The old wizard was never one to shy from a good time, and any time the Promenade got to a buzzing state, Storm Veritas was carried in almost involuntarily. It was too easy, too simple for him to entertain, glad-hand, and imbibe as a self serving diplomat. Some nights he'd enter to meet powerful people and plant ideas in their heads; other nights he would attend these gala events in hopes of seducing some talented young ladies. Still other nights existed where he merely wanted to tie one on. In all honesty, he entered the sprawling tavern tonight dressed to the nines, altogether unsure of what ends he intended for the evening.

Regardless, he was sitting by the bar in a few moments, regaling a half dozen peasants with tales as they asked stupid questions about his bespoke suit or laser-smooth cheekbones. Recent travels brought a sharp bronze color to his face, contrasting him with the wind-burned (and alcohol soaked) red hues that marked the cheeks and noses of the other wandering plebeians blessed to be in his company.

"You see, the key to success is simply treating people well - respectfully and with generosity!" His left palm opened in front of him as he took a long pull from a cooled stein in his right. The three golden crowns began to tremble on his hand as he continued to gulp, before they leapt to life and began spinning in the air forming a spiral of gold above the hand. The fact that only iron cored, fully counterfeited coins would be responsive to his magic (versus the actual copper and gold of the Radasanthian currency) was lost on the gaping band of rubes surrounding the magician. They clapped and cooed with approval as he slammed down his stein, catching the coins in his palm.

"Three for the dealer!" The coins clanged on the bar to another roar of applause as the barkeep dutifully nodded and accepted the illegal currency. Confidence and the appearance of wealth led an undue credibility to Storm Veritas, whose toothy smile and sharp eyes eagerly offered warmth, intelligence, and star power.

Down the row, the massive lump of demonic muscle made an ostentatious display without any sort of effort. Nosdyn was unmistakable; Storm had known him for years and could pick him out with the blink of an eye or the whiff of sulfur in the air. It was best to make nice with the big mean ones, the electromancer decided, as he had no intention of distracting himself with combat. Producing another two crowns from his waist-pocket, a chipper cheer came from the crow-eyed adventurer.

"A drink for the big fella down the bar! Make it quick and I've got the next round for the house!"

The crowd began to roar at the wealth and generosity costing the wizard a handful of iron.