Since Laurenn has just recently arrived where the group is, she is quite clueless about what is going on. The first thing catching her attention is the seemingly unconscious Thuldrell lying on the ground. Once he wakes, she helps him get up and speaks to him, with a clear tone of concern noticeable in her voice.
"Hey, mate, what happened to you there? Did you get punched? A brawl of some sort? Are you alright?"
Laurenn then eyes Thuldrell briefly. Her assumption is that he doesn't really look beaten up, so she immediately dismisses the thought.
"Or maybe you just overdid some sort of a drink? Let me give you a tip - don't. The people who have more vicious intentions than I do would relieve you of your coin pouch, possibly also the axe. If you feel the desire or need to get smashed unconscious, do such in a company of trusted friends or at home."
"You mortals are just featherweights!" Zirahael notes and gives a point at the smaller elves with a horn; as the large Demon Huntress walks back in carrying a heavy fel-iron barrel in her arms which she plonks down on the floor with a crash!
"Besides, 'tis the season of Brewfest, and we should honor the tradition; as I brought my very own recipe!"
With a clawed finger, she rips off the iron lid off the barrel; letting a waft of green, glowing smoke billow out from the top.
"I HEREBY ANNOUNCE A DRINKING CONTEST, WHERE EVERYONE IS WELCOME!"
...
" ... except the undead! You must have a functioning stomach in order to participate in the drinking contest!"
"Besides, 'tis the season of Brewfest, and we should honor the tradition; as I brought my very own recipe!"
With a clawed finger, she rips off the iron lid off the barrel; letting a waft of green, glowing smoke billow out from the top.
"I HEREBY ANNOUNCE A DRINKING CONTEST, WHERE EVERYONE IS WELCOME!"
...
" ... except the undead! You must have a functioning stomach in order to participate in the drinking contest!"
The warlord idly knocks back a glass of smoked-whiskey, letting whatever is perceptible of the flavor to settle within his immediate senses, before offering you-know-who his most deadpan expression.
''Really? How about having a functioning face? Still, Gotta give credit where it's due... That mask is definitely an improvement over your usual, Crater-Countenance.''
Striking another cigar to flame, Roifa takes a moment to smoke. Or maybe he's just offering the Illidari a chance to offer some sort of retort that's hopefully good enough to warrant a reaction..
''Really? How about having a functioning face? Still, Gotta give credit where it's due... That mask is definitely an improvement over your usual, Crater-Countenance.''
Striking another cigar to flame, Roifa takes a moment to smoke. Or maybe he's just offering the Illidari a chance to offer some sort of retort that's hopefully good enough to warrant a reaction..
"Maybe you ought to take a page from her, Maggot-Breath," Talraea suggests, though her tone is joking rather than biting. "Seems like hiding your hideous deformities would be a favor to us all. Oh, and the undead rot stuff too." She grins lightly and resumes reading from a book titled 'Drust Curses And You.'
Talraea suddenly finds her hood flipped up onto her head, covering her tentacle like ponytail appendage! A moment later, Cathríon, with a little graceful twirl, comes into view just beside where the Ren'dorei is seated, the Blood Elf easing herself up onto the edge of the table beside her, reaching her hand over to close the tome which the Void Elf is perusing as if to officially demand all of her attention.
As Cathríon crosses her legs, allowing one of her dangling feet to bob up and down lightly, she then folds her arms and begins to speak in common, with her faintly Stromic sounding accent. "Glass houses, darling. If you want others to obscure their unsightly deformities from view, do return the common courtesy."
She then leans a little closer towards Talraea, speaking lowly in Thalassian. "You and I need to talk. I've heard rumblings that word of an Alliance campaign directed towards Quel'Thalas may be gathering ... validity. You don't want this, and I don't want this. My suggestion? You come up with valuable information in regards to this offensive which can aid me in putting a halt to their advance, say ... sabotage or something of the likes, and far less die ..."
Cathríon pinches her tabard lightly, giving it a little tug for a split second. "... on both the red side ..." she then reaches out and lightly graces Talraea's cheek with the back of her hand. "... and the blue side. Sounds like a good deal, no?"
The Blood Elf then eases herself off the edge of the table, dusting herself down in a nonchalant manner. "Do think it over ... but try not to take too long ... time is of the essence in regards to matters such as these. I'm sure you understand."
As she begins to stride off, Cathríon quips a "Remember the Sunwell ..."
As Cathríon crosses her legs, allowing one of her dangling feet to bob up and down lightly, she then folds her arms and begins to speak in common, with her faintly Stromic sounding accent. "Glass houses, darling. If you want others to obscure their unsightly deformities from view, do return the common courtesy."
She then leans a little closer towards Talraea, speaking lowly in Thalassian. "You and I need to talk. I've heard rumblings that word of an Alliance campaign directed towards Quel'Thalas may be gathering ... validity. You don't want this, and I don't want this. My suggestion? You come up with valuable information in regards to this offensive which can aid me in putting a halt to their advance, say ... sabotage or something of the likes, and far less die ..."
Cathríon pinches her tabard lightly, giving it a little tug for a split second. "... on both the red side ..." she then reaches out and lightly graces Talraea's cheek with the back of her hand. "... and the blue side. Sounds like a good deal, no?"
The Blood Elf then eases herself off the edge of the table, dusting herself down in a nonchalant manner. "Do think it over ... but try not to take too long ... time is of the essence in regards to matters such as these. I'm sure you understand."
As she begins to stride off, Cathríon quips a "Remember the Sunwell ..."
''.....you truly would be audacious enough to attempt defector recruiting right under the nose of a Kaldorei? I had heard stories about Sin'dorei foolishness but this is exceptional!'' Elyssa laughs half in exasperation and half in disbelief.
''The war is too far gone to be conservative with casualties now. Teldrassil. Lordaeron. I do wonder what new terrible weapons your Warchief will come up with next. And what collaborative silence will come from Loth'remar and his minions.'' Elyssa draws her umbra crescent and aims it at Cathríon's neck and gestures to Talrea's hood, ''As your kind often say.....do not touch those elves, or we will have problems. Neutral territory or no.''
Watching the blood elf depart, she replies with a snarl, ''Your kind do not deserve the Sunwell.''
''The war is too far gone to be conservative with casualties now. Teldrassil. Lordaeron. I do wonder what new terrible weapons your Warchief will come up with next. And what collaborative silence will come from Loth'remar and his minions.'' Elyssa draws her umbra crescent and aims it at Cathríon's neck and gestures to Talrea's hood, ''As your kind often say.....do not touch those elves, or we will have problems. Neutral territory or no.''
Watching the blood elf depart, she replies with a snarl, ''Your kind do not deserve the Sunwell.''
"I'd heard tales of Kaldorei savagery but I didn't know you were dressing like a troll, and talking like a vrykul sorts of savage. Your kind don't deserve the moral high-ground you so love."
... pay that one no mind.
''By all means, traitor. Please do mock the legacy of your predecessors by mingling with those guilty for massacring countless hundreds of your own people. This will in no way impact your expected survival time on the battlefield.''
"If you Lightforged are the "good guys" why do you look like demons and act like Scarlet Crusaders?"
''I would ask you the same question, since I read stories of a certain Prince and his fel elves who look just like you. Scarlet Crusaders.....? Is this an Inquisition reference? No such thing exists.''
SKIP ME
SKIP ME
"I've got a theory on their behaviour and what causes that, yet it's better not shared that close to the hammer one. If it's her and not just someone in a similar armor, me openly stating that near her would end up in an attempt to form a mob to burn me alive. I'll pass."
"Thus, she would merely prove my point. I am very smart, she is very dumb, and I enjoy humiliating dumb people, whilst looking gorgeous doing it."
"I'm afraid your point doesn't particularly need any further proof. I adore the robes, by the way. So the looking gorgeous part indeed seems to be true, there."
The warlord's fingers curl reflexively, face-to-face with someone among the few who's actually bested him in a one-on-one fight.
''I've got my upgrades, this time. You ballsy enough for a round two?''
''I've got my upgrades, this time. You ballsy enough for a round two?''
Tal looks up at Roifa, then back down at her coded intelligence reports. "Oh, you again. Don't have time to trade barbs today, I'm busy planning a combination infiltration and propaganda campaign to try and push Lor'themar Theron to surrender to the Alliance rather than fight when we're at the door. It'd be nice to get my people back under one banner, but I'll settle for not actively killing each other. The less Elven blood spilled, the better.
"Still here? Go snark and posture somewhere, 'warlord.' The grown-ups are busy."
"Still here? Go snark and posture somewhere, 'warlord.' The grown-ups are busy."
"The colour blue makes elves look like hussies who sully their bloodlines with humans. I'll pass girlfriend."
"Now now, there's no need to drop down to her level. Afterall, There's a certain class in not having to say that which is already understood by most."
The Warlord pockets both of his hands, studying Salarya curiously.
"Assuming you've an appetite for a good chat, care to grab a drink and catch up? Not that I know you, but you gotta start somewhere.."
The Warlord pockets both of his hands, studying Salarya curiously.
"Assuming you've an appetite for a good chat, care to grab a drink and catch up? Not that I know you, but you gotta start somewhere.."
"I suppose there is little harm in it, I do have my sympathies for the forsaken plight. I'm sure we'll have some fantastic, constructive conversation. Do you have a fondness for music or archery, or dance?"
[SKIP ME]
[SKIP ME]
The noblewoman joins in as she hears the undead's words about drinking and Salarya's aswell.
"Music and dance? I happen to be quite the interest in both of those and can say I am practitioner of both. A drink between the three of us sounds pleasant."
"Music and dance? I happen to be quite the interest in both of those and can say I am practitioner of both. A drink between the three of us sounds pleasant."