Deva wandered around the inn making conversations with one or two people as he drank his ale and enjoyed the party. As Peony had said he was getting drunk, but Deva was still relatively composed. Three ales was not enough to affect the better half of this judgement.
As he pushed past on his way for another ale he tripped over and foot that lay in his path. "Bah!" Was all that escaped as he came crashing to the ground.
He had fallen by the feet of a young man with golden locks falling into his face. "I meant to do that." Deva grumbled as he got up. "He smiled and extended his hand to Isaac. "Sorry for all the ruckus. Please let me buy you a drink. My name is Deva and yours young traveller?" Deva waited for an answer.
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"Let us live so that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry." - Mark Twain
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