Satisfied that her work had not been for naught, Philomel felt her lips curled into a smile as she watched kobold and human - at least to some degree - begin to form friends. If she and her other drinkers at this tavern could greet the supposed invaders with good tidings, which is what they had initially come in for, then they could halt them in their intended purpose. Perhaps for all time. Ply the kobolds with drink, as they wished, enable Storm to pay for it all, and cause them to forget whatever issues they had with Alerar.

Of course, Philomel had every intention of seeking out the truth of the matter - why the kobolds had come here. Right now though, she had some other matter to concentrate on. And that was the introduction of the one male who could champion Storm.

Oh yes, the young human had been right to leave her and take time to greet the strangely short drow barmaid, and the Kobolds. It meant that Philomel's attention could turn to the one she was most upset with currently - first for taking the hand off the kobold leader, and then coming back into her life as he always did. With no regard for her emotions.

"You are an asshole, Shinsou vaan Osiris," her voice growled finally when he finished his confession.

Her eyes glowered at the flask in his hands as she calculated what it was. Shifting Veridian to one shoulder she held out a hand for the drink. With no idea how he had obtained it. With no desire but to continue to berate him.

For always leaving her.
For always going missing.
For always spoiling these moments.
For toying with her.

"Cronen," she continued to speak as she reached for that holiest of drinks - Headbutt. That which was meant to be only accessible to the highest of priests and priestesses under Drys. "Yes the one who ... Him."

Another brief lover of hers. She fixed her hand tight around the flask, waiting for him to surrender it to her - where she would never let it out of her sight again.

"How the hell did you get a hold of this?"

Because only the holy order were given the methodology. Did know how to brew it. Ones like her ...

Her. The only priestess outside of the faun homeland. Did this mean then that her greatest horror had come to pass? That those in Paradisia, once blessed by Drys were truly lost? Were now, as Drys herself suspected ... Lost?