@Jakers @GlassTrinity @Click This
"I beg to differ," said a suave, feminine voice just beside Archie. The
woman arrived stealth-like, too quiet to be taken notice by the larger Mecrundyr metal man. She was dressed in a similarly provocative attire to the Eastern girls across the street from Freya's stall, but that came as no surprise; she was clearly an Easterner herself. Still, she appeared far more mature. She owned the getup she wore, and she rocked it.
"Might be worse material, but when you truly apply the technique we've developed it performs well," she said after a puff of her kiseru. Her eyes were focused on the merchandise, swaying to and fro across each weapon with an utterly neutral expression on her face. She eventually stuck the pipe between her lips and picked up a longsword with two hands, examining it tenderly.
"Can only imagine what sort of katanas you could make with this kind of steel," she said, slightly muffled from her occupied lips. "Don't suppose you sell any of your metal? Countries aren't too keen on trading weapons material just yet, so I gotta pick the stuff out from smaller traders." She put the sword down and retrieved her pipe, letting out a long sigh filled with smoke. She turned up to Archie with a yet still neutral gaze.
"Phantom Knights are defecting now, huh?" she jested, giving a quick knock on Archie's armor with her fingers.
@Psyker Landshark @Reanimator Bob
The spectacle's onlookers quickly returned to their business when it had ended; just another scuffle between elves, even if it did involve some peculiar magic. They were lucky guards weren't anywhere to be seen. The fights that had broken out during the festival had only been fisticuff exchanges, and sometimes a stabbing; overt arcane slinging of that scale was far less tolerated. Still, it seemed the crowd wasn't going to make a fuss about it. No one was killed in the end.
"It's like watching a small child step on ants, thinking themselves mighty," said someone from the crowd, directly to Nyxia. At a mere four feet tall, the diminutive woman, or rather...
child was easily missed within the crowd that still walked around the former miniature battlefield. She looked up and towards Nyxia from the sidelines, a smug expression on her face. The child was as pale as a daylight moon and wore similarly colored clothing; witches clothing. The staff in her hand was pointed and yet gnarled, like a branch had been only partially straightened.
She approached Nyxia fearlessly, right up to her toes. She had to look straight up to see Nyxia's eyes, as her wide-brimmed hat obscured practically everything that wasn't three feet in front of her.
"That was interesting magic, though. Where did you get it?" she asks.
Meanwhile, Elara found a hand resting upon her shoulder from out of view. A dark elven man, one she was familiar with, stood at her back with a stern gaze. His eyes were cold, though knowing him, she knew it was anything but worrying; the man never smiled. Neron was a Compliesian captain, donned in black and red officers attire. His hand was held rested upon the pommel of his sword; ever the dutiful one.
"You didn't help them?" Neron asked. "Though I suppose, there are few dead here, as it should be." Even joking, he failed to ever change his frigid expression.
@CasketCase @Tyrannosaurus Rekt
The drunkard was on the verge of a decision, albeit a slow one. In his teetering posture and half-open gaze, he seemed to be contemplating something, however sluggishly. Another swig of his drink and he seemed ready, opening his mouth with a likely horrid breath escaping it.
"What're ye foolin me midget? Man's Ollasian p-pure as day. Don't know nothin' bout any churches but I know fer sure they don't take midget ears. Gimme my pouch back 'n I won't bury ye in the mud," he muttered. Fortunately for the both of them, a pair of guards arrived on the scene to dissolve the quarrel. They stood at the drunkard's side, indicating that it was time to stop.
"You've had your fun sir. No need to disrupt festivities here," one said. The drunk man ripped his shoulder from the guard's hand and practically spat, pointing towards Ohma.
"Brat stole my belongins'. He's a damn thief!" The two guards gave a look to the smallfolk and, as if coming to a mutual silent agreement, seemed suddenly more inclined to help the drunk rather than take him away.
"That true?" one of them asked of Ohma, "And who are you?" they said next to Wolfram, apparently suspicious of his being there as well. Perhaps it wasn't so fortunate they arrived.
@ERode
The smell was unquestionable. Perhaps if it weren't for the fact that food both heavenly and hellish filled the festival grounds with a myriad of scents, Vaneil might have been able to pick out the particular smell far earlier, and at a greater distance.
The smell of a fellow werefolk.
Werefolk's kind were not welcome in the festival, but it likely wasn't much of a surprise she could sense one in the area. After all, only they had the senses to smell one another. Otherwise their status was invisible to the public. Despite being made up of several tribes. the werefolk of Mecrundyr had quickly forged an alliance after Baelwill's retreat. Where once survival as mere wild animals was their focus in life, they now had the opportunity to seize power, but not on their own.
When the council of tribes refused to participate peacefully in the political talks of the festival, their whole kind was barred from entry. No surprise given how much ill-will they had for them even after offering a seat in the discussions. It seemed as if, even if they hadn't refused, things would have still gone poorly.
The smell was easily traced among the tents and people, like an invisible path that coursed through streets. The decision was up to her; there were still unknowns about the unseen werefolk, though Vaneil could reasonably make predictions. If they were walking about the festival grounds without causing a stir, then they probably weren't of the "wildman" sort that wore fur pelts and fought on all fours even in human form. Then again she couldn't be sure it was in her best interest to even seek them out, or for that matter, allow herself to be found by them as well. Did they smell her too? For the time being, they were nowhere to be seen, though the trail remained before Vaneil, clear as the sun above.