Daethaur noticed that there was a great deal of despair coming from a corner of the room. There an elf was weeping, something about a lost love. There were so many stories being told here that it was hard to follow any of them.
He considered drinking some of the despair wafting across the room, but hesitated; It was Elvish despair, and would probably make him sick. Besides, the drink he had just had was far better. Nevertheless, it was good that the barkeep had refused to prepare another; one could not drink two of something so high-quality in one sitting. He sat down at one of the empty tables, and concentrated on listening to the stories around him. There was much to be heard.
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