For her, given her age, it was quite something to say that she was spending time in a place called the Black Talon, in Sharyrdaes. But then again, there was a time when the events of the last one hundred and thirty years would have fit that description as well. Sharyrdaes was quite a bit different than it once was. She, however, hadn't changed a great deal in centuries.
With a great shout, the orc across from her slammed his hand down against the table.
She remained rather relaxed, her arms stretched out across the bench seat she rested on - mostly because the orc wasn't shouting at her. He was shouting at the dwarf sitting next to her, who had just beaten him at a hand of... what was it called again? Some kind of card game. The Order forbid her from taking part in any sort of gambling, but she was more than content to sit and watch. Never mind the cigar she brought to her lips, or the smoke that enveloped her shortly after.
She was only having fun.
And luckily, not too many of her kin spent a whole lot of time here. And even if they did, so what. She was well old enough to make her own damn decisions. Being over a millennia, there weren't too many who could say a whole lot.
Another shout, and another slammed fist, and the table was in danger of coming apart before her eyes.
"Now, now," she said, interjecting at last, "now why don't I cover this next round, hm? And you two play another game."
Employing a modest influence through her telepathy, she convinced the two to settle down and resume their game without further protest. In the meantime, she hung the cigar she held from her lip, and stood to make her way toward the bar, where the owner, Az'Marith stood, drying glass mugs as he usually did these days.
With a great shout, the orc across from her slammed his hand down against the table.
She remained rather relaxed, her arms stretched out across the bench seat she rested on - mostly because the orc wasn't shouting at her. He was shouting at the dwarf sitting next to her, who had just beaten him at a hand of... what was it called again? Some kind of card game. The Order forbid her from taking part in any sort of gambling, but she was more than content to sit and watch. Never mind the cigar she brought to her lips, or the smoke that enveloped her shortly after.
She was only having fun.
And luckily, not too many of her kin spent a whole lot of time here. And even if they did, so what. She was well old enough to make her own damn decisions. Being over a millennia, there weren't too many who could say a whole lot.
Another shout, and another slammed fist, and the table was in danger of coming apart before her eyes.
"Now, now," she said, interjecting at last, "now why don't I cover this next round, hm? And you two play another game."
Employing a modest influence through her telepathy, she convinced the two to settle down and resume their game without further protest. In the meantime, she hung the cigar she held from her lip, and stood to make her way toward the bar, where the owner, Az'Marith stood, drying glass mugs as he usually did these days.