In the skies over Waterdeep early one morning, a cry could be heard...
"For the love of the Spider Bitch! Put me down now you... you... great, stupid corby!!"
Alastríona sighed for the third time in almost as many minutes, debating the merits of pointing out the absurdity of the insult. Given the dire nature of their situation - fleeing Fire Knives assassins and seeking refuge with ancient and powerful dragons, a plan that only Bérénice could come up with and pull off - it seemed a bit inappropriate. Alastríona, though quite the pacifist normally, could never say no to a jab at the prickly drow. She ticked the points off on her fingers, which left Cal'lantar to dangle by only the strap around his torso; a leather loop that she'd attached to her belt for occasions just such as this one.
"I'm not black skinned, I'm not even remotely related to a bird at all, and corbies don't even fly. Really, Cal'lantar, in your hundred-and-seventy years of life