It was not long before his loneliness was was remedied. Just moments after the barkeep had set his glass of wine before him, although the glass was much larger and much more filled than Elias had believed, before a young hobgoblin entered. It was no easy task to tell an old hobgoblin from a young one; they all looked, well, not as pretty as most other species. Elias had talents, though.
“Do you do breakfast?” the adorable, little thing asked as she got to the bar. Certainly, she was speaking to the barkeep, but who was Elias to turn this opportunity of a bad joke down? Also, she had quite a set of hips on her. Elves are all so shapeless, humans are diverse, but a hobgoblin with curves, now this he had to do.
“Well,” he began, his voice already smooth as silk as he turned so he was facing the woman, “I usually don't, but for you, I could make an exception, my Lady.”
Smooth as a dwarf's chin, he was.
But, oh, the woes of being such a charming young man as he, for as he said those words to the adorable little hobgobling, who should he notice but another young woman. This one with white hair, even! He had once heard the tales of the white-haired dragonlings, but never had he come upon one! Of course, there were many other creatures who came with hair in white, but this thought never even crossed his mind.
And yet, he had already engaged the hobgoblin in conversation. He could always just pass it off as a joke, buy her a meal and go to the dragonling instead, but would that not go against his ways? No, he would not. He simply refused to let a perfectly fine and completely adorable hobgoblin go, simply because of a white-haired dragonling.
All of this passed trough his mind in a fraction of a second and he appeared to have simply glanced upon the newcomer before smirking like a predator at the hobgoblin woman again.
-===========-
The soldiers of Earroldir were just about ready for their day, bustling about in a hurry so that they would be ready by the time their general called out to them again. It was never a good idea to make her say something twice. Her dog, the red-haired elf that usually shouted commands for her, was much easier to deal with. How many soldiers had gotten out of shrinking their duties by showing him a bit of skin? Too many, as both the males and females had done so.
The hurry of those in the farmost south-eastern tents were disturbed as something, or rather someone, tumbled down the outcrop at the skirts of the settlement. A few of the soldiers stopped what they were doing to stare, wide-eyed, at the person that has tumbled to the ground. He just laid there for a few moments before finally shouting out:
"TEN GOLD PIECES FOR WHOEVER BRINGS ME TO THE PILGRIM IN THE OUTER CIRCLE!” followed by a slightly quieter, “I'm a friend of the barkeep's, he'll do right by you."
Now, there were two people in the camp that was allowed to yell. One of them was gone at the moment, probably entertaining some dominatrix, and the other was Lady Sandee. Every soldier near the shouting man fled as if he had shouted that he had an incurable, deadly disease and was highly contagious, but really they were fleeing from the rage of their Lady General.
True to the belief of her troops, Sandee Mursa was at the neck of the “intruder” within seconds; literally. With one of her heavily armored feet placed tightly, but not chokingly, at the poor man's throat, she stared down upon the half-elf, half-dwarf with a raised brow that made her seem half-way manic.
“And who might you be?” she asked sharply, eyes roaming along the entirety of his body, taking in the damage. She could try and heal him, but she doubted her blessing was quite enough to leave him without scar.
