Solo Private pub practice

[Aleron Mangrove]

Timestamp: Spring 87th, 513 AV

What bizarre twist of fate brought him to this, this horror, he can't say for sure - something in the back of his head whispers a distant memory of trying to grow accustomed to the culture, fit in with the people around here a little, but all that had gone down the pan the moment he'd come into contact with the stuff in his mug. Apparently it was meant to be some kind of beer. He had his doubts. The froth on the head of a beer looked somehow... Different, this wasn't the right kind of froth. Nodding sagely to himself at this new revelation, the new-found froth connoisseur glances about the place, the sight of the other beers, and then, after a moment of hesitation, getting a more thorough look at their auras, ensuring that no one's slipped poison into his for some reason... Or replaced it with urine, but, no, the other beers are nearly identical to his own, no oddities. With this dull revelation over, he suspiciously eyes his mug, as though it might be up to some sort of mischief regardless.

He spends a good minute or two, just savoring the horror of this mug of alcohol in his hands. Good job not everyone can see the world how he does, or places like this wouldn't exist... Well, perhaps that wouldn't be too bad, he concedes with a shrug, mentally outmaneuvered by himself, he exhales a faint sigh. After a little while longer, with little to do but watch his mug, he begins to practice, keeping track of the various beers scattered around, trying to follow their auras as best he can, closing his eyes to help himself, reaching a point before much longer, where he needs to murmur incantations to himself, to help maintain control, pushing himself, until he comes to a stop with a soft gasp, catching his breath, wiping at a slightly sweaty brow as he tries to relax once more, before pushing himself to his feet, heading out, . His 'beer' is snatched up immediately, as soon as he leaves it be, some 'lucky' person getting a free one, although he'd say he got the better end of the bargain, by not having to drink it to get rid of it. Antics done for the evening, he heads back to the Grotto, with the somewhat sad realisation that, rather than honing his Auristics to reach further, or dig deeper, he's using it to keep track of more people, more things. Far less useful, in the long run, he feels, but practice is practice.

He flumps down on the bed after getting back, asleep in moment, exhausted.