A timid half-elf with a lean build looks in shock at the unfamiliar demon born race and the chaos it's caused. He steadies himself after a moment, then retreats from his quest of refilling his ale to his table where a group of more elves, half-elves, and dwarves sit around a bulbous brute that looks far too large to be dwarf. When the giant man slams his mug of beer on the table after roaring with laughter due to a joke, the half elf whispers something with a sly expression into the bear of a man's ear. In response, a large grin spreads across the bearded face belonging to the giant man. The man stands up from his table, beer still in hand, and walks over to the bar, chest extended to meet the teifling's gaze. He promptly shoves his mug toward the bartender, not breaking eye contact with the half demon. 
 "The name's Borthric," the bearish man bellows. "I've been to plenty of taverns, and won plenty more drinking challenges. An' I suppose any voice that boisterous deserves to be met with a competitor such as m'self, even if 'e be half devil. You boys can stop the fight. I'll have this fellow out-drunken in no time."
 Borthric leans down, his thick brown beard inches from the teifling's blueish grey chin. He cracks his knuckles, intent upon teaching another foolish tavern-goer a lesson. "So, what'a ya say, hellchild? 'Ya ever been in a drinking contest with a Werebear?"