Julian had never faced a werewolf who kept his distance like this. He was growing rather frustrated with it. Let alone the fact that he wasn't going to give him his name. It wasn't like Julian was going to bind him or anything. He just wanted to know the man's name. That way he could put it to the face but he sighed as he figured it probably didn't matter that much.

When the cutlery came flying, Julian just shifted slightly to be missed by the fork that was somewhat close to his arm while reaching out to grab the knife before it hit his chest but before he could grab the knife, he felt a tingling in his legs that turned in a burning then agony.

Julian looked down at his leg, the dynamite finally going off in his pocket. The look of confused shock turned to horror before he was consumed by the explosion. His wings curled inward as he began to slide along the floor from the force of it.

It was as if time came to a halt as Julian's mind took the time to process and figure out the next step. He could see the flames and power from the explosions blasting out from his hip but he feared if he didn't do something, then everyone and everything in this damn place would be charred broken bodies.

The pain was still rocking through his body as the explosion reached its apex, ripping apart the lower half of him and starting to eat into his upper torso. He pulled his wings in around himself, calling on his control of flames to stifle the explosion as best he could. He was a goner. He would just have to regenerate after this mess but if he could keep this place from being destroyed, then he can keep his new little hang out just a moment more.

"Damnit," he cursed through pain gritted teeth as he grabbed a hold of the flames with his claws and redirected them back inward towards him. He used his wings to guide any flames he couldn't reach back into the makeshift ball he was making of himself. He did this over and over again, feeling the heat from the flames picking at his face and chest. The pain was excruciating but he was a phoenix. He had been through worse.

He kept this up as the explosion eventually died die. What remained of him plummeted to the ground in a heap. "Ow," he whispered before his body began to slowly turn to ash, leaving a small hill of it on the ground in his place. But he had managed to at least contain the explosion as best he could. Nothing he could do about the gory sight of it though. After all, before he turned to ash, there were pieces of his lower body strewn about from the explosion. It was not a pretty sight.

BOOM!

Mordechai instinctively leapt under a table and covered his head at the sound, squeezing his eyes shut-

But strangely, there was no sudden, terrible, incinerating heat from the explosion that usually signaled an attack from one of the Kaftos tribes. He opened his eyes to see the winged man curling around what seemed a ball of fire, for licks of flame kept trying to escape through the cracks. But then they were guided in again by his wings.

Mordechi could see the man’s skin bubbling under the heat, quite similar to how he had seen many comrades fall before. The man was going to die, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now, nor did he need to. Though, the winged man was dying of honor, and Mordechi respected that; dying to protect his comrades.

But wait- no. Mordechi wasn’t his comrade. The newcomer most definitely wasn’t his comrade. Was then the winged man insane? Or was he just moving on instinct, like Mordechi so often did?

He didn’t have much time to ponder, though, for suddenly the man disintegrated before his eyes.
Where the man was curled a moment before sat only a pile of ash.

“What?” he spoke aloud without meaning to. Then, meaning to, he asked the newcomer, “What the hell?”

After the release of the cutlery, Clay continued his momentum, the hissing of the fuse had stopped, there was no time left. In that final second he redirect his hand to crash down on the nearest table and tip it over creating a small barricade. He would have liked to have ducked behind it but that foolish patron was still standing there so he just had to turn and put himself between the man and oncoming explosion.

It never came...
Sure there was the noise and a slight conclusive force, a little bit of heat, but no blast... was it a dud?

Turning back he just caught the last of Julian's impressive implosion. He let out a scoff and then a chuckle. "Mate, I hope you know that wasn't even me. I don't know who else you've been picking fights with but someone really didn't like ya."

He casually strolls over to the Phoenix's smouldering remains as he draws a new cigaret to replace his last one that he lost somewhere. Looking down at the mess he shakes his head then crouches beside the body, poking it with his cigaret and lighting it off the embers. "Bet that hurt like a ****, Maybe we can try again when you pull yourself back together eh?"

After the werewolf lit the cigarette in the smoldering ashes of Julian's form, there was a shift to the ashes. There came a quiet little chirp from within the pile before a little bird of red and white feathers stuck its head out of the largest mound. It looked around at the all the people around it before he began to flap its wings, trying to claw its way out of the ashes. After a few good flaps, it had pulled itself out of the heap and was slowly shook off what ashes it could. The bird hopped once or twice on the ground before it looked up at Clayton.

It launched itself off the ground and straight at his head. It chirped and pipped loudly as it grabbed a hold of his hair and pulled, thrashing its head about side to side as it did so. The little bird worked itself up into such a fever that it accidently got itself tangled in his hair and was trying to pull itself free while chirping loudly at him.

He alternated between pecking and pulling at the hair that had tangled around his tiny little foot and peeking at Clayton's head. Eventually, he grew angry and a little bellow of smoke rose from his feathers before he ignited into a little ball of flames, still pecking at Clayton the whole time. It squeaked and chirped loudly until it grew tired and the flames went out. Little, newly revive Julian still didn't like Clayton.

the raccoons heard it from their room.
"WHAT. THE. FUCK."
rookie sat there in shock.
"i stuck a stick of dynamite in whatshisname's pocket." ("ahhh, ok, ok.") ("YIPPEE!")
they ran down the stairs.
instead of the weird guy, they saw... a bird? and the strange guy?
once they figured out that the bird was JJ, they. got. PISSED.
immediately, Rummage ran towards the bird, snatched him (ripping out a few of the werewolf's hairs,) curled him up... "this is what you get..." and CHUCKED him at the wall.
"...FOR MANHANDLING MY BRO!" the wall BROKE OPEN, and before Rufus could apologize to the stranger, Rookie ran up...
"YOU WANT MY ORB? TAKE IT!" and SMASHED THE ORB AGAINST THE BIRD'S HEAD!
After a few apologies, (and a few bribes,) the raccoons got back to their room.
"SO THAT'S WHAT VIOLENCE FEELS LIKE!"
"yes it DOES!"
"i'm just glad you two are..."
"SHUT UP!" "SHUT UP!"
(wait, what about the orb?) (hooooly shiaaaaa-)
THIS IS LIFE FOR THE RACCOONS (no I will not hear my comfort oc swear)

But the newcomer didn’t respond, just went to light a cigarette from the ashes. Though, before he could, a bird emerged from the ashes, lept into the man’s hair, and promptly got itself completely entangled.

“Hell to this.”

He sighed and turned. As he did, he heard the screeching words of the animals again, and a few loud thuds. He chose to pretend he did not hear those sounds, instead walking toward the stairs that hopefully lead to some sort of guest sleeping chambers. The Abyss had nothing of the sort, of course, but he had read that Upperworld inns were known for rooms patrons could spend the night in.

As he paused at the bottom of the stairway, he called, “Mistress or master of this manor, if you do not mind, I shall sleep in one of your guest chambers tonight. I shall pay whatever fee you require at sunrise.”

At that, he clomped up the stairs, opened the first room he saw with a door ajar, planned an emergency exit route (as usual), checked for hidden traps or ambushers (as usual), and then promptly fell asleep on the softest bed he had ever felt.

When the barmaid left, there was a semblance of peace, when she returned upon hearing a ruckus, her emerald green eyes found only chaos.
Julian was gone, Clayton had returned, there was a smouldering pile of ash on the floor and the raccoons were hurling a bird across the room.

The bird hit the wall with all the audible and apparent force one might expect from a wooden wall. And while visually that's what all would see, that is not what Julian would feel. The tavern recognised his earlier actions and its responsibility for his condition. None of the force from the impact was felt by the little bird.

The rest was up to the barmaid. An intense focus and a sharp flexing of her fingers protected the small helpless creature from every blow of the orb, by surrounding the small creature in a thin skin tight magical barrier. It did t protect it from everything but would greatly lessen the blow.

@Triantafyllo "The room with an open door is yours, your food will be brought to you when it is ready. Sorry for the commotion. I hope you rest well."
The barmaid glared at Clayton and then rushed over to the assaulted little bird. Her use of magic to protect it had exhausted her and she was breathing heavily.

Julian was so caught up with trying to free himself from Clayton's hair, he had not noticed the raccoons until ones grubby little hand coiled around him and ripped him out of the Werewolf's hair. He let out a chirp of surprise and pain as he found himself being crumpled up into a little ball. But Julian would not go down lightly. He peeked and peeked, flaring up once more with red hot flames in the raccoons grip.

Hadn't these little buggers done enough already? His body, his clothes, all of it lay in ashes on the ground and he was the size of a doorknob, all his glorious splendor reduced to this.

Julian was surprised to find that the contact with the wall wasn't painful at all. He peered up at the wooden paneling in relief but that relief was short lived as another raccoon came at him with the very magical orb he had tried to get his hands on previously. He tried to get out of the way but he was exhausted. It takes a lot out of someone coming back from the dead. He was pretty sure that if this orb made connect and killed him again, he wouldn't have the energy to come back. It was would be a permanent death.

He closes his eyes and just accepted his fate. This is what he got for taking the blast himself and keeping the tavern from turning to ash. Well, it was a good life anyways.

The orb came crashing down and even though he felt the pain from the impact, it didn't crush him like he had expected. Again and again, the orb came down to only meet a glittering shield around his body. Eventually the raccoons ran off and little Julian slowly fluttered down to the ground, breathing heavy and in pain but alive. Amelia appeared before him and he let out a quiet cheer before he settled on the ground in a heap.

Again the tavern door swung open, admitting another chilly breeze to sweep in unannounced. This time it smelled of the harvest, a distinctly autumnal air beckoning some few stray leaves past the threshold. Stepping closely behind, his boots making a distinctive 'thump' against the wooden floor, was the one who'd let them in.



Standing a few inches over six feet, his lithe frame loomed a moment in the doorway, unnaturally scarlet eyes attentively tracking the barmaid as she rushed to the aid of some small bird. A white feather graced his somewhat worn cap, while two weapons hung in plain view from his belt. On the left hip, rested snugly in its scabbard, was a saber with a gently curving blade. Its swept hilt took a gracefully winding form, the metal polished to a silvery sheen. On the other hip, sitting in its holster along the wearer's thigh, was what could be recognized as a firearm to those who knew them - a pistol in particular. A flintlock design with an unusually long barrel, its frame was housed in all metal rather than wood. An intricate embossing of winding, thorny vines graced nearly the whole weapon, and it was polished similarly to the hilt of its owner's sword.

The tavern's newest visitor was already a bit on edge, even as he quietly shut the door behind him to deny the breeze further entry. It seemed to him as though he'd walked in on the aftermath of a brawl, or something worse. The distinctive smell of burnt flesh had reached his senses the moment he set foot in that strange establishment. There was an upturned table, a pile of ash on the ground... he could even make out a distinctive pattern of striking red haphazardly splattered across blast-charred floorboards.

Add to all that, a bird had somehow gotten in, and was now occupying the attention of what appeared to be the only barmaid. He'd never seen such a striking plumage before...

Well... it wasn't his business, the man had to remind himself. Whatever had happened, the rest of the tavern seemed remarkably untouched. No raging fire, no ruined furniture scattered about, no screaming patrons riddled with wooden shrapnel. The lack of collateral damage was almost unsettling.

Reasoning that this strange scene was mostly safe, probably, the black garbed visitor didn't hesitate too long before making up his mind. It didn't seem like the sort of situation that would interest a man like him anyways. He was no constable. Long strides carried him over to, then all the way down the length of the bar, passing by another man who was suspiciously close to that pile of ashes. The newcomer's piercing gaze focused on him for a long moment, a gloved hand instinctively going still near its holstered weapon.

There was something off about that man, and it wasn't the inexplicable smoke wafting from his hair.

The thought passed quickly, as did its thinker, and his arm resumed swinging normally in pace. Maybe it was just the demeanor that put him off. The man seemed an unruly, wolfish type.

Reaching the very end of the bar, claiming the very furthest bar stool as his seat, the slender man in his off-black coat sat such that his body faced out towards the rest of the room. It gave him peace to have a clear line of sight on the other patrons... and a solid wall to his back. Sitting sideways to the counter he rested an arm on its surface, turning his head to patiently peruse what drinks were on display across the other side.

Clay let out a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl. His lip twitched in frustration as the wolf in him wanted to snarl in frustration. It writhed ever so subtly beneath his skin, beneath the burns and scratches on his scalp. Hungrily healing his injuries as if feasting of the violence that befell him. But still it couldn't bring back the patch of hair that was torn out.

He took a short moment to eye the newcomer, then turned his attention back to the barmaid and the bird. With a shrug he stands and says.
"Had it coming anyway." With that he turns away and makes his way behind the bar to help himself to some fine looking shelved scotch.

He turns to the newcomer. "Can I get you anything?" @DrabberRogue

After a moment of rest, Julian slowly stood up from the ground. He looked up at the barkeep and let out a soft chirp of thanks. He hated this stupid little form. He was so small. Everyone else was just so huge compared to him. Even those raccoons were so much larger than him and he won't be able to turn into his human form for another hour or so and even then, he'll still be small. Reviving is such a pain.

He flew off the ground and towards the bar, setting down on one of the bar stools next to the new person. However, he couldn't see anything. All there was before him was the bar itself and that wouldn't do. He huffed quietly before he flew up and settled on the bar top. He eyed Clayton, letting out a low chirp but his need to fight had essentially been beaten out of him with that orb. Wait, the orb.

Julian looked back where he was thrown into the wall and sure enough, there it was, sitting on the ground just against the wall. He let out a cheering chirp before he flew off to land on top of it. He could feel the magic pulsing from it, his little feet tingling against its pulsing power. He could use this to get, at least, to a human form. The question was, how. He pecked it a few times, but nothing happened. He settled down on it with a huff, pondering on how to access the magic without any hands.

The Red Wizard

---

A strange noise suddenly sounded throughout the tavern, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It was subtle at first, audible only to the most perceptive of patrons, but quickly grew in intensity. It wasn't that it was loud; rather, it seemed to absorb all other sound, to the point where nothing else could be heard. It could perhaps have been described as a sucking sound, as if an ever larger choir of invisible mouths drew in air together. Just when it was about to become ridiculous - or unbearable - it ended with a singular, massive plop!

In a space previously unoccupied was now standing a decrepit old man sporting an untrimmed white beard, a ragged red robe, and a pointy (although somewhat crooked) red wizard hat. There was no gaudy effects, no puffs of smoke or flashes of light. He simply appeared from thin air from one moment to the next. If any of the patrons felt confusion or alarm at the strange mans sudden arrival, they could console themselves with the fact that he was at the very least just as confused and alarmed as them. His expression said as much, with wide watery eyes and a fish-like gawp.

Having taken a moment to blink and reaffirm that he was still in one piece, the red wizard dared take a quick look about, his head turning this way and that. This brief investigation allowed for the following deductions: one, that he was no longer in the tomb of the lich Natharghûl, which meant that; two, he was no longer in mortal danger of having his soul sucked out of his behind, which meant that; three, his spell had failed (or rather, the spell he had actually managed to cast had functioned flawlessly), which meant that; in conclusion, although he had no idea where he was, he was probably infinitely better off now than he had been just moments ago. He breathed a deep sigh of relief, his frame slumping even more as he did.

Turning around, he saw that there was a bar in the... establishment? A cheerful smile spread on his wrinkled visage. After all, a stiff drink was exactly what he needed right now. Golly! he proclaimed as he shuffled over to the counter. Greetings, barman! he continued, positively beaming at the bartender, Tell me, good sir, do perchance serve scotch in this part of, uh, reality, existence, thing?

Clayton's keen lupine senses really did not like that entrance. Hearing an unknown sound that he could not pinpoint only stirred the wolf within. Even if he had it in check, it still left him feeling jumpy and agitated.

Standing behind the bar, the modern bikie looking man grit his teeth ready for what ever came next. 'Was this that damn phoenix's doing or more antics of those reckless raccoons?' it didn't matter.

Plop!

With furrowed brows and a mirrored confusion he stared at the obviously dressed red wizard.
"Barman!? There's no...." he had started to explain, then with a slight grumble and a sigh he grabs a bottle of scotch from the shelf and heavily places it down in front of the new man.

"Scotch" He says in a confirming grumble as he turns back to continue searching the drinks, not before giving the wizard a brief appraising glare.

The orb rocked under Julian as he tried to find a way to pry the magic from within it. He tapped the glass with his foot, the magic tingling up his leg and beginning to course through him. He had done it! How, he wasn't quite sure but he didn't care. He could feel the transformation beginning and his body pulsing with the orb's magic. He stood, spreading his wings out just as a loud pop, startled him. He lost his footing and fell as the orb rolled directly over him. There was a squawk then a low groan as the magic finally began to transform the small bird into a small child of about the age of eight. The kid pushed the orb off him as he rubbed the back of his head. "Who the hell makes that loud of an entrance? That's so distracting!"

Little Julian was a lean, twiggy child covered in vibrant red, white, and yellow feathers. He pushed his hand through his pale white hair before he locked fiery eyes on the red wizard. He frowned deeply before picking the orb up and covering his private areas with it. He was tiny and quite nude. Even though he was mostly covered in feathers, there were spots that were very much obvious and inappropriate to flash to other people.

He scurried to his vest that he had left on the bar stool before picking the fight with the werewolf and pulled it on. It looked like a large trench coat in his form but at least it did the job of covering his less covered areas. He grabbed a toothpick and pinned the two flaps together before she scrambled into the stool, which just happened to be right between the wizard and the other newcomer with the worn hat on. He was barely tall enough to look over the bar and he kicked his feet idly. He reached up and grabbed a piece of meat from his tray of food. They were quite cold now and he took a moment to consider warming them up but he really should save his magic to further his growth. So with a huff, he stuck the piece of cold meat into her mouth and chewed.

He swallowed before reaching up with a small hand to pull on the sleeve of the red wizard. "You know, your spell was, like, really loud. It was quite rude." He nodded before crossing his arms. "You should apologize to everyone. I bet it even hurt the pup's ears." He said as she pointed to Clayton. "Very rude."

---

A hooded figure slowly walks towards the wizard, every step causing his foot to visually glitch. His hoodie blocks most of his face, but his frown is clearly visible. Every few steps, his body glitches and his mouth turns from a frown to a smirk for just a second.

He sits down next to the wizard. He crosses his arms on the table and lies his head in them for a while, before looking up at the Red Wizard before finally speaking.

Meh. Don't listen to the Toucan-child thing, I found it impressive.He holds his hand out for the wizard to shake it. Name's Asher, but you can call me...Asher.

He sets his head back down into the arm that's still on the table, still waiting for the handshake. He has one ear uncovered so he can continue listening, but otherwise shows no interest.

Movement caught the newcomer's eye, his scarlet gaze shifting to watch as that tattooed man stepped behind the bar. It was a bit surprising to him, given his first impression of the man. Perhaps he was just a regular, familiar with the tavern? Perhaps the barmaid wasn't the only staff tending the bar today, and in fact this abrasive seeming stranger was a local bartender.

Whatever the case was, he was glad to be offered a drink. It was what he'd came for after all.

"Hm." Still undecided, he took a moment to look back over the shelf display, considering what exactly it was he wanted. Just then, a flash of red and white darted onto the stool beside him. Red hues of a different shade followed the tiny bird as it then, seeming to his eye almost indignant, hopped up from its perch onto the bar. Its behavior was curious to him, more pointed and confident than one would normally expect from a bird. Perhaps it wasn't wild after all... or had otherwise just grown comfortable around humans. At any rate, it flew off again as swiftly as it had arrived, alighting on some round object on the other side of the room. He couldn't quite determine what it was, but the sight was faintly amusing. It looked to the quiet patron's eyes as though the bird had settled to nurse some comically oversized egg.

...

...Something was wrong.

It took a few moments for him to notice, a few moments longer to react. As the tavern suddenly grew quiet, all the noise unnaturally dispelled as like a painting muddled by water, the dark garbed visitor went still and alert in his seat. A hand drifted back down to his side as he made ready to stand, sharp eyes darting around the room in search of... something.

When 'something' appeared, plopping into existence from thin air, the sound that accompanied it was answered by the much quieter click of a firearm's hammer being primed. The newcomer's hand was already on his weapon, scarlet eyes glaring squarely at the product of that nightmarish silence.

The well polished pistol would be disappointed, however, as it didn't even get to clear its holster.

What had emerged unbidden into the tavern was not some inscrutable horror, but a bewildered old man in ruddy robes, looking a measure more alarmed than even those who'd witnessed his arrival. Still the now slightly-less-new newcomer eyed that cheerful seeming wizard a moment longer, his posture remaining cautious and ready. Only once he was satisfied that the old man was just that, an old man in need of a drink, did he begin to relax again. With a long exhale he carefully lowered the hammer back to a safe position, settling back into his seat.

Another deep breath was warranted as his gloved hand returned to the bar top, slender fingers drumming restlessly on the wood. Wine. Yes, a wine was what he needed. A rich, relaxing red to quiet his nerves.

"Red wine, please." His tone was clear, polite, yet slightly strained as he addressed the man behind the counter. He'd finally settled on what drink he wanted.

Just in time, too, as yet again a bundle of red and white nearly interrupted him. Though it was much bigger this time, relatively speaking. What was a child doing at the bar? Whose kid was this? Staring baffled from beneath his worn hat, the snowy haired patron blinked a couple times before some recognition set in. Those feathers, though very strange, looked familiar. A vibrant, fiery plumage like only one he'd seen before. He glanced back across the room to confirm, finding no trace of that unusual bird.

Huh. Well, it had seemed oddly intelligent.

Turning back to watch as the boy was scolding his elder, he let out a quietly bemused huff through his nose. What a strange place he'd stumbled into...

After a moment, he turned his attention to where his arms rested on the bar top, pointedly keeping to himself. Kindly magicians and bird children were none of his concern at the moment. He'd sought out a tavern to wind down, relax and have a nice drink. He'd already had enough excitement as of late.

The Red Wizard

---

The red wizard raised his eyebrows and smiled approvingly at the barman as no less than a full bottle of the good stuff was placed before him. Oh, goodie! he chirped, reaching for the bottle with his gnarled old fingers. He stopped midway, however, as a thought struck him from afar. He was supposed to give something in return, wasn't he? Payment, yes, that was it. He quickly patted down his robes, realizing that his purse had been left behind... somewhere. No matter, conjuring gold was a simple enough spell. It was just a matter of... of...

Hmmm. What was it a matter of, again? He could feel it on the tip of his tongue, but couldn't quite taste it even so. It involved transmutation, yes, and the snapping of fingers, and... Oh, blast it! He'd have to improvise a bit. Shouldn't be a problem, though. Since when had that ever been detrimental to his spells? He couldn't recall a single time it had failed him! Mumbling a few arcane syllables, he held his hand up high and audibly snapped his fingers. A coin actually did materialize, to his beaming joy, but it wasn't gold. In fact, it looked distinctly like silver. Ah, well, it would have to do. He took the barmans hand and pressed the silver coin into it. Much obliged, old boy! he said, giving the werewolf a toothy grin, This is for you!

Having grabbed the bottle, he was just about to leave for a suitably dark corner to enjoy it in when he felt a slight tug on his sleeve. Looking down, he came face to face with a peculiar boy-thing. The boy-thing seemed to be scolding him, prattling on about some kind of ruckus on his part. The red wizard could remember no such ruckus. Listen here, young master, he said, I don't know what you're on about, but I certainly didn't hear any-

He didn't get to finish, however, as another stranger on his other side cut him off wanting to greet him. He glanced over at the man, starting to feel slightly nervous at all the sudden attention. Sudden attention was, to his experience, never a good thing. His coward-sense had started tingling. Um, well, yes, he replied to the man, hesitantly reaching forward to shake his hand while jealously guarding the bottle of scotch in his other, Pleased to meet you, I think. There are some who call me, uh, Tim. Now, if I could just-

A strange scent suddenly reached his nose, catching him off guard. He couldn't quite place it at first, but then it came to him. Smoke. Yes. Burning. But not fire, no. Rather, it had a metallic tang to it, as well as searing flesh. Perhaps there was some cooking going on? He did so enjoy a good steak! Then he heard a low growl, and his coward-sense went from a tingle to a blaring alarm.

Much to the oh-so-poor tavern door's delight, A new guest would acknowledge the hard work it must be going through and decided instead of opening the door and causing more work, to instead shrink to the size of an ant, and walk underneath. Bro has no idea that this'll probably freak out everyone. with a very audible sound of cracking bones, and slurping, Loki turned back to his regular size. and was utterly shocked by what he saw in the tavern around him. A wizard, (normal.) a cloak dude, (there's always a cloak dude. always.) werewolf (awesome.), and a burnt pile of feathers (he had no idea), as well as some raccoons in a trench-coat assaulting a dog (idk man). yep. seemed normal. chaos was his normal. "Ah! well this is quite certainly a lovely establishment; you wouldn't happen to have some food, would you? I'm absolutely ravished. ... and can someone read me the menu cause i can't read. all i know is self taught, y'know!"

The old weathered pages of the heavy leather-bound tome softly crinkled as he flipped through it's many pages with his lithe fingers, sitting inconspicuously in the corner of the tavern Alwen was engrossed with his studies. Too entranced by the words of the pages to be ripped away from them, though aware of the chaos that no doubt was stirring around him.

Though the disturbing sound of bones cracking did stir his attention for a moment to tilt his head, revealing a pair of silvery eyes and a youthful face uncommon amongst wizards and warlocks. Though quickly he returned to the pages of his tome, mumbling to himself and shrugging.

---

Asher glances at the newcomer, only lifting his head to figure out what that slurping noise was. Welcome. i'd tell you what they have, but I dunno myself.

His tone showed zero enthusiasm, and he sets his head back down. He really wants a drink. He really needs a drink.

He looks up to the rack of drinks and ponders on just grabbing one and chugging the whole thing, but stops himself. He'd just have to wait and figure out what everybody else does first.
@Sky Blue