He slammed the wooden cup onto the table heavily.
Across from him, a silent former Elf Ranger, Airen, was polishing a well-maintained dagger, his voice deep but with a hint of anticipation:
"Blood Pit Fortress... is indeed different. The 'vitality' here carries the edge of the blade. Taking the initiative... even if it's just the beginning, it's better. Better than slowly decaying in despair."
He had experienced the tragedy of his homeland being destroyed by demons, the long years of revenge nearly eroded everything, until he arrived here.
Beside him, a remarkably tall Tree-man with skin like rough bark responded in a rumbling voice.
"Roots... need to spread... seek repayment... from demons... for the debt of life... Lord Venerable... brings... hope in action..."
His voice was slow, but every syllable contained deep power and steadfast support.
In another corner of the tavern, however, the atmosphere was completely different.
