Eyran's mouth relaxed into a half smile a the soldier's whistle.<br/><br/>"Yes even the bad ale was foretold it seems." He settles his long frame under the table to weight, forgoing another glass of bee-piss in favour of a slightly rancid looking mulled wine. Leaning back into the chair he took a sip from the goblet.<em>Thank the spirits for cloves</em>he thought as the thick spiced liquid hit his tongue with a spicy, but not entirely unpleasant, flavour. The after taste did leave a lot to be desired, as was evident from the slight grimace he gave after he had finished swallowing, but at least it didn't take like insect piss.<br/><br/>He took his time to glance around the room at the other patrons, "Few seem to belong here in truth. It seems this place acts as thoroughfare for all manner of folk." Even with his doubts voiced, Eyran couldn't help glancing over at Octus Proctus in the far corner, something about the pious looking man certainly didn't fit with the general scourge of people patronizing the pub. Eyran mused into his wine goblet, face expressionless as he digested this new observation.