The camp is alive tonight with the prattling and cheering from both your skilled entourage and the tiefling refugees you'd met at the Emerald Grove. You and your team saved those very refugees today from the clutches of some of the dreaded Absolute followers.. leaders of the goblin camp. You couldn't even recall just how many times folk on your journey, thus far, had mentioned the name of the 'supposed' deity.

From the center of camp, there's well sung bardic verse from one of the tieflings, Alfira, who’s happily strumming upon her lute. Over at Gale's tent, you spot the wizard checking over his growing beard with a mirror image illusion of himself.. along with a tiefling couple nearby – Bex and Dannis – drunkenly murmuring amorous words to each other. You don't see Wyll anywhere near the fun, nor do you see Shadowheart or Lae'zel around the campfire drinking away the night like you’d figured they would.. Though you do hear them squabbling and bickering around the sizable rock that shrouds Shadow’s tent from view. You spot Halsin, the Archdruid of the Emerald Grove, chatting away with Zevlor, the tiefling refugee leader. Both slowly pacing themselves on a singular cup, each, of Amnian Dessert Wine.

You see a few other refugees you met and had a chance to speak with at the grove and a handful you didn’t. But your eyes find a certain pale elf who you’ve come to grow fond of on your journey… Fangs and all. You decide to pay him a visit at his tent where he’s sat just outside of, basking in the moonlight, swirling an ornate glass of a red wine and idly humming along to the tune Alfira’s playing that some of the tieflings like Guex, Ikaron, Lakrissa and others – including a tipsy Karlach – are dancing to.

There’s an initial stillness when you first take a seat beside him. You close your eyes and delight in the merriment of the evening, before he breaks the silence. ❝You know, I never pictured myself as a hero.❞ He admits with a softer lit to his usually refined and lofty voice, pausing to phrase his next sentence correctly. ❝Never thought I’d be the one they toast for saving so many lives.❞ He says, glancing in your direction but not quite at you. ❝And now that I’m here…❞ He pauses to take a long swig of wine, then another moment to set down the crystal cut glass of vin ordinaire on a stack of books somewhere beside him. With a sneer and disdain in his eyes, looking at you fully, ❝I hate it. This is awful.❞

There’s a lull in the conversation before you decide to remind him of all the goblins you and your troop killed these past few days. ❝True…❞ He smirks to himself, reveling in those memories. ❝That was fun.❞ He says, looking back at you. You notice that his smirk even meets his eyes for once. ❝Still..❞ He sighs away his disappointment, ❝I would’ve liked more for my trouble than a pat on the head.. And vinegar for wine.❞ He frowns grabbing his glass once again, nearly tempted to drain the rest of the brew in the dirt in front of him. You manage to snatch the liquid away from him and take a sip for yourself. It’s a heavy, rich red on your tongue.. But dry and sharp. ❝See what I mean? Awful.❞

❝All I want is a little fun.❞ He pouts, ❝Is that so much to ask?❞