The short magic-smelling man, Danny "Doom" Lawrence, nods at Tipolei and comes forth. You can tell by the way he walks he likely has something similar to broken ribs under his coat. He holds his hand out to Tipolei, though whether to sniff or shake isn't clear. His fingers are webbed almost to the tips. "I heard of a dog boy who turned away from the CS. If that's you, then know I lost friends in Tolkeen. But I am not one to hold that against you. You earn your own reputation, far as I can tell." He shifts his collar, revealing gills on the side of his neck. With a gesture, several pitchers float up from the bar, a pale yellow liquid inside each.
"The darker one is a lemon apple blend, with only trace alcohol, for preservation purposes. The lighter ones are suitable for medicinal or recreational applications. They're a local specialty, a product of our productive orchards."