Ferryman Oleg had always earned a reputation for being overly loud, overly brash, and most of all, overly attentive to other people's conversations...
"You helped the Dwarves? How in sodding perdition--err, excuse me--how in Sazhen' did you earn the privilege of doing that? Most Dwarves, at least the ones I have met, never ask for help. 'Meddling do-gooder,' their silly old king called me once, when their supplies of fresh surface vegetables were running low and their mountain tunnels were collapsing. I had offered to ferry them some down from the markets of Paryer, but they just scoffed! 'No,' they replied, turning up their noses! 'If we Dwarves can't stand on our own two feet, we'll fall.' They were so stubborn!"
Meara the barmaid, ignoring Oleg's rude comments, looked at Emi and made her own.
"Perhaps it has something to do with your 'special talent', eh, half-breed?"
"Meara!" Per'dra gave her friend's forearm a slight slap. "Retract that!"
"Why should I, when I'm not the one that sucks souls out of bodies?"