A few hours later, the door to Uncle Moe's Tavern burst open.
Max came out first, dragging Dorian by one arm with the expression of someone experiencing absolute existential exhaustion.
Chloe held the elf's other arm, helping keep him at least minimally upright.
Dorian was completely obliterated by alcohol.
His legs barely seemed to remember how they were supposed to function.
"I am…" he mumbled in a slurred voice.
He dramatically raised one finger toward the black market's night sky.
"…a misunderstood man."
He tripped over himself.
Max caught him before he could faceplant directly into the ground.
"Yes, yes, very profound," he grumbled.
He kept dragging him toward the side of the street.
"Thanks for helping me get him out," he told Chloe between heavy breaths.
"He nearly started a fight with an orc inside."
Chloe let out a small laugh.
"I had no idea what was happening," she admitted.
She looked at Dorian wobbling between them.
