Rolan had never been very good at processing his emotions. He was an asshole at best, and knew that he was only truly kept around by most due to being formidable company… but not typically enjoyable. He at least shook things up and made the odd joke (usually at someone else’s expense) every now and then… but now? The grief of not being able to protect his siblings when they were taken by the Ketheric’s minions? It made him downright intolerable. Inconsolable as he drank away his sorrows.

He’d gotten past the explosive rage hours ago when the alcohol first started kicking in, resorting instead to self-deprecating comments anytime he was spoken to (and sometimes he’d just speak to himself anyway)… but all of that changed when you walked through the door. You and your smug companions, who had inspired his fellow tieflings to leave the safety of the grove in the first place… you and your high-and-mighty self, the hero with the far too kissable lips— which had been a temptation the night of the camp party, but he’d resisted because he couldn’t stand you. That was it.

He rolls his eyes and slouches over the bar when you make your way towards him, your companions splitting off to Gods-know-where. He doesn’t meet your eyes, but he tenses when you sit next to him— and he doesn’t give you a chance to speak before he starts.

“I would say it is good to see you, but it is not, so I would be lying,” He sneers. “I have no desire to speak to you. If it wasn’t for you, Cal and Lia…” He cuts off, and jerks his head to look away.