After leaving his apprentice at the former fire temple, Bastian came to the city where he was born. He remembered that day quite well. The archmage, his apprentice, an elf called Alice. The man tired to told him that he was family and Alice his cousin.

He had drank a bit too much, as the outworlder was sat at the counter. His eyes were elsewhere, deep in his tougths. Nravee was in the hand of great people so he had nothing to worry about. He only had to his back, or else. He asked for another drink. He felt his emotions closer to him, as if he was more counscious more alive, but deep inside, he didn't change a bit.

The guild of the burning Fist? Should have he joined them and started the training? No, close combat was not his style, not at all. He had one spell to protect himself from the fighters but still, it was not enough. Nedded more power to defeat evil, selfish people. Like the ones who destroyed Taras.

Just this tougth made him pissed. Clenching his teeth and his fist, he prefered thinking about the fire genisis. He could not help but wonder if she was okay, if she was getting stronger, if she missed him...He grew in affection towards her, but could not tell yet. Of course not! He was not from this world and there was no way he could go back.

He was getting a bit depressed, each time he was trying to think of something the pyromancer ended up angry. He sighed shortly but intensly. He stood up but he knew that he was a bit tipsy. So he sat down, wating to let the alcool let his effect go.

Melmoth stumbled into the Purple Lantern and hoped he passed as an old drunkard who never really got sober well enough. His clothes were old and ragged, and his hair matted and greasy from a good while without a bath. Why was he doing this all? he wondered as he slowly made his way to a stool at the bar and unsteadily perched upon it. Was it worth it just to keep up appearances here in Balefire? Did he really need to appear so damn dirty?

He'd been a beggar and drunkard in balefire several times before when he came to meet his contacts within the city in person. Nobody ever seemed to pay the poor much attention, and it worked well for him that way. Today, his begging had paid off enough for him to come into the Purple Lantern without having to spend his own money. It would just be keeping up the charade for a while before his meeting.

"Bartender," he spoke in a soft slur, "bring me that stuff from Ishtan. Yeah, thas it." The ceramic pitcher the bartender brought him was not the Istian Firewater it was labled as, but the bartender didn't think a drunk would know high quality drink from grog. Fair enough, he was probably right. Melmoth paid the man and sipped slowly and tried not to grimace as he drank the foul liquid. He'd come back later steal a barrel of the really good stuff.

How best to pull off his slightly inebriated persona? He considered a rousing chorus of of "I'm tired an I want to go to bed", but decided it wasn't the time for that yet. Maybe later. For now... There. He stood up and walked toward a random man and sat down next to him, smiled, and threw up on his shoes.



(OOC - That's you, by the way, bastian.)

Bastian barely noticed the man besides him. He was a bit tipsy after all, he did not have all his mind and getting more drinks was not the best idea, he would either be sick or depress even more. When he started to look around his eyes fells on a drunkyard, or so it seems.

Somehow, the man did not look hapy to be here. Well, niehter was the outworlder, but something was wrong with this man, very wrong. The hair on his back stood straight as he stared the man with thick glassy eyes, indeed. A proof that he had been drinking too mucha again. He chocked pn a hiccup and keep his eyes on the man.''Saaaay...D'ya know anything about da fools at Tawas....?The miserable bunch of twits....''

The drunkard, well, newcomer, had strange things about him, but the pyropmancer was to drunk to notice the details. He ke^t staring at the stranger, wondering.