Bar

In the heart of the Elvish capital, nestled within the sprawling district of Thelion's Grace – a vibrant area designated for the mingling of humans and other diverse races – stands a bar that seems almost forgotten by time. Thelion's Grace is renowned for its breathtaking beauty; each building is a masterpiece of polished stone, intertwined with a myriad of plants that cascade down their sides like living waterfalls. Despite the segregation, the district thrives, pulsing with tourists and locals alike, drawn by the myriad attractions and the elves who, though paid, offer a semblance of tolerance towards the outsiders.

However, not all corners of Thelion's Grace bask in the radiance of elven hospitality. In a less frequented part of the district, shadowed and somewhat removed from the usual hustle and bustle, sits an old bar. The building, made of the same polished stone characteristic of the elvish architecture, shows signs of neglect. Cracks mar its surface, and darkness clings to its edges, a stark contrast to the luminous allure of its surroundings.

Inside, the atmosphere is thick with the scent of aged wood and spilled ale. The clientele is a mix of various races, each finding solace or escapism in the dim comfort of the tavern. A boisterous laugh cuts through the murmurs of conversation; it belongs to a large, ginger-haired human known affectionately or perhaps mockingly as Big Ted, "Hey, fill it, you old bastard" His manner of chugging beer is as relentless as his girth.

"Hmmm...." The elf behind the counter hums to himself while mixing drinks, his dark grey hair cascading to his shoulders, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. His brown eyes are lost in thought, betraying none of the wisdom one might expect from his kind. Despite his youthful face, which often leads to his authority being underestimated, he remains indifferent to the lack of seriousness with which the patrons regard him. "You really shouldn't drink too much. You're not an Elf, you know," he advises as he slides a large, frothy mug across the counter.

"Augh, what's it to you, mate?" Big Ted responds with a hint of annoyance, dismissing the elf's concern with a wave of his hand before he starts chugging the beer with the same fervor as a warrior entering battle.

A man seated not far from the counter, his short brown hair unkempt and his clothes stained with blood – a testament to a day's hard, perhaps violent, work – lets out a hearty laugh. "Hahahaha, Oi, Big Ted, don't fight the little man, alright?" he jests, lifting his own beer in salute before taking a hefty gulp.

"Huh?" Big Ted chuckles back, not missing a beat in his drinking marathon. "Little man should fill it instead of talking," he retorts, slamming the empty mug on the counter with a thud that resonates through the somber mood of the tavern, sliding it back towards the elf who continues his tune, unfazed as he refills the mug.

"Hmhmhm," another patron interjects, the sound of boots gently thudding against the table as he leans back in his chair, feet propped up on the counter with careless ease. He wears an ensemble that speaks of refined taste mixed with a touch of roguish charm – the finest black and brown clothes accentuated with subtle hints of red, the fabric moving with him like a second skin. His black hair, both messy and impeccably styled, seems to absorb the dim light, while his eyes, a deep, enigmatic black, shimmer with an unspoken knowledge. "Come on, Big Ted," he chimes in, his voice clear and tinged with amusement, "he's looking out for your health. Your heart'll burst any second. How's he supposed to make any money if you off yourself?"

Big Ted burps loudly, the sound echoing through the tavern like a rumble from the depths of an ancient cave. "Better out than in, eh?" He slaps his belly with a hearty laugh, adding, "There's a higher chance of a drake fucking a giant's ear than my heart failing!" He then slides his mug across the counter with force and slams his hand down, making the wooden surface shudder. "I bloody pay him, don't ruin the mood mate, or I'll bash your head up a horse's ass."

The elf behind the counter simply hums, "HmmmHmmm..." No reaction flickers across his face, maintaining his calm demeanor as if he's far away from the chaos of the bar, lost in a peaceful reverie of his own. He fills the mug once again with practiced ease, ignoring the growing rowdiness before him.

The man with the blood-stained clothes laughs, a sound that cuts through the tension with ease. "Pfff...Hahahahahaha." He grabs a bottle of alcohol from the table, the cap snapping off with a flick of his finger, showcasing a nonchalance born from years of handling drinks. He takes a swig directly from the bottle, now devoid of its cap, and says, "Oi big man. Don't piss off the elf, the last time one angered him, he stuffed a bird down their throat." He leans back, stretching out as if he's the king of this dimly lit castle.

Big Ted turns to him, curiosity piqued despite himself. "Yeah, yeah, we all saw it. But what the hell are you doing here?" He chugs down the drink, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes the other man. Finishing his sentence, he adds a touch of incredulity, "You crazy fuck. I thought you got a job, mate."

The man with the black hair smirks, leaning forward with the ease of a cat playing with a mouse. "The bastard I'm after is hiding with the elves, someone told that bastard someone was hunting him and apparently an elf owes him a favor. So I'm back here, you fat fuck," he says, dropping the empty bottle which shatters on the floor with a crisp, final sound.

The elf, ever the serene presence, hums a low, melodious tune as he walks over with a broom, sweeping up the broken glass with efficient strokes, unbothered by the chaos around him. Meanwhile, the guy sitting at the table stands up, a smirk playing on his lips as he saunters over, grabbing another bottle from the counter. "Hahahaha, what a damn joke, hiding with the elves?" he laughs, his voice filled with disbelief and a hint of amusement, as he uncorks the new bottle with a practiced flick.

"Oi, is it me, or has it been quiet? Last year there were more people out there around this time," he muses aloud, glancing around the sparsely populated bar. Big Ted, in response, lets out a loud burp, a smirk spreading across his face as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's better this way, mate," he declares, evidently pleased with the lack of overcrowding.

The man with the black hair, seemingly unfazed by the ordinary, pulls out a platinum coin seemingly out of thin air and flips it in the air with a deft flick of his wrist. The elf, momentarily pausing his humming, snatches the coin mid-air with an elegance that belies his mundane appearance. "What do you need?" he asks, his voice calm and collected, a stark contrast to the rowdiness of his patrons.

The man leans back, his eyes scanning the room before settling back on the elf. "Tell me some good stuff," he says, a hint of intrigue coloring his casual demeanor. The elf, while starting to fill some mugs with his usual, fluid grace, begins to share, "The Ceremony was cancelled this year by the king due to an unknown reason, which is why it's not packed with visitors this year."

Big Ted turns his head, a gleam of interest flickering in his eyes. "Oi, hear that, Bron? We get to drink without a bunch of dipshits running around," he says, a satisfied grunt following his words. The elf, continuing his task, adds more to the unfolding story, "The Royal family is getting aggressive with each other. It might seem like a coup d'état, however, the dark elves have been aggressive themselves. There might be a war before a coup d'état can take place."

The so-called crazy fucker, the man with the black hair, smirks, his interest visibly piqued by the mention of war. "Oh ho~ A war, huh? That sounds fun~" His words are light, but there's a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

The crazy fuck, looks directly at the elf behind the counter, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Aren't you a dark elf? Are you gonna join the fun?" he probes, leaning in with an insinuating smirk.

The elf, ever unperturbed, continues cleaning glasses with a rhythmic motion. "Possibly," he replies nonchalantly, his voice betraying no hint of commitment. He fills the mug and adds, as if sharing a casual piece of gossip, "Lastly, students from The Great Empire have entered the capital to learn with elves. This is an offer the King himself made."

The crazy fuck raises an eyebrow, his amusement clear. "Huh? Hahahahaha," he laughs, covering his handsome face as his laughter fills the bar. "Seriously? Poor kids are going to suffer with those racist elves."

The blood-stained man, who had been somewhat of a silent observer, wipes blood off his face and turns, catching the attention of the room. "Oh, I saw something that might interest you," he says, turning to the black-haired man. "While I was hunting, I saw an interesting spar, a human and an elf."

Big Ted, momentarily stopping his beer chugging marathon, interjects with a scoff, "Huh? What's interesting about two rich twinks licking each other's asses?"

The bloody man smirks, a spark of excitement in his eyes, "Forget the rich twinks, these are both good fighters for their age. The fun thing is that they were both using elven martial arts."

The crazy fuck's smirk widens into a grin, an intrigued hum escaping him. "Huhuhu... that does sound fun. I might take a look when I'm done here." His tone suggests a newfound interest, a break from his usual disdain. "Bout time I finish this job," he declares, standing up with a fluid grace and making his way toward the exit.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

In the heart of the elvish district, where the architecture blends seamlessly with nature, stands a top-notch elvish home, a testament to elegance and tranquility. This multileveled abode, crafted from the finest materials the forest offers, boasts a facade that weaves together polished wood and living vines, creating an enchanting dance of nature and craftsmanship. Each floor reveals vast, open spaces filled with natural light, filtering through intricate stained-glass windows, depicting ancient elvish lore. The interior is a harmonious blend of luxury and simplicity: high ceilings supported by slender columns, floors inlaid with delicate mosaics, and furnishings that seem to grow from the ground itself.

In one of the rooms, a sanctuary of calm and reflection, sit two men of starkly contrasting appearances. An elf with dark purple hair that cascades to his neck exudes an aura of ancient wisdom. His eyes remain closed, yet his presence dominates the room. His serene composure is the very embodiment of elvish grace. Beside him, in stark contrast, is a fat, obese human with an ugly mustache and an equally unappealing face. His anxiety is palpable, sweating profusely in the serene elvish setting.

"A-are you sure this place is secure?" the fat man inquires in a worried voice, his gaze darting around the room as if expecting the walls themselves to betray him.

The elf calmly nods, his demeanor unshaken by the human's distress. "It is highly secured," he assures with a voice as smooth as the polished stone of the room. "Just who left you so scared?" he inquires, his tone carrying a hint of disinterest masked by politeness.

The fat man bites his nails, a nervous habit that does nothing to improve his appearance. "I don't know... they call him many names, but 'crazy' will always be mentioned. H-he's horrible," he stutters out, his eyes wide with fear.

The elf stands up gracefully, his movements fluid and composed. "This is all I can offer you. I'll be taking my leave now," he states, his voice void of any warmth. As he turns away, his thoughts, hidden from the world, reveal his true feelings. 'Ugh... humans, if I didn't owe his grandfather a favor, I would've killed him myself. How utterly disgusting. I've offered him more than enough already,' he muses silently, his disdain for the situation clear, yet masked by an eternal elvish elegance.