A halfling wearing the red stoll of the Lucky Drunk and hefting a clay mug sized more for an ogre speaks up from the bar, "If a faction is in trouble, I wouldn't mind so much if it were the Chelaxians."
"I may have to work with them for the good of the Pathfinders - and the fulfilmment of the agenda given to us by the Grandmaster, of course - but nothing says I have to like them. There's too much bad blood in my history to make friends with slavers and devil-worshippers."
He pauses for a long sip from his mug and to wipe the foam from his lips before continuing in a quieter tone, "Besides, while I have run into some strange and disturbing things on my missions, that Paracountess of theirs is what really gives me the creeps."
"Good riddance, I say," he finishes before gesturing to the barman for another round.