The lithe elf opened the door to the Promenade and it felt as if he had walked directly into a wall, one made of mirth and cheer. Behind him he could feel the sharp winds whirling with their winter chill, before him the pulsating warmth of the hearth and hearty folk enjoying themselves. The dichotomy soured his expression for a moment, his thoughts split between bitter memories of Salvar and the splintered, jovial memories of one once known as Ranger Nailo. His dour expression creased his otherwise smooth and seamless skin, making his expression all the more pronounced.

He absently brushed a wayward lock of golden hair from shoulder, tossing it back over his shoulder before tucking it away behind long, slim ears. With a graceful gait he strode through the doorway and towards the bar. At the bar was a sun-touched man, his tanned skin made Arphenion wonder if he was a laborer of some sort. But the spectacle he put on quickly changed his mind.

Perhaps a conman?

Arphenion slightly shook his head at the display with a cautious smirk. There was no help for the wonder of the common folk, but could not himself but wonder where this man had come from and who he was outside of the tavern. As his emerald eyes lingered on the coins, they started to lose focus and instead extend beyond him to another figure. This one was far more unique, something not quite human but not near large enough to be ork either. The elf took note and decided he would pry later.

The barkeep hurriedly rushed to the end of the bar, bringing with him a massive mug of ale. The top was sloshing off the sides and the froth was holding to the lip as it was placed before Nosdyn. A great cheer rose from the Promenade as the barkeep looked back to Storm and was rewarded with a wink. It appeared the first round of the night would be on him.

As the barkeep ran back and forth, filling mugs of different shapes, size, and apparently cleanliness, Arphenion waved him down. He approached with a wide, beaming smile so big it looked as if his cheeks had joined his eyebrows. “No ale here, I’ll take a wine though and you can leave the bottle.”

The big, brown eyes of the keep appeared as he scoured around behind the bar and eventually brought out a bottle. It was in a dark brown, hand-blown glass with a label that was so worn it was nothing more than a black slip of paper. On the neck was a collection of dust. “Not sure when that one got here,” he said with a laugh, “But it’s been here a while now at the least.”

“Perfect,” he responded with a smirk. He placed a few golden coins on the counter and took the smudged wine glass from the portly man. Arphenion poured a glass, decanting as best he could. He swirled it and let it come to a rest before raising a glass to the room.

“For all those that could make it,” He said with a melodic, sing-song voice. “Welcome to the Night of the Open Hand! Celebrate, be merry, and enjoy!”

All are still welcome to join at anytime!