This world, like so many others, had just what this … thing, loved. 

Life,

It was in that one word, one could derive a thousand meanings. Love, spirit, survival… Hate, violence, war… Life was good. This planet had gone its own course, like millions before it, as a million others do now, and millions will on in time. So many paths, but this quaint little town was ripe for the pickings in many ways. This place had gone to the dogs, so to say, the strongest survive if being polite; but oh no, don’t do that here… 
The man mused in his head as he supped from the smudged glass of dark liquid. The random brawls, bloodshed, smashed liquor bottles; it was second nature to this being, this… Drow Elf. All around he felt the very souls of the patrons within this particular bar of the wasteland, the very life secrets of the more weak willed out and open to his mind. But they were nothing but wasted time. He kept guarded of the man beside him; there was no reason, save then very air about him seemed foreign. Though Zakarius kept his guard about him at all times. 

It was the liquid in this glass though, that had most of his attention, seemingly oblivious to the outside world as he brought the glass find parted violet lips. His eyes would roll just barely, letting the slightest hint of pleasure pass his hidden features. He came to this bar on this passing world for a drink, nothing more. No bloodshed, no souls for his patron Gods, no fighting. But this was life, and he knew his choice of establishments often exuded… life. 

It was just then that he felt the air shift, the incessant drone of the establishment slowly ebbed away. Zakarius took solace in the liquid of his glass, which seemed to never empty as he drank. Leaning lightly over the large oak wood bar-front, upon his meager stool, he watched as the soul density of the bar withered to just a handful. There was the bartender, a meager sliver of life, worthy for nothing but sacrifice as a demon host, and then the other man, His soul was different, strong, bright, it hinted at the best strength one could hope for in this life; potential. Zakarius studied this as the bartender spoke, offering warnings of something that the Drow had no care for. His confidence in his current setting would seem arrogant to an onlooker. 
But damn, he couldn’t get this drink off his mind, head falling back for a second to drain another glass. His hood falls back just slightly as he comes forward, eyes trained on the large door of the bar, his witch-sight having a hint of the incoming men. Deep amber eyes fell back to the wooden bar where his glass lay, feeling the eyes of the second patron upon him for a brief second. These souls that would enter were dark things, strong for your average man, but simple, brutal… they were grunts. But one of them hinted something more, like the “potential” possibility of the other man with him. 
It was obvious the bartender was not happy with the current situation, and the new uniformed patrons did not appear to be here for a night out with the gang. The air was thick with tension, but that-he didn’t care for, more curious about the strange air patterns around the other stranger. But beyond all that, he couldn’t get over this drink! It was so sweet, burning his throat like strong amsec from Cattechan, yet it numbed its own burn, like elder berry wine of Redwall. But what was worse, his glass was empty, the minor enchantment upon the glass to keep it fuller had run its time. 
The pack of men behind him stood still, and for a few precious seconds it was perfectly quiet. The fear felt by the bartender, the panic and sense of preservation the leaked from the masses that vacated so quickly, it was all lost upon Zakarius. Even the stranger beside him, despite so much of his body clothed, he could tell the man ready, the very current of the air around his body somehow calmer than that inches from him. 
It was all lost on him, as his picked up the glass, only to set it down before the paled bartender, tapping it lightly for service.