'Hey shorty,' snaps Generic Elf Guy, 'that's my seat.' Iffin looks up from his glass of Flabber wine, shocked. 'No it's not!!' he squeaks, 'it's mine!!' The argument escalades as tiny Iffin stubbornly refuses to relenquish his alotted bar stool and the intoxicated elf refuses to give up on the notion of claiming said stool. Finally, when an obviously over- stimulated and excitable halfling threatens to bludgeon Generic Elf Guy with a nearby candelabra, a shadow falls upon the two. Iffin doesn't notice as he is deeply ingrossed in a tirade involving a detailed description of an improbable and most likely physically impossible act involving said Elf's mother, a dead fish and an ordinary ladle. 'on pain of death,' the shadow grumbles, 'don't harass the halfling.'