[OK, now that we've had a chance to get here, let's get this puppy started. Anyone who wants to, jump on in.]
As Larry and Killing Spree sit in the restaurant discussing debts owed and truces broken, Desuma looks out at the assembled horde. She is fully prepared for battle, dressed in (non-armored) black leather, a full face mask, and adorned with a small fortune in jewelry, much of which is bound to be magical. In sheathes at her side are twin daggers that almost moan with power, and a quarterstaff is slung across her back. Drongo the feral halfling guards her back, a short sword in his hand and assorted kitchen utensils peeking out of the pockets of the greasy apron that he wears over his leather armor. The Dessert Cart of Doom is at their side. The staff of the KFA are all in position, and the mysterious hooded warriors stand between them and the newly arrived horde with weapons drawn.
"Well, Drongo," she mocks in a voice that somehow transcends the chanting of the Avariel, "guess who's coming to dinner? I'm sorry to disappoint you, gentlebeings, but you should have called ahead. Parties of more than ten require a reservation, and I just don't see yours in our book. Perhaps I could offer you some rat-on-a-stick before you leave. No?"
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Proprieter of IW's finest dining establishment, KFA (a.k.a. Kentucky Fried Avariel). It's finger lickin' good!!