Salvator looked up, quickly smiling and trying not to stare so obviously.

"Oh, who knows? Maybe until tomorrow, maybe in a few weeks. All depends on how long this land and it's people hold my interest." He replied with a shrug.
Draining the remaining liquid in his mug, which had started to warm, he waved for another round....


(Alright, you gotta tell me what is so interesting. lol PM if you want, but my curiosity is through the roof, and Sal seems to already see it. lol)

"i am sorry Salvator for not saying, but i feel that it wouldn not be a good way to start a conversation," she says.

"but seeing that i am starting to get comfortable with you. i will answer you question that your face expressions are asking" she takes a deep breath

Yes. i am within child. and no i am not and never will be with my baby's father. i do not love him.. i am travelling most of the time to make sure he can not track me down. i am scared that he will hurt me or my child. or both

((is that ok?))

Salvator nodded, remaining silent for a few moments as if considering something.
After what could have been deemed an uncomfortable silence, Salvator leaned forward, face serious.
"Then it seems you are in a vulnerable state, and a dangerous situation. Not to mention, even the smallest of fights is a great risk to you...." He stated, sounding as if he was talking to himself as much as her.
Taking a great gulp from his mug, he nods, as if asked a question.
"So, it seems you will be needing a protector, at least for a few months. And I would be happy to fill the void." He says casually, as if surrendering months of his adventurous life was hardly even a matter.

Today’s Menu

• Mushroom Stew
  
• Liver and Potato Kabobs
  
• Harvest’s Apple Pie
  
  Beverage of the Day: Captain’s Choice Red

It is mid autumn. The harvest has all been brought in, and folks are getting ready to settling in for the winter. The old farmer, Sam Wheatson, predicts a very heavy and wet season. Today was sunny, but brisk, and this evening the skies are clear, keeping no warmth from the day, and allowing the half moon to shine brightly in the sky.

The stage stands with a local band of four musicians playing tavern favorites.

Five tables have patrons seated around it.

The table in the back is occupied by an elderly elven scholar wearing heavy clothing. She has dyed red hair and a deeply shadowed face. She is reading something.

The table by the stage has an white haired human male blacksmith, a thin half-elven woman wearing fine but dirty robes, a very short, bald headed human woman in a plain tunic, and a halfling male wearing dark red clothing with dirty hair and a freckled face. They are all singing along with the music.

A table in the middle of the room has five patrons seated at it: Two human males, one with a blonde pony tail and square jaw wearing forester’s clothing, the other with a full brown beard wearing leather-trimmed robes, a handsome male gnome wearing leather and studded garb, and stout red haired dwarf wearing adventurer’s garb. They are deep in discussion.

The last table has a group of three young human women in peasant dresses, two with flowing light brown hair and the third with dark brown done up in a bun. They are all giggling and tapping their feet to the music.

Two old men sit at the bar. If you are a frequent patron, you recognize these two codgers as Waldorf and Statler. They often discuss current events, rumors, flirt with the bartender, and trade jokes all in disagreeable nature that leaves you wondering when they will tell you to get off their lawn, you damn kid!

"That is Complete TROLL PISS Alester!"

Five sets of chair legs abruptly scrape across the tavern floor. It is a choir of discord that shatters the gentle harmony of “Rare Auld Times”.

The “party”, at the table in the center of the room, rise from their seats.

The dulcimer player on stage, though visibly startled by the outburst, manages to maintain her rhythm. Singing ceases, conversations mute and every vacant eye turns to the disagreement at the center of the common room.

An animated young man, dressed in weather stained buckskins, stares down with disgust at the well dressed gnome before turning to the robed man to his left.

"And I can’t believe you’re supporting him Malikai, after what he did back at Hart’s Haven! Just look at him, he’s not even sorry for what he did!"

The young man is visibly shaking, his auburn hair and beard a disheveled mess.

"I’ve half a mind to just take what’s mine and walk out of here! And YOU!"

The young man jabbs an accusing finger at the gnome.

"You pretentious little Cur! I’m this close to redecorating your face with the business end of a bar stool. Don't EVER question my integrity again!"

In a manic burst of frustration the young man kicks his chair away, and skulks to the bar. The staccato ring of a coin hitting the bar top accompanies the last notes of “Rare Auld Times”.

The young man lights his pipe off a candle and shouts at the bar keep.

"Whiskey Double!"

The screech and clatter of a chair being kicked across the floor lent an odd accompaniment to the opening of the Bleeding Lute’s door and the cold ring of coin hitting the bar in the next instant, too, seemed somehow prophetic where it concerned the patron to whom the opening of that door had granted admittance to the place. A darkness and a chill beyond that which should have introduced by the opening of the door on this autumn night seemed to hang about the creature who loomed, only briefly, on the threshold, and the silence that had just fallen so naturally on the tavern with the ending of a song seemed to linger as unnaturally as the pall this visitor had introduced…

“Whiskey Double!”

…As its head swiveled in the direction of the bar, a pair of moon-yellow eyes caught the light and gleamed from the penumbral depths of the cowl which obscured any other suggestion of the visitor’s features, just as the spill of the shadow-hued cloak concealed its body. The barmaid, Sarah, nearly forgot her courtesy when depositing the ordered drink before the man in the weather-stained buckskins and only just managed the semblance of a nervously accommodating smile through the curl of pipe smoke before scurrying toward the farther end of the bar to remove herself from the moonlit gaze that assailed her from the door.

The whisper of what might have been a laugh (which sounded as if it may have passed through a mouthful of gravedirt) issued from the cowl, then, and, with the door closing behind it, the creature, at last, moved with a preternatural grace through the room and made his way to a table in one far corner of the hall. The shadows were wont to follow him there, it seemed, and each patron he went by on his way did their best not to shudder at his passing. Once at his destination, the visitor swept himself into a chair that kept his back to the wall and afforded him a view of the room that allowed him to ascertain, at any given moment, the goings on of every inch of the place… As the waiter somewhat hesitantly approached the newcomer, an alabaster hand issued forth from the cloak and pinched out the flame of the candle that topped the table.

“Wel… ahem… welcome ta Th’ Bleedin’ Lute,” Hugh stammered, not quite certain exactly how to address his most recent customer… or if he even wanted to… “What might I be getting’ for ya, this evenin’?”

“The mushroom stew,” came the reply in an oddly accented voice from the shadow-swathed corner, “and wine… Something with a bit of spice, yes? None of that watery piss which you round ears prefer to swill.”


((OOC: Just a little something for something to do, hm? Feel free to approach as your fortitude may allow. ))

The young man downs his whiskey in a single motion and signals for the barkeep to bring him another. The grandiose entrance of the dark and cowled patron does nothing to improve his mood, which at the moment is as sour as the barley juice he is inhaling.

Sodding Alester!
He knew from the beginning that including the foppish little gnome in their plans was going be trouble. I should never have told Alester about the map and the book. Why was Malikai supporting Alester like this? How could Malikai even stand to be within spitting distance of that sniveling little orc scat, especially after what happened that night in the woods near Hart’s Haven! And Boris and Torvar! Am I the only one who could see what Alester was doing?
And that’s what galled the young man the most. His companions, his friends, were siding with this obvious scoundrel and backstabber over him.

Or am I the one who was wrong? Gods why is this even a discussion?!? Sod me,…
An oddly accented voice pierces the young man’s sullen thoughts. The pretentious tone boils his blood. That’s right Alester, just say one more thing and I’ll…
But the voice belongs to the newcomer, “and wine… Something with a bit of spice, yes? None of that watery piss which you round ears prefer to swill.”

The young man’s temper cools. Not Alester. Same ladies sewing circle though. Bloody Fops.
The young man tosses back his whiskey and signals for the barkeep to pour another, “Or you could come over here and have a real drink!”

Grimpen Moor! Now I’ve gone and stepped in it.
“I’ll even pay if you can keep up with me!” the young man swallows his whiskey again with one swift motion and signals for the barkeep to leave the bottle.

“Whad’ya-say, M’lord, to a drink o’ the Real stuff? My ol’gran could p’rolly drink you blind”

Gods, am I slurring my words already? Keep it together Finn!
“WELL? Whaddya say?”

The order for stew and wine had scarcely passed dissipated in the tavern air when, following a second angry swallow of whiskey, the young man at the bar called out; “Or you could come over here and have a real drink!”

…This challenge drew the moon-colored eyes, once more, in the direction of the auburn haired man and, also, evoked a razor edged smile to flicker across a still shadowed face…

“I’ll even pay if you can keep up with me!” the young man swallows his whiskey again with one swift motion and signals for the barkeep to leave the bottle. “Whad’ya-say, M’lord, to a drink o’ the Real stuff? My ol’gran could p’rolly drink you blind.”

…The smile evolved into another short, susurrating snicker at that and the creature in the corner, at last, moved to draw back its cowl. The Twilight Elf’s yellow eyes danced briefly away from the bedraggled man at the bar and regarded the waiter who was now returning with his stew and a wooden goblet filled with a dark, spiced wine…

“WELL? Whaddya say?”

The mith’ganni’s gaze fixed on the persistent youth once again and, after sampling both a spoonful of the stew and a sip of the wine, he steepled his fingers under his chin and offered Finn a wicked grin that wasn’t entirely without mirth. “I say, breeder, that perhaps you should fetch your old gran so that she might tuck you into bed once that liquor has emboldened you enough to fight the floor, yes?”

((OOC: Assuming this draws an angry/irritated glare from good ol’ Finn, here… if not, let me know and I’ll happily edit.))

“Tsk,” the elf clucked, still smiling in the face of the human’s ire, “no need for that, boy. Twould be a short fight and an unnecessary one at that. Besides, I’ve promised the owner of this establishment that I’ll not spill blood within its walls, hm?”

He gestured to the empty chair across from the one he occupied, then, and said; “Why do you not join me, here? I prefer this vantage point to that, yes? Far less risk of your friends, there,” Nyx tipped his head in the direction of the table Finn had vacated just prior to his own entrance, “of slipping a blade in your back unnoticed.

Bring your bottle, if you like, and if I find I don’t dislike your company, I shall pay if you can keep up.”

The door opened and a gentle breeze drifted into the Bleeding Lute; the doorway was filled with a tall figure, over 6 and a half feet tall, dressed totally in white. A man with a flowing white hair, beard and mustache, which all blended together and reached down past his waist almost to the knees. The full length robe he wore was of the purest unblemished white with snow white flowers woven into his shoulders and running down the sleeves. The man's face was old and wrinkled yet had a youthful appearance that was hard to describe; clear icy blue eyes gazed out to take in the occupants of the room. The only non-white thing on the figure, making it seem out of place, was a tall wooden stave in his left hand; the wood had a golden hue and the headpiece curved around on itself into a spiral at least 8” in diameter.

The Band stopped playing as they and other patrons all turned to stare towards the doorway; it was then in that silence that a faint musical tone could be heard. The tune was soft and drifted on the air to fill the room with a comforting melody which made most people feel enlightened and uplifted.

The figure stepped into the room and the door behind it closed, seemingly of it's on accord, as the man walked further into the room and slowly made his way through the throng of people towards the fireplace. There he pauses to look around the room for a second and then settles himself down on a chair sitting just to the side of the mantle. As he sits a change begins to take place in the simple wooden chair; new branches sprout and grow rapidly moving out and up and within moments the simple chair is transformed into a natural looking wooden throne whose branches caress and support it's occupant.

Sarah shakes herself out of her torpor and walks over to the man, her face clearly showing her trepidation at approaching such a strange figure.

“Ah,” she manages to say, “wha'll ya have?”

The man looks at her and a gentle smile comes slowly to his lips, “A mug of your finest Honey Mead if you please.” His voice had a musical quality making it sound as if he were singing each word when he spoke.

Sarah returned the smile and suddenly she didn't feel any apprehension and walked away to get his drink.

The old man looked around the room, as he reached out with his left hand and set his stave up next to his 'chair'; a couple of branches uncurled and wrapped around the stave and held it in place after he released it.

The band started to play again as the occupants of the room returned to their drinking and merriment; the old man's icy gaze scanned the room and paused as it past over the figure of a Twilight Elf here in the Bleeding Lute. A lone raised eyebrow was the only sign of recognition before the sight was blocked by the return of Sarah with the mug of honey mead.

The inn door hadn't completely swung shut as a large hulking frame of a man stepped through the door. A large barbarian entered, close to 7 feet in height and muscles bound to the point of impossibility. his long clean blond hair tied with a jeweled clasp betrayed the state of his clothes. He wore were only a threadbare simple linen tunic several sized seemingly to small him, his britches were a mired molted brown of mud and various other lesser known stains. his leather boots were wrapped and bound with leather up his calves over coarse leggings.
he moved to the bar sitting on a stool on the far side of the bar. the stool creaking under his weight, and a massive broad sword etched with rippling scroll work and runes scraped on the floor as he sat.

"what can i get ya' hon?" Maria questioned out of habit.

" ale." he paused as if thinking pursing his lips as he mulled over, with a grunt. " eh, and give me a mug of the captain's choice red and four plate of the kabobs and a pie." tossing several silvers and a gold on the table. "an start me a tab for the night"

He leaned on the bar heavily as Maria placed a the ale in front of him. he picked it up and drained in in one go wiping the rements from his mouth with he back of his hand.
"another while i wait, if you don't mind." he grinned at Maria cavalierly.

Breeder? Fight the floor, What the sod does he bleeding,….
Finn involuntarily lets out a loud belch that makes his gut boil. Uhg, I tasted that one, not sure I even should have anoth…
Finn notices a gentle breeze waft in, Strange I don’t remember it being… and glances in the direction of the doorway. Oh for the love of Mary! On second thought...
“Like Hell I can’t Keep up! You just sit righ’there lil’ lor’ slope-ear and see how this is done.”

Finn walks over to the table occupied by the Mith’ganni and reaches for the chair opposite the pretentious horse-pacher. Finn spins it around and with a thump unceremoniously deposits his whiskey bottle, his cup, and himself in one swift motion.

“B’my count you’re…” Finn pauses.

Finn’s eyes roll up and to the right, mentally reaching into the still dry part of his mind. The fingers on his left hand gesticulate the mental arithmetic which, at the moment, is a bit further from reach than normal.

“Three! You’re three behind me!” The mental exercise seems to have granted Finn some renewed lucidity, “So you butter casch-up Bwahahahah!”

Well at least briefly.

Finn vigorously waves for the barmaid to bring a second cup as he pours another double shot into his own and pushes it across the table toward the Elf.“Best get started horsey-britches! It’s gonna be a loooooong night!”

The band, after a short break inspired by all the colorful interruptions, breaks into a spirited rendition of “Whiskey in the Jar”

“I BLEEDING LOVE THIS SONG YHERRRRRRGHAI!!! Come on! Sing with me you slope eared pogue!

Meanwhile across room, the blonde forester, the bearded sage, the stout dwarf and the well dressed gnome remain seated at the table in the center of the Inn. Their heated discussion continues. Many weighted glances are cast in Finn’s direction.

The blonde forester pushes back his chair to rise, his eyes dead set on Finn. In the middle of standing he is halted by the firm hand of the dwarf pressing on his shoulder. The blonde forester stares down at his stocky companion but the forester’s unspoken protests are met with a reserved shake of the dwarfs head.

About the time Finn is pouring his first round for the Mith’ganni; the Forester, the Dwarf, and the Sage all rise from the table and leave the Inn.

The well dressed gnome remains. He lingers for some time, sipping from an ornate chalice and fidgeting with something in his pocket.

The gnome is blatantly preoccupied. He stares Finn for a long time.

When the 7 foot tall barbarian enters the Inn, the gnome’s attention snaps back from some convoluted corner of his mind.

A wicked smile crosses the little man’s face as the hulking warrior settles into the protesting bar stool. With a quick hop down from his chair the gnome wanders over to the big man.

The Gnome gets the barbarian’s attention and talks to the massive warrior for few moments. As he chats with the burly hulk he glances several times at Finn.

The Barbarian turns to look.

The gnome bids the barbarian a concerned farewell, then turns and exits the Inn, a barely contained smirk painted on his smug face.

As the barbarian tucked into his third ale, ignoring the rucuss the young man drinking with the hooded mith'ganni was creating.
the sound of someone semi politely clearing their throat came from by his feet, the barbarian ignored it for a moment. as it grew blatantly louder the barbarian looked down to see what was making the commotion or was about to get sick on his boots. the well dressed gnome introduced himself and began to tell him of the reputation and deeds of the lout of a man who boisterously procured the next table.not wanting to stoop the barbarian picked up the gnome and sat him on the bar and bought him a drink.

{The gnome has very convincingly indicated to your barbarian that the auburn haired young man, wearing weather stained buckskins, drinking in the corner with the Mith’ganni Elf is to be watched.


Apparently he’s bragged about attacking several of your barbarian's people, ravaging one of the young women and despoiling the family’s property. He’s also been making disparaging comments about your barbarian’s ancestors and beliefs.

The gnome has overheard him drunkenly bragging to that elf that he’s planning on doing it again, soon.

The gnome is only telling your barbarian this because he feels indebted to your kind for saving him from certain death 5 winters ago and wants to make sure a true son of your people is aware that a blaggard of that nature is still drawing breath, unchallenged . The gnome just wouldn't feel right without telling you. He cautions you to be safe and take care for he looks dangerous.}



the barbarian looked over the man, he hardly looked the part, though. his Eire bristled over the gnomes story and only grew more irksome as the gnome's tale pressed on in detail.

half way through the gnomes tale the barbarians food showed and he tucked in heartily as the gnome continued. the food was excellent an he ate as if it was his last meal. the gnome jumped down from the bar taking his leave as the barbarian grunted and waved for another tankard of Captain’s Choice Red. belching loudly and wiping his grease and crumbed mouth on the back of his hand which in turn he wiped on his breaches he rose and taking an entire apple pie as if it were a fritter patisserie in one hand and a tankard of Captain’s Choice Red in the other he rose and stalked over to the table of ladies kicking the loud mans chair quite blatantly on the way past.

stuffing the pie in his mouth and draining half the ale he pulled a chair from the freed middle table and saddled up to the ladies table.

"And how dose such a splendid night have such beauties fiar?" he asked clucking his tongue with a sausey wink at the lass in the middle of the woman.

O.C.C. so the {}'d script is taken directly from Finn's PM.(i'm to dumb to wrap my head around remembering the html codding atm) *grinns * lets see where this goes...

As he took another mouthful of the mushroom stew and, then, lifted the goblet to wash the stew down, Nyx’s attention left the auburn-haired man just long enough for his gaze to complete a trained and discreet circuit around the room, taking note, once more, of the placement and potential of the Lute’s patronage. Little had yet changed at the tables save for the glances flicking his way, every once and again, from the middle table and the entrance of the tall, snow-mantled man…

A mana-slinger, no doubt, the Mith’ganni scowled inwardly, and blatantly obvious about it, yes? Whether that is a sign of power or st…
“Like Hell I can’t keep up!” the rapidly-inebriating round-ear bellowed, then, snatching the Mith’ganni’s attentions back to Finn just as the towering barbarian filled the doorway, “You just sit righ’there lil’ lor’ slope-ear and see how this is done.”

The goblet was returned to the table and the coldly-mirthful smile returned to the Twilighter’s lips as the buckskin bedecked man stomped toward his table. As one pallid hand lifted another bite of the stew to the Mith’ganni’s mouth, the other slipped inside his cloak and inconspicuously loosened a khukri in its sheath. With a clatter and thump, the bottle, the man, and his cup were simultaneously deposited, now, directly across the table from him…

“B’my count you’re…” The man paused, here, and seemed to overtax his mind in trying to calculate the number of drinks he had already consumed.

Nyx found the mental contortions that seeped from the human’s mind and onto his face a little more than humorous. “Three,” he murmured, pushing the stew aside, now, as his razor-lipped smile sharpened all the more and one black eyebrow arched in amusement.

“Three! You’re three behind me!” Finn finally reasoned out as Nyx’s considerations briefly turned toward the table in the middle of the room, again. “So you butter casch-up Bwahahahah!”

Nyx’s slender fingers drummed silently against the khukri’s hilt as he scrutinized the gnome and company and as Finn vigorously waved for the barmaid to bring a second cup while, at the same time, filling the cup he’d brought with him and pushing it across the table.

“Best get started horsey-britches,” the man goaded as three of his former table-mates rise and take their leave of the place, “It’s gonna be a loooooong night!”

“Hm,” Nyx grinned, his gaze framing Finn once more, as he lifted the proffered cup, “perhaps longer than you think, monkey-face…”

He shot the liquor down, wincing at the burn it left in his throat but grinning in the knowledge that his resistance to poisons (including alcohol) was substantial as compared to most due to his profession, then clapped the cup back down on the table and continued to peripherally watch the gnome over Finn’s shoulder as the band began it’s rendition of Whiskey in the Jar…

I dislike the expression on that little nogoth’s face, Nyx mused, and, I imagine, my besotted round-eyed friend here would like it all the less, should he be sober enough to notice.
“…Come on!” Finn demanded after unabashedly howling his love of the band’s current tune, “Sing with me you slope eared pogue!”

“I fear that you’d not like my singing voice, human,” Nyx smirked, veritably spitting that last word, “nor the songs to which I should choose to lend it…”

And so from the maelstrom the Executioner doth call, an inner voice hissed as the Twilight Elf’s eyes tracked the gnome’s progress from table to bar and into the company of the newly arrived barbarian, Dark nights herald dark days in which the chosen must fall. Death for each one hath Prien ordained, thus, with their blood shall my own blade be stained.
He continued to watch as the gnome, apparently, spun some sort of yarn which drew ever hardening glances from the barbarian to be shot their way. When the gnome, with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, at last, took his own leave of the Inn, the Mith’ganni’s moon-hued eyes flickered back to the barbarian and, finally, fixed on Finn once more.

“…And, not that I should care,” the Mith’ganni assassin smirked at his table-mate, “but you may wish to reconsider this challenge…” he tapped the cup he had just emptied, “…as I think, perhaps, there is likely a greater one for you soon to arrive, yes?”

Despite that recommendation, though, Nyx reached for Finn’s bottle, poured another healthy sampling into the emptied cup, and downed it just as the barbarian lumbered past behind Finn and unceremoniously bumped his chair in the doing. The assassin’s grin as he deposited the cup on the table, this time, might have been interpreted to say “See what I mean?” but, as the liquor’s burn induced a hiss and a shake of the head that set Nyx's mane to flicking the shadows at his back, the words that slithered past the elf’s lips were; “That makes me one ahead, you round-eared rabbit-pacher.”

((OOC: Fuuuuuuuuun!!! Stopping here to see what reactions come out of everyone else... Note, the bit about poison resistance isn't meant to infer that Nyx won't get drunk should the contest continue but he'll likely last much longer than might be expected... Assassins, you know? Bunch of devious little s#!ts. ))

The Mith’ganni was nothing if not droll as he lifted the proffered cup “Hm, perhaps longer than you think, monkey-face…”

“Pffbt-Ha!” Monkeyface, that’s a new one
The twilight elf knocked the glass back with practiced flair. His expression betrayed the burn the whiskey left in his throat but he clapped the cup back down on the table with a grin.

Finn watched his drinking companion’s eyes. It was hard to follow where the pale skinned slope-ear was looking. The color of the elf’s pupils were nearly identical to the rest of his eyes. It had the effect of making the Mith’ganni’s eyeballs look like they constantly vibrated in his head.

Pfftt, well That’s attractive. High strung lil’ pacher.
Finn could only imagine that the elf was watching the table at the center of the Inn. The table Finn had previously occupied with his friends. He could feel their eyes on the back of his head. Right about now he wished Boris or Torvar would come over and rescue him.

He was pissed at all of them; they’d been through too much together to be arguing like this. Correction, I’m pissed at that barstool sized prick, Alester. At Alester and himself. Really showed em’ how to keep your cool there boy.

Regardless, Alester needed to go. He was poison. In the morning he would talk to Torvar and Boris separately. They would help get Malakai to see reason. In the morning, or whatever time my head happens to clear .I just need to blow off a little steam.
The barmaid, with a tray of orders hoisted over her shoulder, deposited an empty cup in front of Finn without pausing as she continued her rounds of the other tables.
The familiar strains of Whiskey in the Jar floated down from the stage. The music immediately shed all the baggage Finn had been carrying.

“I BLEEDING LOVE THIS SONG YHERRRRRRGHAI!!! Come on! Sing with me you slope eared pogue!”

The elf smirked, “I fear that you’d not like my singing voice, human. Nor the songs to which I should choose to lend it…”

Finn mentally rolled his eyes. “Well musical impressions of rutting mares in heat doesn’t exactly pass for entertainment round these parts”.

Finn’s last verbal jab drew no reaction from the Mith’ganni. The elf’s eyes for once seemed to stop vibrating, his attention focused on something behind Finn.

“…And, not that I should care,” the Mith’ganni said, his eyes now locked on Finn, “but you may wish to reconsider this challenge…” he tapped the cup he had just emptied, “…as I think, perhaps, there is likely a greater one for you soon to arrive, yes?”

Shaking his head, Finn joins in with the chorus as the band plays on. The Elf reaches for Finn’s bottle, pours another healthy sampling into the cup, and downs it.

♪Musha-ring-dumma-do-dumma-da,-CLAPCLAPCALPCLAP- Wackfol-me-daddy’o! Wackfol-me-daddy’o!-CLAPCLAP- There’s WHISKEY in the… ♪

Finns chair dances underneath him as he feels someone brush past without much regard for personal space.

“Oi! Watch where you’re stumbling you Big Clumsy,…” opps.
Finn is suddenly very aware of how Large the discourteous patron is, and how sober Finn isn’t.

The elf deposits his empty cup on the table with an equine-esque shake and a told you so smirk .“That makes me one ahead, you round-eared rabbit-pacher.”

Finn whips his head around to protest at the elf’s ridiculous claim, but feels the inn spin counterwise at a disturbing angle. Phach!.

Finn takes a deep breath and the Inn rights itself. Time to go. With a bitter taste in his mouth Finn reaches into his pouch and retrieves a gold coin.

“Fine. You win.” He flips the coin onto the table and makes to stand but quickly realizes that sitting is still the best option at least until the room stops spinning . “Ugh”

Turning to face the door he can see that his friends have already left.

“Well” He says with a disheartened sigh to nobody in particular. “I guess that’s that,…”

“Oi! Watch where you’re stumbling you Big Clumsy,…”

“That makes me one ahead, you round-eared rabbit-pacher.”

As quickly as Finn’s head spun back around, Nyx couldn’t help but grin and think that, had the man’s head been twisted involuntarily in such a manner, surely his neck would have snapped. The expression of disbelief which painted itself on that monkey face, too, might have accompanied an unexpected neck-breaking – he’d severed more than one thread in just such a manner and had left that same wide-eyed and dumbstruck look on many a dead face – and, when the disheveled man wobbled a bit in his seat, the Mith’ganni wondered if, in fact, he had just done himself in…

Just lovely, Nyx mused, his head tilting curiously to one side as he relaxed into the shadows of his corner and watched the man, I’ll get the blame for this, certainly. The Innkeep would never believe that ‘twas his whiskey did this.
…Finn seemed to find a modicum of equilibrium, though, after sucking in a particularly deep breath and Nyx offered a mildly acerbic smile, expecting the breeder’s game to continue.

“Fine,” the man grumbled, then, fishing into a pouch and coming out with a coin which he tossed on the table, “You win.”

“So soon?” The Mith’ganni clucked his tongue in disappointment as the human tried to stand too quickly and found himself, just as quickly, pulled back into the chair he was trying to vacate. “Your old gran has not yet graced us with an appearance.”

“Ugh,” the auburn-haired man puffed.

Whatever bluster had been in Finn, before, seemed to have been fully expelled on that breath and, despite feeling the need to make some comment about how round-ears were so inclined to giving up even though the gods had cursed them with short enough lives, Nyx simply held his tongue and reached for his goblet. He indulged in a sip of the wine, then, watching as his table mate turned in his chair to cast a glance at the door and a disheartened sigh into the air.

“Well,” the human murmured as if to himself or no one, “I guess that’s that…”

“Abandoned by your so-called friends,” the mith’ganni chuckled darkly, “and left in the shadow with a stranger. That seems always to be the way of things, yes?”

Finn turned back, then, and blinked a couple of times.

“Most of your friends departed some time ago,” Nyx informed him flatly, “save for the… how do you round-ears say?... gnome?

The gnome, yes? He lingered for a bit in that one’s shadow,” the mith’ganni’s yellow eyes flicked in the direction of the barbarian who had previously jostled Finn and was, now, doing his best to woo one of the three girls at the table adjacent to the one so recently abandoned by the man’s friends, “and, were I to guess at the conversation, I’d wager that your friend filled that large fellow’s head with all sorts of unsavory bits where you might be concerned.”

Nyx’s gaze travelled that circuit around the room, again, taking particular notice of the position and posture of the barbarian, the white-robed sage, and the lanky red-headed half-breed whom he knew to be The Lute’s equivalent of a bouncer. “If you made the door, at all,” he continued, his eyes having completed their cursory patrol and come to rest on Finn, once more, “you’d not make it far past in your current state, yes?”

He returned his goblet to the table, then, and, at the same time, nudged what remained of the mushroom stew toward the Finn in an unspoken suggestion that he should eat something.

“And even if you did escape without somehow staggering into the giant, there, and thus provoking him into beating you to death, I’d wager twice as much coin to say that your smarmy little nogoth has more unpleasant surprises awaiting you beyond the walls of this place…” The ghost of a smile played on the elf’s lips, then, and, sinking back into the deeper shadows, again, he added; “…Not that I should care, of course.”