[h1]Drosil Maeneld[/h1]

Drosil had absent-mindedly followed Cyril to the inn, not really paying attention to those around him as he was engaged in the task of maintaining his enchanted flintlock pistol. Running his fingers over each rune, he spoke a whispered inspection spell in order to make everything within the weapon was functioning properly. While amazingly effective way of casting, the gun had the added danger of potentially blowing the user's hand off of they don't keep it properly maintained and enchanted, as the magical energies housed within were especially volatile. The process of mixing magic and firearms was still a very new field of research, and thus, was fairly hazardous to those few brave pioneers like himself, willing to take the risk in the name of arcane research.

Once they arrived, he simply sat down, putting his weapon away as he decided what he should try next. Looking around, he suddenly smelled the sent of roasting chestnuts from the campfire, where some younger patron of the inn were spending there time prepping the delicious little treats. While not intent on robbing them of their joy, the thought of roasting chestnuts did bring another thought to mind. Muttering a quick spell, he summoned a minor imp and gave in instructions to cast a minor illusion over him, so that everyone looking his way would continue to see him fiddling with his device. He then took out his backpack, pulled out a few herbs of the mundane, exotic, and magical variety, and proceeding to get cooking. Mixing in a few bloodbane leaves, dragon tongue petals, and demon-spit lily nectar, he began to roast up his favorite alchemical concoction, a small dose of a particularly potent form of alcohol known only as "The Dragon Blood Surprise." It was a very rare and well-sought drink, as it was not only a delight to the tastebuds, but a very powerful drug that was said to open the mind to greater wonders of the universe.

While Drosil was unsure if that was true, it was always an enlightening and inspiring experience to have some, especially on his less enjoyable days. He made about 3 pints of the stuff, each one sealed in a one pint vial, having used magic to accelerate the process of creation, which usually took a few weeks, and crammed down into 30 minutes. He then proceeded to experiment with a few other herbs and substances, mixing, matching, and imbibing quite a few until he was done. He commanded the Imp to disperse and drop the illusion, which revealed him to be rather normal looking, except for his eyes. The green and gold were swirling haphazardly into each other, and as Drosil attempted to get up, he seemed to mistake the ceiling for the floor, and promptly fell down flat on his face, which prompted a small giggle from him as he quickly rose up from the ground. His robes smelled of numerous things, some sweet, others sour, and even more that just felt . . . wrong upon entering ones nostrils. 

He, strangely enough, found himself at the table with Lora and company, smiling absentmindedly as he dragged over a chair. He tried to speak a few words, but he wasn't sure what he said. Half of it didn't sound like it was in a language they'd understand, and the rest sounded like inane gibberish. THis jabbering left him confused, as he tried several times more to speak like a normal person, but only succeeded in more gibberish. After a time, it began to amuse him, as he laid his head on the table, giggling in giddity joy at the sound of his own voice, which seemed to take on strange reverberations in his own head. As he looked at Ayano, he instead found himself looking at the ground, as it appeared he'd tried to get up only to fall down again. He spoke more words, and these must have been in the language of magic, for it conjured several small ferrets, white and fluffly as clouds and quick to scurry all about the his body, one leaping onto Ayano to sniff her out, before jumping on the table to eat any scraps she may have had.

Drosil, in his addled state, found this to be greatly amusing, giggling some more for reasons he couldn't understand, before he suddenly stopped, staring blankly at something only he could see, his eyes spinning in a veritable whirlpool og green and gold, his staff doing similar, before he began to reach for his pouch, pulling out a strange purple leaf which he began to absent-mindedly chew on. As he chewed, his pupils suddenly began to dilate, becoming so big that it as near impossible to see his whirling irises, and his hair and skin began to pop with little sparks of magic. As the magical sparks touched inanimate objects of small stature, such as utensils, dust, old food, they'd began to dance around the table in strange, yet elegant patterns, moving in perfect synch with whatever beat was playing through Drosil's head. At this point it was quite clear that Drosil was partaking in some form of drugs, and it was clear that he had a ready supply. What wasn't clear, however, was whatever the hell he was doing. he'd stopped blinking, and was now moving his fingers across the table as if it were a large piano, playing to an invisible crowd with a silent grace, all while his greatly dilated eyes stared onward into nothingness, fingers sparking with little bursts of magical energy to bring more and more objects to life around him, floating through the air and dancing to that inaudible tune.