Utterly Mad

Leatherwing would order some sort of ale, laying down a gold piece.  He would steps past the table of merchants,  his talons clacking against the ground as he emits a very light growl.  He would take a seat at a table in a dark corner, waiting for his ale to come by.

Minus his glowing red eyes, Leatherwings body would be shrouded in the darkness.

(just so you know, a GP is WAY over an average ale. an average ale is 3 copper. you just got some friggin awesome level gourmet shit.)