Rain hammered the streets of Freehold, pattering angrily against the hood of her travel cloak. Gale sat perched on her pauldron, preening her ghostly plumage. High above, Storm was circling, partially masked by the rain, as he kept watch over the Twisted Pumpkin, the bar that her contact had chosen for their meeting.
She sighed heavily, and raised an arm, calling down Storm. All reports from the air said that he was alone, for any meaningful purpose, and that the bar was otherwise devoid of patrons.
She motioned skyward, sending Storm back to his patrol, while Gale remained on her shoulder, serving as her life line. If things went poorly, she'd send him for Aly'sandrel.. the elf had offered to teleport her to safety if needed.
The inside of the tavern was warm enough, with a cozier feel than expected for a pirate bar. The smell of stale beer was on par with what she expected, though. She crossed, hanging her rain soaked cloak on a peg by the fire, while Gale peered around the tavern, checking for threats.
"Care for a drink, lass?" he asked.
- - - - - -
She was left alone in the tavern when he departed after their conversation.
Things had gone.. well, she thought. He was rather charismatic, in a sort of down to azeroth way. She'd actually found him charming, not that she'd tell him that.
They had agreed on many points, and after dispelling some initial suspicions- she hoped- he had agreed to take her warning to the leaders of the Collective. She could only hope that they acted on it, in case the Crowsong wasn't enough to stop it.
As she gathered her cloak from the fireside and drew it around her, she heard a dry clearing of the throat from the bar.
"Miss," the bartender called 'Trello' by Iphraim said, "There be the matter'o the bill..."
Her eyes fell on the four empty mugs at the table- only one of them hers, and she sighed heavily.
It's not about the puns you make, it's about the friends who stay to groan at them.