Thandriel looked at his murky ale, then at the Demon. "I am not driving the carriage, Malphas. The last time you 'navigated,' we ended up in the Third Circle of Hell."
First came . She didn’t "walk" so much as glide, her silk skirts trailing over sawdust and spilled ale with an air of profound disappointment. She was followed by Thandriel , an Elf who looked like he’d been carved out of moonlight and condescension. Bringing up the rear was Malphas , a Demon whose presence made the room five degrees hotter and smelled vaguely of sulfur and expensive cigars.
Thandriel sighed, a sound like wind through dead leaves. "Typical. My people were distilling starlight while your ancestors were still discovering the wheel. I’ll have a dew-drop nectar, chilled to the temperature of a winter’s morning in the Elder Woods." A Princess, an Elf, and a Demon Walk Into a Bar...
Malphas took a massive swig of the liquid fire and grinned, showing too many teeth. "Because, Princess... the Dark Lord might be coming for your kingdom, and the Void might be swallowing the Elven forests, but even the apocalypse needs a designated driver."
The Princess approached the bar, tapping a manicured finger on the sticky wood. "A glass of your finest vintage," she commanded. "Preferably one that hasn’t been used to clean a boot." Thandriel looked at his murky ale, then at the Demon
The flickering neon sign outside didn’t discriminate, but the trio currently standing at the threshold was testing the structural integrity of the "All Realms Welcome" policy.
"Exactly," Malphas chuckled. "And we were still ten minutes early for happy hour." She didn’t "walk" so much as glide, her
The bartender stared. Malphas leaned over, his horns narrowly missing a low-hanging chandelier. "Give 'em the rotgut, barkeep. And for me? Whatever you use to strip the paint off those wagons outside. Make it a double." The Punchline