Having a bar in the Citadel was a terrible and wonderful idea. Many adventurers, leery of the mystical healing ability of the monks, required the liquid courage afforded them by a healthy dose of the drink. It allowed them to gin up their gumption, and brought a lovely revenue stream into the place, to compliment the healthy rake the house took from gambling splits. Conversely, the tight, well lit darkwood bar was often too crowded for it's agitated contestants. Fights were common, and brawls that broke out here weren't wagered upon.

As such, weapons were confiscated at the door, to hedge the risk associated with the establishment. Light snacks were free, but the drinks were priced aggressively to justify the place.

"Another mead please sir. Yes, the honey tinge - that's the one." Storm Veritas cheerfully swirled the residual last sip of his drink about the bottom of his clear glass mug. The golden drink was largely nondescript, but on his sixth pint he had forgotten that the bartender knew damned well what he was drinking, and ran quickly to keep the glass tall for the generous tipping mass murderer.

These gods-damned things... Send me home!

Storm was feasting on the bowl of mixed nuts, or more specifically the macadamias. A firm crunch yielded to a smooth, buttery flavor that left no residue in your mouth. The round magical little marbles seemed sent from a higher power, and they were the only thing filling his stomach with enough nutrition to keep him quasi-lucid.

Staring at the back of his hand, he saw the age that time had delivered. Emerging from his tightly pressed cuffs and suit coat were hands that looked more vascular than ever, with long, haggard fingers riddled with scars that told a thousand stories. He rolled his fingertips on the brightly polished surface, enjoying the thud-tud-tud-thrum that echoed back from it. His cheeks, thin and dimpled, were more flush and warm than he was accustomed to; it had been a long while since he drank so aggressively.

His eyes sharpened just a touch to catch the gaze of a few others about the bar. One was a friend; the other his long run partner in crime.

"Gods; they let you two cheap bastards in here? I hope they called the bank to check your credits before they served up those beers!" He caught the eye of the bartender, whose name he at last remembered. "Douglas; cash in advance for these two, right? They throw around bronze crowns like sewer caps!"