There was no chance involved in the next arrival, deliberate steps that would have seen him to the tavern well before the trolless if it weren't for her Arcane arts. Halfway up the ramp that led to this out-of-the-way watering hole (and otherwise) from the lower level - if a town so irregular could be said to have levels - Valeander stopped, intrigued. He took a moment just to observe the female, and then proceeded to make a point of arriving only well after her, striding past both troll and orc at the door without paying either as much as a glance. They'd seen him before of course, but like everyone else in this place, knew exactly nothing about him that wasn't immediately obvious. It was one of the notably few reasons he kept returning here.<br/><br/>It was one of the rare occasions that the old mystic kept himself hooded, but anyone with the ability to put two and two together could guess some of what he was at a glance. Few races in Azeroth were that tall without sporting other telltale signs; and this man wasn't hunched like a troll, he wore soft leather boots on what looked a lot like perfectly normal feet, he had none of the bulk of the larger races - it could even be said he didn't have enough for his own - and his hood was large and loose enough to cover long ears.<br/>Other than his robes, which were rich in their own right, sewn in shades of black and purple with subtle silver trimmings, he appeared to be carrying nothing. Coming to Booty Bay alone and unarmed generally meant one of two things, and somehow, this man didn't have the air of a hapless fool begging to get mugged; in fact it seemed most people gave him a wide berth, which seemed to suit him just fine as he strode briskly to the bar. Paying no mind to other customers or staff for the time being, he set about finding someone to pay for a room. He wasn't a creature of either habit or ritual, but some things had to be done in certain ways, and couldn't wait.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>