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Verita's quiet laugh is barely heard from behind her helm, "Yes. That's true." The tender reappears with a slab of zherra meat. She tosses it to Endy who catches it in the air. Verita nods in thanks, carefully watching the orc walk away.

Az watches the feeding. "Hey, tender," she calls in Orcish, "ya got any cooked versions of that?" When the orc nods, she continues, "Then, cook some up for me, medium-well." She turns to the other elf, switching to Common. "So, what brings you here?"

Verita chuckles, tilting her head toward the panther, "He does. We were passing through town and we saw this dump. Fussy thing insists on resting indoors. I think I've spoiled him."

"Well, I don't blame him myself." Az nods her thanks and gives a tip to the barmaid that delivered her the steak. "I definitely prefer a bed to sleep in and a ceiling over my head. Although, I tend to have to adjust the size of both to fit me."

"The ceiling doesn't affect me much but I'll have to agree on the bed. It can be a welcome change of pace from a patch of wet grass." Verita gestured to Azshannya's meal, "That any good?"

"'s good, better than the stuff I eat out on the field. As for the sizes of stuff . . ." Az takes out a strange-looking device out, stands up, and sets her meal on the table she was sitting on. The table, the meal, and a chair all expand to the appropriate size for the giant elf. "Don't know what I'd do if I didn't make this thing." She sits back down, this time on the chair.

Verita jumps, her left hand clasping the bow at her back. Endy calmly pulls his meal out of the contraption's way just as it expands and continues chomping happily on the bloody meat. As quickly as she jumps, Verita settles back to her perch on the barrel.

"Impressive. I have some friends at home that could use such a thing. You made this?"

"Aye. I do a good bit of tinkering, although my inventions have been known to backfire. This thing has, on occasion, made me grow, shrink, others grow or shrink, that sort of thing."

Verita eyes the contraption carefully, scooting to the other side of the barrel. Endymion growls softly and pulls his meat away from the invention.

"Glad to...err...know. It's off, right?"

"It's not gonna do anything unless I activate it, if that's what you mean," Az says as she stores it away in one of her many pockets. "And don't worry, malfunctions are exceedingly rare." Az's hand flashes into a white-furred claw as she swipes her steak, cutting off a piece, then returns to normal. "Wanna try some of this?"

Verita extends her hand, "Yes, thank you." She takes the piece and uses her free hand to remove her helmet. Chopped dark green hair hangs in tangles around her face but can't hide the large green markings across her skin. She munches on the meat, looking eerily like Endy.

"White fur? That's a rare color among druids, isn't it?"

Az shrugs. "Goes with my white skin and hair. I think my size and behavior are rarer. If I didn't naturally manifest my shapeshifting, the tree-huggers up in Moonglade probably wouldn't have taught me anything. They thought I'd be more dangerous out here with my powers uncontrolled than controlled, so they taught me how to control them, initially."

*Comes in and sits down. It's terribly quiet and looks like dust has even had the opportunity to settle on the people within. Malcho begins to believe that he's walked into some sort of cursed place.

He gets up and starts walking toward the door.*

Mytilene ducked into the doorway, trying to carefully weave her way through all the people in the room, Mr. Whitmore in tow. The rain had felt cold and uncomfortable, despite not really feeling the cold at all. A peal of thunder rolled outside the window as she looked for a free chair at a table between the fireplace and the bar. Carefully untying her cloak, she draped it over the back of the chair, wincing apologetically as it dripped onto the floor. She pulled it back up, handing it to the waiting minion. "Mr. Whitmore, kindly take this an' squeeze it out by the door, please?"

As the minion turned to obey, she sat down and waited for one of the waitstaff to arrive. A stooped Forsaken man with no jaw and only one eye approached, a tea towel draped over his left arm. "The mutton, if'n I could, please? I'll also take a bit o' cornbread on the side. I'll take a glass o' Silvermoon Port, if'n you got that in too."