As the clamor around Philip mounted, the tavern that was once just noisy became a cacophony of judgmental whispers and outright mocking. In this bastion where strength dictated one's worth and standing, the adventurers' glares were tinged with undisguised disdain and skepticism.
Just as the murmurs reached a fever pitch, a singular female voice cut through the noise, clear and resonant: "A student of the Holy Dawn Academy?" The room instantly hushed, every eye turning toward the source of the question, signaling a deep respect for the speaker.
By the window sat a female mage, her age as enigmatic as her presence. She was strikingly beautiful, with a head of luxurious purple curls and dressed in a flowing purple robe that accentuated her voluptuous figure. Yet, what drew more attention than her physical attributes was the elegant metal pipe she held between slender, alabaster fingers, from which spiraled tendrils of white smoke.