Lancil tapped the dwarf on the shoulder. "Fennek, I have to go. Where's that invisibility potion you were supposed to make for me?"
Fennek didn't even look up from the pot he was tending, and hiked a thumb over his broad shoulder. "Back table, on the rack."
Shaking his head in amusement, Lancil crossed the room, scanning the cluttered table. Finally spotting a metal flask lying on its side, he popped the cork and took a careful sniff of the contents. His wince was involuntary; whatever Fennek had used, it had a sharp tang to it, almost like getting a whiff of pepper. Wrinkling his nose to resist sneezing, Lancil upended the bottle, downing the contents in a single go.
He almost stopped himself. The stuff in the flask was greasy, but had some unidentifiable lumps in it. As he choked down the first mouthful, the taste came in -- the first thing that came to mind was meaty.
Barely stifling a gag reflex, Lancil looked down, and noticed that he could still see his hands and feet clearly. Hoarsely, he growled, "Fennek! Your invisibility potion didn't work!"
Sighing heavily, the dwarf spun around on his stool. He immediately spotted the problem. "Lancil, you pointy-eared idiot. What you drank was my gravy. Now I get to have a dry lunch. Thanks, moron. The potion is in the rack."