, then well there's the sound of Kae's bowl of pudding being put out and Kae oohs "Ooh and mead too!" before starting in on her mead... She gets a nasty stare from the bartender too…

Selia eyes the offered hand much like one might eye a serpent, or particularly hairy spider. But after a moment she reaches out, barely brushing fingertip to fingertip before pulling back. "Selia Shadowkin." Kaelyn and Geir get another sidelong glance.

The half-orc doesn't seem to mind the briefest of hand shakes that he is given though... perhaps there is a slight bit of consideration in those gray-green eyes that wasn't there before. He turns his attention toward the woman calling out her own name and lets loose a little laugh that's warm and friendly. "Well-met Kaelyn. Would you care to join us?"

Geir peers sidelong at the really cheerful Elf, and then slowly settles onto a stool. "Peace upon your nest.", the copper-scale intones, to the bartender, in a low and scratchy voice. "One desires a hot dinner. Perhaps stew? And some ale." The bartender's reply is likewise low, and the Sith nods. "Yesss." While the barkeep is off sorting that out, the Sith peers around the place once more, eyeing the Half-oruch curiously, and his tiny companion.

Selia keeps quiet, resuming her bread gnawing. Though somehow, somewhere, she managed to obtain a mug of ale to round out the meal.

Kae blinks, she's invited to visit with them... She looks between them and the Sith, the goofy elf then saying, in her usual rather hyper manor.. "Peace upon your nest toooo!" She says and looks to the folks at the table "Ummmm.... suuuuuuuure I guess!" she skips over and settles at said table with her big bowl of pudding and her mead... Yes, lots of sugar

Razen seems quite pleased that Kaelyn is joining them, and the half-oruch picks up his ale finally. Then he gestures to the sith-makar. "You too friend, do not just look on and sit alone. Join us and be merry." He lifts his mug. There's a heavy and beautifully made flail on the table before him. It has a screaming face emblazoned on the ball, and it's so lifelike that it's eerie.

"Yes, thanks to you.", the Sith-makar says to the barkeep, who delivers a bowl of something piping hot, bread and ale. He winces slightly at Kae's cheerful rendition of what is normally a solemn oath. With the bread between his teeth, Geir stands slowly, and shuffles towards the tables and chairs, pausing to consider Razen's words. The copper-scale pauses for some time to consider the words at length, before deciding to settle stew and ale upon Razen's table. Pulling a chair back from said table, he eases into it, the stout wooden thing creaking. "Mmmhph mmmh rrggle.", Geir says, looking somewhat surprised. Pulling the bread from his mouth, he offers a toothy grin to Razen. "My thankss, sser. Peace upon your nest." The bread is then quickly consumed.

Selia finishes off her own meal, and eyes the other for a long moment before scurrying to the edge of her table, and over the side, like some mix of cat, geko, and oil puddle, disappearing into the gloom beneath. Should one care to check, the little lutch has managed to disappear entirely. Likely with some sort of actual magic involved.

Kae looks from person to person to person... She blinks at the Rrggle comment and peers at the Sith... She's holding a large wooden spoon with a giant scoop of pudding on it... She then beams "I agree!" She calls out before shoving said pudding in her mouth....

"No sir here, just Razen." The half-ourch grins at the sith-makar. "And your name is? Oh and... um... Peace on your nest?" He sounds hesitant at this, clearly uncertain that he's saying it right even though he just heard it. He slides back somewhat in his chair to be polite and reaches out to pull his flail closer so that it's not taking up so much table space only... his fingers stop short and he lets his hand fall to the table instead as though that's what he meant to do all along. The flail thus, stays where it is.

The Sith spends a bit of time working on the bread, slowly crunching and chewing. He eyes Kaelyn for a moment. "Agree with what, sser?", he inquires of Kaelyn. His gaze switches to Razen and he seems to ponder the question at length. Ale is sipped, sniffed at, and sipped at again. The spoon is dipped into the stew, and his tongue licks at the broth dripping from the utensil. "Herrrm." Geir glances to Razen again. "One. One is known as Geir, sser." The stew is deemed acceptable, it seems, as the copper-scale begins to eat of it. Hungrily.

Kae blinks "The noises you were making while eating food! I agreee!" She calls out, now waving her arms around, yes she's flailing or waggling her arms some. Who knows. Maybe she's just hyper...

Kae peers at the Sser comment and looks down before blinking "Maam? Prolly would be a better reference mebbe?" She says and blinks again

Razen blinks once, realizing that apparently he's going to be 'sir'd' whether he wants to be or not. It makes him frown slightly, but he doesn't comment on it. He's met a few sith-makar before, and he's found them all as odd as the other races he's met. Just in a different way. "It is nice to meet you Geir, and you too Kaelyn." He toasts them finally and takes a healthy drink. There's already another one being tucked near his arm by a passing waitress. Apparently they know that he wants them to keep coming. Razen sets the drink down for just long enough to shrug off his bearskin and then picks the drink up again. "What stories have you to share? Anything but talk of this plague everyone seems so worried about."

"One did not know that food noisess were transslatable.", the Sith says, pausing between spoonfuls of stew to do so. "Sser is a polite way term to indicate one is talking to another. One knowss not of this mahm you speak of.. sser." Geir's gaze turns to Razen, and he pauses again between spoonfuls to nod. "Yess, it is ... good to meet you as well... sser." The copper-scale's expression grows thoughtful, but there are several spoonfuls of stew that go by before Geir continues. "In part, thiss plague is why one is here. What ssort of storiess is one looking to hear? One has a few, though of what value they are worth, one does not know."

"Some might like being 'sir'd' but I know that I do not need such honorifics. I take the names I have earned and nothing more than that!" He proudly grins and drains the last of his drink. He sets the old one aside and pulls the new one in close. His fingers toy with the edge of the mug for a moment but he's already continuing. "It seems odd to me that you would come to Alexandria for the plague. Most fear it."

Clearly he is not afraid, but he doesn't say this. Instead he rolls his shoulders at ease and lifts his mug up off the table. "Stories of honorable combat are always good to tell, but I will listen to what you have to say Geir."

"One has traveled a long road, between the lussh jungle of one's birth and the.. well, this place." Geir gestures to the Pub around them. "Honorificss are what makes the world turn, sser. The veneer of ssociety is thin, sso one should have a care to practice honorificss. A little goess a long way, sser... er, Razsen." The copper-scale pats his chest, a clank of metal on metal heard plainly. "One is a shaman of the Dragon of Death. The Grey One. Death. Vardama, as sshe is called here. One comes to aid the otherss. In the temple."

The Sith hmms, and sips at his ale once more, and quickly spoons out the remaining dregs of stew. His tongue lashes out, licking at his lips and the few pieces of stew that did not quite make it into his mouth. A small piece of cloth, retrieved from a pouch hanging at his side, dabs at all the damp places on his face. "Honor and combat are not friendss on the battlefield. Fair fightss, as they ssay, are for ssuckerss. Honor is resserved for display of sskill or a sshowing of dominance. Combat is besst served fasst and deadly. If not deadly, with intent to end it quickly."

Razen's eyebrow arches at the sith-makar. Geir might as well have been speaking another language. Might have well come from the moon speaking like that. "Others might fight dishonorably, but Angoron knows that what matters is how /you/ fight. I have been in many battles, more since coming to Alexandria than before, but I have found that there is honor in defending those weaker than myself. In fighting a good fight even if my foe does not. When I win, I only prove that Angoron's way is superior." Razen waxes poetic a bit, drinking his drink and looking off into the distance.

"Yes, fight fast, fight with fury! Be deadly on the field of battle. But never without honor Geir."

The Sith grins. As much as a Sith can actually grin, it is just this side of baring one's teeth in a snarl. It takes practice. Something that Geir seems to have done. It's still mostly all teeth, though. "Hmm, perhapss there can be different levels of honor, sser. I do not mean to act in an evil fasshion." He pats his chest again. "Yess, Angoron will know that you have fought honorably. However, the Grey Lady hass walked besside many an honorable individual. In many cases, sshe has not yet walked besside their opponent. If you catch my meaning, sser?" The copper-scale lets out a breath. "When, if, you lose, Razsen, you will prove that Death comes for us all."

The half-ourch laughs and laughs. It's a deep throaty sound that welcomes the sound of more laughter. The sort that's easy to join into even if you don't know what the joke is. He lets it die off with a chuckle and the last of his drink. The mug is taken away; replaced and just that easily he has another. When he's done laughing there's color on his cheeks where there hadn't been before. It's a ruddy color that looks odd on his face. "Indeed! Death comes for us all Geir! I have no fear of that. For when I die I will do so with many names for my relatives to speak of, and a legacy of honor; Angoron willing." His gray-green eyes meet those of the sith-makar. "So, if we all die, would it not be better to go to the halls of the gods knowing that you have lived your life as you might, rather than having lived a life skulking in shadows?"

Geir herrms and chuckles. "All die, sser. Would it not be better to stay a live jusst a little bit longer, though?" The Sith settles back in his chair, which creaks starkly in the evening quiet. "When it is our time to go, there is little that can be done, though interventionss can occur. But, many timess in ones' livess, one holds the power of life and death in ones' handss. A decission, timely made, becomess the difference between continuing on, or traveling to ones' makerss. One may never even know how many timess one has made the proper decision."

The copper-scale clears his throat, and drinks more deeply of his ale. "Live a good life, and people will sspeak of one highly, before and after one's passing. War iss dirty, and all know ssuch. Kill or be killed. Honor hass gotten many killed, and losst wars. Honor iss for after the battle is won."

"I suppose we will have to disagree then. If one has no honor on the field of battle, then there is no honor to be had then or after. Honor is in our every act, but shines through most clearly when our lives are on the line." Razen drinks down his mug all in one shot and sighs. His shoulders slump slightly and he looks over at his flail. "At least you agree with me"

A decent day tumbles into a fine evening, with a slight breeze that has people seeking warmth and company. The Pub is a hotbed of such. Amid the evening crowd, three folk sit around a table. An enthusiastic Elf, a boisterous Half-Oruch and a taciturn (sorta!) Sith-makar.

Geir chuckles once more, and plants his palm flat upon the table. "Do not be sso morose, sser. One learnss to deal with differing viewss as one travelss. We are not sso unalike, you and I. Jusst differing levelss of... jade." The coppery-hued tail, having been curled under the Sith's chair, begins to twitch, the tip swaying to and fro like a cat's.

"I am not morose I am..." Razen trails off, still staring at his flail. "Have you ever Geir, found yourself facing your greatest fear in something which you love?" It's far too thoughtful for a man so deep into his cups. The half-ourch is staring at a heavy flail in the middle of the table yet untouched. It is masterfully crafted with a screaming face in the ball of it.

Braelnoir has decided to take in another round of 'the city', and as such, is travelling relatively light. No crossbow, scythe, travel pack or bandolier, though the weapons belts and bolt case are still in place. She takes in a deep breath at the threshold, lets it out slowly, and wanders inside to see what's about.

The copper-scale herrms and regards the Half-Oruch thoughtfully. At length. "No.", he says quietly. "One's greatesst fear is definitely not something one lovess. But one can ssee how that would be taxing."

Razen nods. "Ah, then you know the face of your fear then. That is..." He trails off, stairing at the weapon and then finally shaking his head. "I need another drink. Where is it?" He looks around and finds one waiting for him and drinks it. He clearly feels better afterwards, smiling at Geir. "Forgive me, we were talking about honor no? There is honor in this; the facing of one's fears no?"

Sandy, of course, is totally here. She arrived a moment ago, aiming to slip into a seat at her favorite table to get herself a mug of ale and a piece of pie because of course she is. Truthfully, that's all there is to it at the moment.

The Sith sits upright suddenly, his head canted to one side. "Excusse this one, ssers. One musst return to the temple for the.. for the uh..." He gestures with a clawed hand. "Csseremony. Peace on your nests." Standing, Geir bows and then shuffles to the door. Which he examines for several long moments before slipping outside, the door shutting behind him with a thump.

Braelnoir continues sauntering toward the bar, looking the people over, the potential exits and so forth along the way. Hmm, don't see purple hair, often. Maybe she's born with it. The human rests on her elbows against the bar with a, "'ey! Two pints if ya would, lovey?" The Sith's sudden exit draws enough eye for the woman to twist to make sure she takes it all in.

Razen bows his head to Geir as the sith-makar leaves and orders another round. He's had quite a lot to drink at this point of course, but he shows no sign of stopping tonight. His heavy flail lays out on the table before him, a weapon of incredible workmanship. It has the face of someone screaming emblazoned upon the ball. He hasn't touched it, but it has his attention now. He stares at it as though it has the answer to something.

Indeed, one doesn't see purple hair too often. Or Sith, for that matter. Though they may be more common around Alexandria due to the Am'shere portal, they sure as hell aren't as common across the world.

Sandy eyes Braelnoir a moment, grunts, then raises a glass towards Razen. Him, she recognizes.

Braelnoir she starts to turn back to the bar to see how her order's coming and catches the fella eyeballing the... actually really nice looking flail. Not quite her style, but, nice.

Razen looks up from the flail at the motion that Sandy makes and suddenly smiles. "Sandy! Greetings, come share a table with me." He glances toward the woman that Sandy looked at and grins at her as well. "Join us, the more the merrier; I will buy a round for us all."

"Eh, I suppose I could. Or you could come over here, you know," she's feeling lazy so she has to try. She already took a seat, after all. Might as well try to make other people join her if they want her terrible company!

Edinaz comes in from outside, a curl of breeze coming with him. He ducks in and lets his eyes adjust to the firelight. Then, before really taking stock of things, he heads towards the bar -- since the wine waits there.

Braelnoir arches an eyebrow at that, but, hey! On someone else's tab lets her drink more without breaking the bank! She sets a coin down to cover the ales set in front of her and she takes them up to saunter thattaway, "Like ya already, sweetheart!" she chuckles, saluting with one of her tankards as her new pal enters the pub in turn. She looks to the purple crowned elf and shrugs, "It's on him." and carries on by, laying a big swig on that first tankard like she was trying to catch up.

Razen waves a hand to show that he really is paying for all the drinks and grins. "Good company then, glad to have you." He takes his drink and pulls it down, clinking the mug down and rubbing a hand over his face and hair. "My name is Razen, and it is a pleasure to meet you..." He trails off meaningfully while offering Braelnoir a hand.

Fiiiiine!

Sandy makes her way over to join the others, plopping into a chair with her pie and her drink. She has a bite of the former, of course. It looks like its cherry. what, were you expecting something else?

Edinaz waves towards Braelnoir, then elbows up to the bar. He orders some mulled wine and a plate of meats. Then he leans, waiting, looking back at the room. Purple crowned elf. He does look longingly at the pie, and pauses long enough thinking about changing his order that his wine arrives.

Braelnoir catches the wave from Edinaz and toasts him in turn with a broad grin, then finishes her trek to the table, "Obliged, love." she says and sets one of her friends down to clasp hands with their host, "Braelnoir, nice t'meetcha." A nod to the, "Miss." because elves always look young (damn them!) and the merc settles into a seat, "Mind if m'pal over yonder joins us?"

Sandy eyes Braelnoir for a moment at that 'love'. Then she grunts.

“Yeah, nice to meet you," she adds, bluntly, not seeming to take it all too serious. "It's fine," she adds a moment later. Then another bite of pie. Then a look at Razen. There must be a razen for all this!

"Not at all! The more the merrier!" Razen doesn't make a move to shift the weapon from the middle of the table where it lies, but he does wave to Edinaz in a welcoming manner. "Come, join us!" The half oruch is clearly well into his cups, but merrily so. There's light color on his cheeks, and a warm friendly glow to his smile. Yet in spite of this merriment his gray-green eyes keep flickering to the weapon on the table as though it disturbs him somehow. This in spite of the fact that it must clearly belong to him.

Edinaz ambles over smiling, with wine and a plate of meats (and cheese -- there's always cheese) in hand. "Thank you for the invitation." He's polite... for a half-oruch, at least. Hooking a chair with his foot, he sits and puts the plate in the middle of the table, next to Razen's weapon. "Eat up, if you wish." With a slouch, he makes sure he doesn't loom over the rest of them.

Braelnoir smiles a little more warmly and puts a fair amount of hurt on that first tankard, then sets it on the table with it's brother, "Friendly folk 'round here." she remarks, then glances at the elf again, "Smells good. Cherry?"

Sandy eyes Edinaz for a moment, grunts once. Then she's having another bite of her pie before giving a nod to Braelnoir. "Sometimes, I forget how sensitive your noses are," she mutters. Another bite of pie thereafter. It's vanishing at an alarming rate, but then, Sandy looks like she can pack away a lot of pie.

Edinaz grunts back at Sandy, showing sharp teeth. Apparently, it's an acceptable greeting in his culture. A nod to Braelnoir. How're you doing?"

Razen shakes himself slightly, clearly lost in thought for a moment. "This is Sandy." He waves to the purple-haired elf as it seems that Braelnoir thinks that Sandy's name is Cherry. He's helpful like that. He drinks down another drink and leans against the table. "Where did you get that pie? It looks really good." He's frowning at her.

"... I ordered it here," says Sandy, "Where do you think I got it?" She snorts at Razen, then she has another bite of pie, finishing off her slice and eyeing her mug of ale speculatively. She's clearly considering how much she feels like drinking tonight.

"Hells, days I'm amazed it works at all!" the woman chuckles with a wink to the elf, then, "Ahhh... doin' all right, I suppose." She hoists a tankard and indicates, "Edinaz," with it, and with a similar gesture toward her host suggests he, "Meet Razen. Razen, this's Edinaz." another gesture, "An' Sandy." and makes another assault on that tankard's contents.

Edinaz takes a swig of wine happily. "Edinaz Garaleth," he follows Braelnoir's introductions. He nods to Razen. "Razen." He's already grunted at Sandy, but he nods again.

The half-orc seems pleased that everyone's been introduced. He offers everyone a smile and then drinks another drink. "Bah I am thirsty!" He slams the mug down and looks around for his server who's been helpful all night until now. Thankfully the drink isn't far off and soon enough he has another in hand. He doesn't down it right away, but he's clearly considering it. "And some pie!" He yells after the waitress, not angrily, but in a jovial manner that's perhaps a little louder than he intends. "So. What brings you all in tonight?"

"Thirsty." Brae replies with a wink and coup de gras the first tankard. She looks between her company and gives it a few before deigning to reach for number two.

"The pie," remarks Sandy, casually. "They do make good pie here sometimes." She puts her arms up over her head.

Edinaz considers. "Well," he says, spearing a roll of meat and popping it in his mouth, "the food is better than the Ox-Strength."

-End