There was a mixed response from the elf’s toast to the night. A spattering of eyes fell on him and acknowledged, all raising a glass towards him though some perhaps too intoxicated to know why. Arphenion smirked either way. There was a sense, deep within, that this was right and something that he once would have enjoyed. Not that the Raiaeran did not enjoy imbibing a few glasses of good wine himself, but the celebration of a holiday attributed to the Thayne in any way left a feeling of bile on the back of his throat.

He sipped his wine to flush down the reflux, finding that the incredibly smooth drink was more of a restorative tonic. The glass of deep, opaque liquid had a magenta hugh and was very acidic, yet bright. Arphenion grabbed the bottle and tried to make out the label, but it was no use. He turned back to the barkeep to ask more, but the man was scrambling back and forth. As he waited, a young woman rushed between him and the barstools.

“Pardon, comin’ through.” She barely looked up or around herself as she used one hand to lightly brush aside patrons, and the other to hold a tray above her head. Caught off-guard, the elf took a couple half-steps away and plopped down on a chair.

“Rude,” he said with a bit of a scoff as he turned around in his new seat. It appeared that he had a new associate to drink with, or drink in front of, he was not sure which. The man seemed a bit mousey in a way, with long hair and glasses. His clothes were a mix of white and blues, muted in a way that made them soft, with streaks of black. Arphenion could feel magic reverberating from him in a way only another mage could.

He smiled, unabashed and confident.

“Oh, tea?” he asked respectfully, nodding at a good choice. “I’d be drinking that myself if it was not for the festivities at hand. Instead,” he raised his glass towards the lad and took another heavenly sip. “What interests do you have in Scara Brae, or are you another adventurer from a small village wanting to make a name for himself like so many others I’ve met?”