You pass through to the next room, have your papers stamped, are asked some perfunctionary questions about dietary preferences and warnings about vertigo and altitude adjustments on the ear drums. Then you are finally waved through to the lounge.

 

The lounge is smallish, maybe 40 feet in radius, with a hemispherical bar. A set of bronze-inlaid steel doors with runes that indicate protection from fire take up a quarter of the wall. Through portholes you can see the great docking canopy, looking for all the world like a giant bonnet made out of tinfoil.

 

Behind the bar stands a bored half-elf in House Lyrandar livery. A sign behind him announces which drinks are complimentary (small and common), and which are not (the rarer and more expensive). A waterclock, shaped out of sigils of House Lyrandar, the cut glass alone displaying masterful workmanship, lets you know that you have perhaps 30 minutes before boarding.

 

There are hree others in the lounge.

 

A dwarven female in chain mail, with a dwarven battleaxe clipped to her belt, is throwing darts at a board - and doing quite well. She looks your way as you come in, grins at you, and goes back to the dart board.

 

An old human male, with closely cropped hair, in plain robes, sits at the far wall, his eyes darting around. His traveling bags lie at his feet, and he clutches a polished wooden box to his lap with great determination. He notes the size of Kaspar's weapon, but does not make eye contact with you.

 

In the middle of the divans, surrounded by bags and sheafs of paper, sits a gnome in a fine red jacket. with puffy lacey sleeves, who is having what appears to be his third margarita. He downs it in one shot, and waves at you.