A bartender looks him over.
Is he the sort who wants a refined elven drink? No, obviously not.
A deeply distressing mixer made by horrible entities from beyond the shroud? Better not.
A fox cola? Everyone likes that, but from the way he was talking he's looking for something harder.

An oppressively heavy dwarven ale should do. Now, the barkeep seems to be human. And on fire. But the contents of the mug set down in front of the Dread Druid should be just fine.