<div style="text-align: center"><img alt="[​IMG]" class="bbCodeImage LbImage" data-url="http://i.imgur.com/OBYSo.gif" src="http://i.imgur.com/OBYSo.gif" style=""/><br/>
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<span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #9D612B">IT SEEMS TO ME SOME FINE FRIENDS HAVE WATCHED YOU TURN YOUR BACK<br/>
IT SEEMS YOU ONLY WANT THE THINGS YOU CAN'T HAVE</span></span></span>​</div><br/><span style="font-size: 9px"><span style="color: #544A41"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="font-size: 15px"><span style="color: #9D612B">With a huff,</span></span></span> Sbatarra yet again had to lift her feet, as a particularly durable gnome was thrown headfirst into her table.  For whatever reason, the corner seat seemed to see the most collateral damage, as she soon figured out after little more than half an hour smoking in the tavern.  That, and after she was done people watching, she looked at where she had rested her feet, and noticed all the dried blood and bite marks.  Somewhere in the woodwork there was a tooth, having been lodged in there after a particularly vicious night, the assassin assumed.<br/>
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It wasn't all danger and gnome projectiles, however.  The drow's attention soon shifted from a brawl with a half-orc and two dwarves sporting the most impressive beards she had ever seen, on to the tree-trunk shaped half-dwarf, who was busy poisoning himself with some sort of foul smelling drink, one that her heightened senses could pick up from over here.  It was foul to her mainly because of the limes.  Lemons, limes, and other citrus friendly fruits always tingled and burned her nostrils, and left her feeling quite uncomfortable.  It was one of the reasons why she refused to become a sailor or a pirate, when the opportunity had presented itself <i>twice</i> during the early years with Double-Dead.  Salt water stung just as bad, and the need to stock up on fruits to prevent scurvy was just not worth the hassle.<br/>
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When the strange man gave the drow a good stare-down, and gestured for her to come over, she glanced to her left and right almost comically, craning her neck to look behind herself—at the wall—to check if there was someone behind her that he was checking out.  When she deduced that he wasn't asking the wall to come over, she gave a huff, rose from her seat, then meandered her way through the hazy smoke, puffing her pipe along the way and ducking underneath what she could only assume was a halfling projectile now, before scooting an empty stool back and taking a seat beside the man.<br/>
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She otherwise said nothing, instead taking a long puff at her beautifully carved pipe, then blew out a long stream of smoke, which looked a lot like a dragon's breath of fire.</span></span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: right"><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><span style="font-size: 22px"><a class="externalLink" href="http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=454315" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">*</a></span></span>​</div><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>