Tonight was a busy night for the tavern. 

“Welcome to the Daft Draft.” The barkeep, a woman, greeted Ulfar and Eila as they stepped in.

"You serve food?" Ulfar asked.

"Course we serve food darling." laughed Sally heartily 
"In fact, we've got the finest salamander broth that you'll find anywhere in Iron's End."

"I'll have one of those, then." Ulfar said. He walked ahead, and Eila followed quietly.

There was only one table that was short of full. Tucked into the back of the room, next to a small fireplace, an elf sat with his back to the entrance. He was dressed in greens and browns, with a long cloak draped over his shoulders. The elf seemed to blend in with the environment, even without drawing up his hood to cover his bright blonde hair, which made a stark contrast to his earthly coloured clothes. In one hand he held a long pipe, and on his other shoulder rested a longbow, angled from the ground to lean onto his sitting figure.

It didn't seem like there was any other choice left.

"You're going to stay close to me," Ulfar said to Eila in a low tone. "And you're not going to draw any attention."

Eila did not react, but since she didn't object, it probably meant she had agreed. The two of them approached the table and sat down.

The elf didn't move, save for retracting the pipe from his mouth every few moments. Even when Ulfar and Eila approached his table, he remained as he was: facing the fire pit. Ulfar unhooked the scabbard of his greatsword and placed it on the ground, beneath the table. That way, when he sat down, he'd be able to rest a foot on it. It was safer than leaving it anywhere else.

"Nice steel." The elf spoke. "A greatsword... not very liked by most humans." His accent was like that of a high-born: classy, with a faint touch of smug.

"Liked even less by elves." Ulfar said. 

"True." The elf agreed. He turned to reveal the side of his face better, and a sharp blue eye made contact with Ulfar's. "Giants would welcome the greatsword far better than elves or humans. Orcs, too. Perhaps you are a half-orc?"

"Human." Ulfar said.

The elf turned back to the firepit. "...Or maybe a half-giant?" He asked again.

"You're nosy for your kind." Ulfar sneered. "Got bored of the aloof act you all love?"

The elf's shoulders moved, as if the statement had amused him. Ulfar couldn't see his face, but he could bet that he was smiling.

"See for yourself, if you stumble into the lower-town." The elf said. "Poor men, elves, and dwarves. Each one looks to you with pleading eyes, trying to tug along your guilt-strings. I would hardly call their begging eyes aloof and distant."

"I wasn't talking about your race." Ulfar said.
 
The elf drew a long puff from his pipe.

"To be fair," He started. "I find it harder and harder to distinguish between the races with every passing year. Things are not like they used to be, for better..." He reached into a bag to put his pipe away. "... or for worse."

He stood up, slid his bow around his shoulder, and drew up his hood. One eye was covered by a patch, and the same half of his face seemed burned. His movements were slightly quicker and more methodical than that of the average. Ulfar noticed the hilts of two swords around the elf's waist, one on each side. They poked out through the gap of his cloak. It confirmed his earlier guess.

"Well, human," The elf said. "I bid you and the fair maiden here a safe time on your travels." And then he walked off.

Ulfar's food had arrived, and he wasted no time getting started on it. For a while, the table remained quiet, despite the loud commotion in the tavern.

"Were you close with that man?" Eila asked, out of the blue.

"No. I don't know him." Ulfar replied. He bit off another chunk of bread.