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Feanaro rolled the dark orb between his fingers, gazing at its perfect sphericle surface that seemed to reflect no light. It was as though a patch of perfect circular darkness jumped from hand to hand at every toss the Elf made. Its surface was as smooth as it looked, perfectly polished and cold to the touch. Although it was smooth, its surface wasn't slick and holding it wasn't a problem. At times, however, he felt a strange aura from it, whisperings like those in the dreams. If he looked at the ball from the corner of his eye it seemed less like a dark orb and more like a hole into somewhere or something else.
The tavern was as loud as a Darkshire tavern ever got. Even in revelry its patrons and residents always kept an ear on the night, an eye on the doors and windows. It wasn't unheard of for creatures to creep into town, slaughtering the unwary, or to wear the guise of the living only to entrap and slay them later. Those that were killed were often the lucky ones, those who were taken were sometimes heard. Their voices pitched in a scream echoed through the dark, twisted trees and occasional laughter that had nothing to do with joy merged with the sounds of the night.
The tavern itself was built of lighter wood than the surrounding trees, built during the time of Darkshires prosperous age, when the forest was still bright and dear or rabbits still leapt from tree to tree. Here and there patches of the dark purple wood from the now twisted trees around the town replaced the lighter wood where holes and general wear and tear had caused gaps to appear. It lent the tavern an almost deseased, pok marked look, as though the foulness from Duskwood was creeping into the very homes of Darkshire.
The tables were made from the same lighter wood, brought in from Stormwind or the townships further north. Little from the forest was willingly kept in a home, much less used on a daily basis. A solitary barmaid bent her way around tables and chairs, a tray laden with drinks in her hand. Her fiery red hair was croped short and her face, flushed from the heat of the fireplace and the work to a color almost matching her hair, was smiling the smile of all waitresses. Fixed, pleasant but unfeeling. Feanaro knew that she was a pleasant woman, yet her losses often left her short tempered with patrons.
The barkeeper himself was a Gnome who stood beside the bar, another waitress doing the actual serving of the drinks. Wrinkled with age and with a nose large for even a Gnome, he puffed on a pipe that stank of merchweed, a type of grass found on the shores of The Darkned Bank. Its brownish smoke curled up into the rafters, mixing with the other smokes from the pipes and cigars of the other patrons. He wore a scoul, among his simple tavern clothes. Dark shirt and leather trousers with a long, razor edged dagger that shone a dull blue. His eyes were almost black and darted over the entire tavern, all knew of his eagle eyed gaze. Few attempted theft in the Twisted Nag.
Feanaro sat and waited, his mind on matters besides the one here. He waited for whatever help would arrive.
It had been nearly two years since they had seen each other. Faenaro was his first real friend. 'Well, him and that overly hungry worg!' he thought to himself happily as he crunched through the leaves that had fallen along the gloomy path atop the back of his Mechanostrider.
The odd plainstrider-looking machine totted along, whizzing, popping and periodically hissing. Oscald's experienced hands guided the control levers sending the contraption left or right as needed. From this vantage point the gnome could see the Inn and tavern at the end of the road. He looked above through the trees and murky fog at the sun. By his best estimation there were still an hour or two before sundown but 'Times does fly by so fast these days. Hey that's it! A flying time machine! I can-' he decided (among many thoughts that race through a gnomish mind) to pack his strider up before entering. Reaching into it's heart he pulled forth a glowing gear made of gold, just slightly larger than his closed fist. He said a word over it and the rest of the strider seemingly "merged" into the gear and he placed it into his pack.
He brushed the road dust off of his bright red and yellow robes and tugged the front door open.
As dark as it seemed outside he realized this place was much darker. So dark in fact that he couldn't see virtually anything. He looked right, then left and only to his left could he see the slight colors of a fire burning. He reached up to scratch the back of his head and think on this a moment. As he ran his fingers up the back of his head they encountered two thick leather thongs.
"Of course!" he excalimed to all those nearby, as he removed the shadow goggles from his eyes. The room blazed in brightly. He began looking around other patrons at waist hieght to see if Faenaro had made it already. Insticntively he looked along the benches closest to the corners and walls before his eyes rested on the hunter.
A rather large and heartfelt smile came to the gnomes face. He had so much to tell his friend about the magics inside of him and what new school of study he was on, 'not to mention all the bombs, grenades, explosivities and other blastissimo stuff I can work!' he finished the thought. He walked rapidly over to the elf who was quite absorbed in a smooth black circular object he was rolling back and forth. As he moved closer, he heard the familiar growl the seems to accompany the hunter at all times.
"Hail there friends!" Oscald called from a safe twelve foot distance. He raised his right hand in greeting and pulled two long strips of dried meat from his pouch with his left hand. He knew all to well not to let a Alpha worg go hungry.
It was late afternoon, when a tall, cloaked figure poked his head in. The door crackled, and a creature - no one could tell who, or what he was - stepped in.
the continous, peaceful murmuring, that filled the room, suddenly ceased in a moment, and almost all the people raised their heads up: Many began to shiver with fear, if the Undead Riders have returned. In fact, it was only the wind, that could have made them shiver more: the door stayed open, and cold, harsh winds blew throw it..
The guard, who was standing beside the door, immediately pulled his sword out of its sheath, and held it directly towards the head of the cloaked figure. This sudden move made him stop. "Whoever you are,show yourself"!! But as he finished the short command, the figure immediately removed the cloak off his head, revealing a handsome, high elven face. Yet, still, some uneasiness remained in the air, and the guard still held his blade high: "Who are you?" not even the short, and harsh command, underlined with the weapon, made the young elf tremble. He just responded in a likewise manner: "I am just thirsty, let me in!! If you wish to know anyway, I am from Stormwind, just ask the locals about the architect named Goodwright!!!"
The short, strict, and confident answer has just disarmed the guard. With his rather short mind, he would not interfere with others' business... in the end, it might be HE who would come out as a looser, and would not only loose his rank, but everyone in the army would laugh at him....
So the tall, elven figure has stepped inside, meanwhile all the other folks just continued the talks, and the inn returned to its usual peace and calm. There was, still, some unexplainable uneasiness, that came straightly "from the air" of the figure.. It might be difficult to explain, but people ...turned away from him, as he was passing by them...
Searching for a table free to occupy, or at least a single free spot, he came to one, with a Night Elven figure sitting, playing with some trinklet... He hesitated a moment, but finally decided to take the only one free place that was offered, facing him eye-to eye, yet still lowering his head, for something noone could have explained...
Feanaro heard his Worg, his oldest companion since he had left Darnassus all those years ago, growl a gentle warning. He was used to the Worgs uneasyness among others, especially taverns since the events of several years back had left the creature injured.
The growls quickly turned to a barked greeting, causing several heads to turn in alarm at the Worgs sudden outburst. Most turned back however, Grythic the Worg had made a reputation for itself a number of days ago when a creature that was neither human nor beast had attacked on the outskirts. Its limbs ending in fierce claws and its almost human face screaming inhumanly at the defenders, Grythic had torn between the guards and lept at the creature. It had taken a few moments, and some well placed arrows from Feanaro's bow, to bring it down.
Feanaro, curious to see who could illicit an almost pleasant reaction from Grythic, looked up to see grey hair bobbing between several chairs and several strips of dried meat land by the Worgs snout. It wolfed them down in moments and then sat, mouth open and tongue lolling, gazing at the charitable Gnome, Oscald.
Feanaro smiled openly, a rare sight on the Elf, and rose from his chair in a deep bow.
"Welcome, Oscald. It has been some time but it seems we've yet to fully part ways. What brings you here?" Feanaro said, his voice as calm and quite as it ever was. Only the small and bright glint of the Elf's eyes showed any real happiness at seeing the Gnome.
"Oh, mutterings and gazumpheringtings and such from bars and drinking establishmeblents. I'v got all manner of contrictions for hearing out rumors, and my Rumor-zortanator happened to pick out yours." The Gnome said happily, his voice as rushed and enthusiastic as always. "Oh and I bring my own greetings and new ruminations"
"Then sit and lets speak, little Gnome. Hah, I see Grythic remembers you well" Feanaro commented as the Gnome fed a couple more strips to the hungry Worg. The Gnome patted the Worg on the head happily, perhaps one of the few who had done so without losing a finger in the process.
It was then that another drifted in from the murky afternoon outside the door. The guard challanged the heavily cloaked figure, but after some brisk words the guard stood aside gingerly, his face showing his irritation at being bested.
The newcomer radiated a sense of unease that spread even to Feanaro and the previously happy Grythic. It turned and growled deeply at the High Elf as he approached, yet the elf paid it no heed, sitting down opposit Feanaro regardless. Something about the High Elf was recognisable to Feanaro, but he paid little attention to the hero's or storys of the day. It was descriptions in passing only.
"You are welcome to this table, brother" Feanaro said softly, his voice showing a hint of distrust "I assume you have come to lend your services?"
Name: (Okey il steal my old) Tallian Swift
Race: Human
Age: 30
Class: Wizard: Wizards are very different from the common or ordinary mage, rare in numbers as only a few is born with the wizard mark, yes mark, wizards are born with a flame mark in their hands and as I said only a few is and has been born with those marks the past 10ī000 years.
As magic users they are powerfull, they wield common magics bit in addition they have a unique spell repetoar which only wizards can learn and use.
But of course there is a hatch, Wizards as they are few in numbers and can only learn from other wizards have a hard time as students, finding and convince another wizard to train you is both hard and time consuming...
Description: Hesīs tall, blue eyed, with a small purple spot on his left eye iris, black hair that streches down to his shoulders, he owns a body in good shape thanks to alot of traveling, mostly on foot.
He is a handsome looking man in all, not stunningly beautiful but far from ugly.
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The wind had died away as the rain diminished, but gray clouds still hid the sun. The outskirts of redridge had always had a beautifull nature to show lone wanderers, but the place Tallian now was heading for had nothing beautfull to show anyone. Dark clouds soaring across the sky, a thick fog you could almost walk on covered the dim forests and murky places in Duskwood.
Tallian had been on foot for almost two weeks and he felt tired, wet, hungry and awfully tired. It was still a days walk to the town of Darkshire but if he didnt stop on the way to sleep, and ate while walking he would probably reach the town in shorter time.
But then, He thought, he had no guarantees that he would be welcomed or even allowed to enter, he was a wizard after all, noone had was found of wizards, most people disliked them to the brink of hatred, why he did not know but thats just how it was. Tallian entered Duskwood haveing unpleasant thoughts.
Hours later, how many he did not know, could have been three or maybe a thousand, the fog was even thivker then he thought was possible and the air was dampen, his clothes had soaked moist from the air since he entered this forsaken and dreadfull lands, and now he started to shiver.
But he had reached his destination, Darkshire lay just ahead only a few hundred yards away, streetlights fought the ever growing fog and dimness that was the natural conditions in this place, most doors and windows were shut, "of course, he thought "the shadow hides many horrors.
As the hour was late noone but the nightwatch who was patrolling constantly
could be seen outside, some of them gave him a glance or even a friendly nod. "maybe this place has been cleansed from all the hatred against wizards,
no, probably not they did not know what he was, noone did until he showed them his hands, but that he would not do in the first place, Tallians thoughts were still dark when he walked along the main street in his search for an inn..
The Twisted Nag: Tallian had at last found a place were he could rest, "a funny name though, the twisted nag, he thought. Before entering he tried to brush some of the water of his cape and robe, but to no wail as it was all soaked in by now, "Bloody place!.
As he stepped inside the lights, shining like the sun compared to what was outside, brought him to an unsteady halt as his eyes tried to get used to it.
The inn was crowded of course noone wanted to stay outside and where could you find some amusement if not here.
The tables was almost full all of them, but in a dark corner he could make out one that was empty. Tallian chuckled quietly, "who would want to sit in a dark place as it was outside when you could sit with friend by the LIGHT and have a good time. But it suited Tallian just perfect, after getting some food and something to refresh himself with he slowly made his way across the room to that dark corner. "at last, he thought when settle himself on the chair "at last I can relax and forget this forgotten land, atleast untill the morning..
Just as the wanderer took his place, it almost turned out to be a bad descision:
From only the corner of his eyes, as if looking through just a narrow slit, he measured the others around, especially the one straight before him... There sat the Elf, who seemed a surely enough a Sentinel from Ashenvale, beside him, a Gnome.. looked like a Tinker, with machines and small trinklets forming his whole equipment...
The Night Elf was not alone as previously seemed... A big pair of eyes, and a hungry mouth full of razor-sharp teeth warned the newcomer, that " A bad move, and I'm dust!"- as he thought in his mind. To make the situation worse, the Gnome beside him made a small turn of his head towards the Hunter, suggesting, that they are friends. However, a proud Blood Elf is not the kind of creature, that would show any sign of fear, even is such danger. He lowered his head even more, nearing the position one takes when drunk, and was about to order a drink... When the figure just before started talking, taking him fully by surprise:
"You are welcome to this table, brother!! I assume you have come to lend your services?"
He was aware of the distrust, but being more accustomed to it, than one could have imagined, immediately formed an appropriate answer:
" Brother?" - This was spine-chilling to hear, sounded like Ilidan's voice when talking to Furion - "Well, not many call me like that anymore!!!" -his voice softened after the previous word, to almost resentful - " What is exactly that you want me to do" -that sounded more like a mercenary offer, and the newcomer knew by the last one, that the beings around are actually no officers of the Alliance - they are distrustful enough to check the identity of their mercenaries first, before hiring... A great relief for the young elven fellow, but in this moment he made a mistake he would never allow himself: He raised his head a bit, to better face the Night Elf, and it became apparent, that his eyes are faintly, but recognizably glowing with an eerie greenish light...
The mosquito buzzed around the carcass of a rabit. It search and sifted through fur to find some small amount of warm blood. It's actions an instinct, a necessity. It searched for some food to turn into energy for larvae. It's young. Soon they would be mighty in their own right. Vampiric insectisoids covered in small armored plates, injecting a numbing toxin before dining so that their victims don't feel their lifeblood slipping away before the mosquito has had it's fill.
Finding no repost on the remnants of the critter it buzzes away to find a new meal. Flying around branches still shriveled from the turn in seasons and leaves darkening with death it weaves a path so intricate, so deadly. It looked out at the world through multi-faceted eyes and viewed it as a feeding grounds. It buzzed over a large stripe in the layout of the land which winds through the gloomy woods. It descended to the surface briefly to feel out it's intentions. The earth below it's tiny legs responded by yeilding a damp almost cold sensation. It appeared to the insect that it's intention was just to be there. Scanning the ground again it hoisted itself back into the air, wings pumping heavily, small gusts powering it upwards creating the song of the reassuring hum the mosquito had sung all it's life.
Almost by sense rather than sight it felt warmth approaching. It flew higher to investigate the source of the temperture shift. A squat creature walked brskly towards it. From it's lower mandible hung a mass of fur wrapped tight in a nest. It's own armor plates were soft and inviting, dark grey the color of slate. Where it's antennae should be there was nothing but smooth skin, marked by some sort of discoloration. It trod heavily and even the mosquito could feel the stable air around it shifting with the force of the creatures approach. It flew higher and looked for a suitable approach. Wings beat hastily as the mosquito had to renew its efforts to keep up with the brisk stride of the creature. While it's hunger was nearly overpowering, so was it's patience forged of nature. It followed along waiting for the right time and place to dine.
The creature kept up this brisk pace until it reached a den of some sort constructed of wood and stone. The mosquito landed on the soft armor of the creature near it's neckline and waitied. The creature removed a wooden plank at the front of the den and walked inside. The inside of this den was full of other creatures. The mosquito knew it had to move fast. Taking again to the air it hovered above the creatures head for a moment before landing as light as a feather atop the glistening skin. It was rewarded with warm supple flesh, and it knew the blood from this one would soon fill it's belly.
As the stout beast was restoring the wood plank to the entrance of the den, it sunk it's wicked piercer deep into the oily damp skin. A dark flow of blood was soon occupying it's hollow needle. It was so enraptured in the feast that it never saw it's end coming.
*SLAP*
"Curses." Dedrin mumbled as he brought his hand down in front of his face. He flicked the carcass from his palm with his forefinger. He then rubbed massive, scarred hands together and peered about The Twised Nag Inn.
Full of all sorts of patrons, they seldom paid attention to the new one in their midst. The aromas of various weeds and tobaccos intermingled with sweat, iron, stew and spilled ale filled his nostrils immediately. He wrinkled his nose as he moved further in. Moving towards the bartop he saw the gnome proprietor and raised his hand to gesture him over. The gnome let out his latest pipe-pull in a large puff of greyish smoke and with a look of annoyance walked towards the dwarf. He stood there and looked expectantly towards the patron a raised a bushy eyebrow.
"Innkeep." Dedrin said in a thick accent, "The bards spoke o' a place where a man might make a few coins?" he jousled the prayer beads hanging from his belt, the iron striking iron to resemble a jingling sound, as if to emphasize the word coins.
"Ya, you might. There's a hunter there" he raised his small arm and pointed at the elf without so much as looking "who wishes some company for a journey. Although I doubt he needs someone to cover him with prayers and blessings." the gnome said with a smirk, a verbal rebuttal to the prayer beads.
Dedrin raised his iron prayer beads in his workworn right hand and cleched his fist tightly around them, eye level to the gnome.
"That be good. I ain't that kinda' priest." Dedrin retorted as he eyed the gnome intently. He shook the beads once again, knuckles white with the pressure before hanging them back on his belt.
"A tankard, if you please." While it was a polite request, nothing in the tone of the words suggested pleasantry and the gnome grinned and gestured to a serving maid. She looked as if to question him and he pointed at a cask. She nodded once and a moment later produces a large frothy tankard.
The dwarf took up the tankard easily in his large hand and laid a few silver coins on the wooden counter with a clank. His hand was hardly off of them before the deft fingers of the gnome picked them up easily and weighed them.
"Profitable journey to you dwarf." the inkeep said.
"Better be." the dwarf replied as he swung his wide shoulders around and began to move through the throng of people to the elfs table. He took a quick count of the table. A light elf, a dark elf, another gnome and assuredly an unseen animal companion. The eyelid around his scar twitched once before he pulled a long draught from his tankard. He sighed after he felt the cool liquid slide down his throat easily. The road dust washed down, it was time to handle a bit o' business.
He didn't see an open seat at the table so he drug over an adjacent bench and sat on the open side between the light elf and dark elf.
"Dedrin Oncelight." he stated as an informal introduction. "I heard there was some work to'be hed fer' a holy man?" he began laughing a deep raspy laugh and kept laughing until his face was red and flushed. Obviously he found humor in his question.
Feanaro saw the green tinge to the other Elf's eyes, a glow not unlike the fiery cast of a Night Elf, though emerald in color. Although he had never seen it on an Elf of his kind before, he dismissed it. He had put out the call for any willing to answer, he was not the kind to be picky with his companions as long as their blades were with him, not against him.
As ever, Grythic kept his eyes locked on the Elf, his deep growl low but threatening. Often Feanaro left watching his back to his companion Worg, the great beast as protective of Feanaro as a pack mother of her litter. He would remember to watch those who came closely, however, as the nature of the mercenary was of an ever changing loyalty.
He looked the Elf straight in his strange eyes when he spoke, Feanaro broke his gaze with no creature. Often his pride was a match for Grythics, the one bolstering the other even in the direst circumstances. Of course a hint of competition ran between the Elf and Beast also, the two often seeking to outdo eachother in ferocity.
"Explanations will have to wait for a moment, brother. I await others to our table this eve. All answers shall be had by sundown." Feanaro stated, his tone one of finality.
Oscald snorted and looked through the window. "As though you could tell the difference in a repulsimable place such as this. Reminds me of the time the great garfilibuster Thunderclap shoved me in that fish barrel, which led me to discover the ilfimortaphenes present in rotting fish. Of course that led me to the procrastinator-matic that..." the Gnome gabbled, interrupted by a raised hand from Feanaro. "Heh, but another time" he finished, a lopsided grin on his face.
The next to join them was a Dwarf, garbed in plane robes and carrying a scar by his eye. He had a grizzled look to him, as though the years of travel and misadventure had all left a mark upon him, creating the roadworn traveler before them. The Worg beneath the table growled anew, drawing the Dwarf's eyes to it. As ever, Grythic let his prescense known.
The Dwarf pulled over a bench and sat without a word, grinning to the gathered at the table as he did so dropping his tankard down on the table, frothy ale sloping over the side. Feanaro noticed the metalic prayer beads in the Dwarf's hand, even though the Dwarf radiated an attitude unlike most priests. The Elf turned his thoughts elsewhere, however. He knew how this world could change a person.
"Dedrin Oncelight." The Dwarf stated, his large grin ever prescent "I heard there was some work to'be hed fer' a holy man?"
The laught that followed his words was taken up only by the Gnome, who seemed to cackle for the Dwarf's benefit alone. His laughter quickly died down when he realised that the groups eyes were on him, and he blushed at the sudden attention.
"Jus' thought it was funny... you know... with the..." He muttered, looking away.
Dedrin turned to Feanaro, ignoring the Gnomes unease. "So ye' hav' a job as needs doin' aye? Wha's the details then?" He said, his accent thick.
Feanaro was sure he recognised the dialect, yet was unable to place it. Still, it mattered little. He needed blade and muscle only, their origins were none of his concern. In Duskwood it was ill advised to go wondering alone and even Feanaro, confident of his abilities, was unwilling to needlessly risk himself if unrequired.
"As I said to our other guest here" He said "I await sundown before I continue. We will be leaving at dawn tomorrow shortly after."
"As I said to our other guest here" He said "I await sundown before I continue. We will be leaving at dawn tomorrow shortly after."
The Dwarf snorted and knocked back his tankard. He set the wooden mini-vat down on the table with an audible thump.
"Well then, at' settles it." having made up his mind Dedrin stood back up forcing the bench back, its support legs scraping roughly against the wooden floor planks.
"Ano'er ale it is. Ah'll drink et to our venture." he said with the faint hint of a grin. His face was chisled as stone and seldom used to humor. The result of his grin seemed more of a sneer of contempt than a genuine smile. In fact it was neither. Dedrin realized he had a rough appearance and didn't want to reveal to his new "company" the darkness within. His own struggle with faith, and shadows (doubts he called them) that consumed his being. He masked it behind the mask of humanity.
He picked up his empty vessel and carried it back with him towards the bar, working his way through the crowded main hall.
The gnomes mind was spinning wildy around in circles as it was prone to do.
'Whatever could Fean have gotten himself into this time? Did he need the help of such weird and uniquetted people? Was it an adventure of magnaminmammoth purportions?? I love adventure! Nothing is so right as a gnome in the midst of history in creation! A mighty gnome as .. well ..' His crooked grin returned as he thought 'ME! Gnomicus Masterus!!'
As his thoughts concluded he felt a jarring to his left side and was slid over at least 4 inches along the rough wooden plank he was poised upon. It caught him off guard and he splayed both arms out to the side to brace himself for a fall and regain his balance.
"Whoa!" he squeaked as his arms settled and he realized he wasn't falling. He looked down to see the mammoth furclad neck of Grythic the Worg ending in it's ever sniffing snout trying to hunt down the source of the meat strips. He sniffled in again, harder this time sending the gnome sliding nother three inches!
"Ok, beast, ok, I yield! I yield!" he started giggling as he delved into the pouch to retrieve the rest of the dried boar he retained. The worg made little pretense at enjoying the meal. Instead he made short work of it with finger length fangs. He patted the animals head again and looking at it had a idea and then his mind went off again at lightning speed.
'If I had a device large enough to surroundifidus the neck and chest of Grythic I could ride him! Wouldn't that be magnificentality?!? A gnome of war astride a mightened worg? Oooohh! Can you imagine the panic in the eyes of abominalitions and undead denizendoids everywhere? A-' the thoughts continued as he waited for the declaration of what purpose they all had in this buisiness of Feanaro's.
Elythriande Aryalinn *****************
As Elythriande faced the Night Elf, something went wrong: he felt the sudden pull of the magic of some sort, but to immense proportins... That has almost succeded in breaking his concentration. Had he abandoned his struggle, even for a second, it would have become chrystal-clear to everyone around, that the newcomer is actually one of the most passionately hated enemies of the Night Elves, and the most despised ones by Humanity. For it is a signature like the fangs of the Orcs...
That's it: the onnly reason why High Elven eyes don't glow is that they are fully bereft of all connection to the True Powers of Arcane... Those who ever tried to satisfy the unquenchable thirst for arcane by some sinister means, have received a trait unignorable: the green glow of eyes.
The young Blood Elf lowered his head in an instant, he realized, his concentration was broken. But, in a few seconds, he straightened his upper body, revealing a pure-blue eye again. It was then, when a second untrustworthy mercenary poked his head in: It was a dwarf, not denying his drunkard nature: his first route led him to the bar, for some ale.. Elythriande knew that the dwarves are actually as passionate about drinking, like the Blood Elves are about magic...
He went straight to the Night Elf, immediately asking about the job, while the Gnome was feeding the Worg: "One less thing to worry about"- Elythriande thought. But the Elf din't tell the Dwarf any details as well. His figure was more amusing, than serius, but made the young Blood Elf further concerns...
It was clear-enough now that some dark business is on the way. Therefore Elythriande turned his head to the Night Elven "brother", leaned closer, and whispered silently into the air, just loud enough to hear by everyone at the table:
"Let's make it clear: I Don't want to get involved in Defias business... If it's about 'takin' care o' some man', or stuff, count me out!!! I'm a warrior, not a thief!!"
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