Rala was more than glad to accept the bottle from Jormund. His interest in the brew was alluring so she quickly downed a hefty gulp of the drink and begrudgingly parted her lips from the drink with a satisfied gasp. As much as she wanted to guzzle the drink herself, she made sure not to take too much. Jormund was right, the whiskey was delicious, though it was strong enough to make her throat burn. Trying her best to keep face she refused to cough or react, even as her face went red with the struggle. Luckily for her, Jormund's interest was elsewhere, and even better, he had left her with the drink. Rala took another sip, this time much more carefully than before.
Just as Rala was preparing for another sip, she was caught off guard by the talons of a pseudodragon landing on her shoulder. In a flash, Rala's hand was on her dagger and it was brandished at the pseudodragon. Luckily she caught herself in time. It was Hawk, Aura's familiar. Rala breathed a sigh of relief as she set her namesake dagger back into its sheath as the little dragon spoke. The concern was evident on her face and Rala scanned the crowd anxiously, her eyes darting from person to person. She wasn't sure who or what she was looking for but she knew that she would know when she saw it. They had made enough enemies, between the witch, the djinn, and her own private enemies. It was only a matter of time before it caught up to them.
15 on perception