A warm, bright afternoon led Aldanith to only one place - the inn. As always, he seemed the dark corner to have a pint of wine or a jug of mead, and today was no different. Except that it was already evening, stars glistened on the sky, and he was still holding the same glass, which wasn't even half empty.
His mouth opened to a yawn, and he didn't even bother with covering it with his hand. The bard playing afar was entertaining, but not enough for him... He wanted something more.
His thin lips twisted to a bleak grin as a drunkard walked up to the bard. The sad, solemn music stopped, and was replaced by the sight of a broken bottle and angry, reddened face of the patron. The dark elf slowly stood up, and with long, confident, but elegant steps crossed the room.
A hand, half hidden in a black gauntlet, appeared on the drunk's shoulder. Two last fingers, which clenched around it, lacked the dim blue color of his skin, instead glinting with the muted tones of metal, and his head, hidden in the shadows of his hood, shook slowly.
"Don't stop the music, darling." he whispered.