What drivel. The hideousness of a tiefling so pink her flesh may have very well seared itself into his eyes was the first thing to bare itself to Zaraknvyr's eyes. Within this female's grasp was the hairy and alcohol-stench-laden form of the fae-kin, which upon notice caused the drow to physically hold back the rising disgust in his throat. The entire scene made him sick, and the only solace he felt in the observation was seeing the satyr collide with the ground in a heap, and witnessing the dizzying flight of the pixie as the tiefling tossed them out. The woman's muttering reached his ears, and his satisfaction warped into a thread of usefulness which he swiftly gripped.

Zaraknvyr waited aside, eyes peering from within dark hood, as he allowed the party of the Bleak Cabal to pass before him. Upon their formal entrance into the Ubiquitous Wayfarer, the drow approached the bouncer and produced his coin pouch in hand.

"One for the show." He rasped, flicking a gold coin to the obnoxiously pink woman. "Two for information." He held up two additional coins between his index and middle fingers, but did not bestow them upon her immediately. "I believe strongly in the lubrication of the economy."

He lifted his head, allowing the sight of his discomforting, toothy, smile to be lit from within his hood.

"I am in haste. Searching for a portal. Can you be of use to me?"