Near the entrance of the guest house...
A young Dark Elf stood there, his short white hair sticking up in messy, uneven spikes—as if he'd just woken from a rough sleep and hadn't bothered to fix it. His yellow eyes were sharp, carrying a restless, simmering energy just beneath the surface. He wore a simple black tunic, practical and unadorned, cut for easy movement.
Azrynn stood a few paces away, her arms crossed, her expression a mix of exhaustion and barely concealed irritation. Her voice was distant, unyielding.
"Drizt. I told you to stop bothering me. I have things to prepare."
Drizt's eyes widened in exaggerated shock, his hand flying to his chest as if she had just stabbed him. His voice carried a note of mock outrage, though there was a sharp edge beneath the theatrics.
"Bothering you? I'm just concerned! That's what friends do, isn't it? They look out for each other. They make sure their friends aren't making terrible decisions."
