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Message: <blockquote data-quote="OneCrappy DM" data-source="post: 9814753" data-attributes="member: 7033788">Mr. BlackThe aasimar blinks at you, his eyes trying, and failing, to track. Confusion ripples across his face. He sways on his feet and each time you finish a sentence his fist dips toward the ground. You can almost hear the gears in his mind grinding away, chewing on your speech and spitting out fragments that don’t quite fit. He tries a spit out a full sentence.“Backring Prime, ye shou— hic—”Before he can finish, a clawed hand settles on his shoulder. A half-fiend steps in beside him, his skin giving off the faintest smell of brimstone cut with the sour tang of cheap tavern beer. His presence steadies the aasimar, who relaxes into a kind of indifference.“Bar that you’re jangled up, alright,” the fiend drawls, giving the aasimar a reassuring pat before turning his sharp, ember eyes to you.“Sorry about that. I gave him a bit of abyssal razorwine, and this bubbler can’t hold it. He's just looking for a fight, but you seemed to slow him down alright. Name’s Mordikai.” He grins, showing a hint of fangs. “And you sound as cagestruck as any prime fresh out the door.”The aasimar mumbles something unintelligible, feathers ruffled and posture slumped, but it’s clear the fiend’s presence is the only thing keeping him from pitching face first into the street. The two seem mismatched at a glance, yet there’s an ease between them an odd, companionship forged somewhere between alcohol, bad decisions, and shared misadventures.</blockquote>

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