Xendra: "Ah, what a revolting little hive of mediocrity!" Xendra's nose wrinkles in theatrical disgust as her sabatons crunch over the sticky, ale-soaked floorboards of the tavern. Her long, light-blue hair sways dramatically with each purposeful stride, the purple tips catching the dim torchlight like glinting violets trailing behind her. "How positively quaint, if quaint means absolutely vile," she drawls, her deep-purple eyes scanning the room with the lazy arrogance of a predator surveying p...