Shalim turns himself on Thyrellas and roars with all demonic force at him. He gains all the attention in the inn.
“Now listen, you spoiled “highborne” princess”
he puts emphasis on the word highborne
“If you offend any Kaldorei again, you will be the one, that will need hugging.”
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Lytherael’s attention is caught, as is the rest of the inn’s. He slowly stands up from his chair and goes to put himself between his fellow demon hunter and the nightborne, holding out a hand, palm facing forward, for the former.
“Enough, glaive-brother. Do not let mere words anger you, or you’ll sink down to the level of those who you are angered by. Control yourself and cease making threats so blatantly out in the open. It serves no one.”
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She smiles to the others in the inn
"Observe the difference between a once Quel’dorei, - descendant of noble blood - Sin’dorei Demon Hunter… and a lowborn Kaldorei. You can clearly see one is in total controll of himself, while the other is… well…
Thyrellas shurgs and sips from her glass
"Thank you darling for restraing him… maybe you should send him back to a traning camp where he could learn discipline and self-controll… traits you clearly posess, but he lacks. As you said, I merely used words, nothing more. On the battlefield this weakness could be his undoing! Consider it a free lesson my dear…
She smiles to Shalim innocently
“…from a Highborn”
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“You speak of battle, but have you ever been in any? Or have you been hiding in your shiny city siding with Legion, to save your precious noble life?”
Shalim frowns
“Now people, here sits coward and traitor. Who has no control over his morale principles.”
Quite annoyed at the two elves constant bickering. and how its bringing the mood of the inn down. Erah slams his hand into the wooden table. gaining the elves’ attention.
“Calm down you two, there’s no point in continuing a nonsense argument, unless…
you and purpie here, want a fight? if not, then shut up both of you. let the rest of us enjoy ourselves without listening to your prattling. if not, get out!”
" have to admit is something admirable about the strong aura that you carry"
“Dear, please… that an Orc… with a dead wolf on its head. A moldy Talbuk cheese carries more aura than him!”
She frowns a bit
“But I must admit, he is more or less right. Shalim dear, sit down… you are better than her, don’t take the bait! Or get a room you two, there is clearly some tension between you guys”
Zymara smiles
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Just my personality i guss, how I see othersI thought good things would come out of it, but what do I know…anyway anyone here who will join a round of card games?
Rush looks dismayed, even dropping his meat back onto the plate.
“Card games? What ever happened to the rap battle those two elves were supposed to have?”
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“I can’t belive I’m doing this… but I supose, its time to teach the Lowborn a lesson!”
She rubs the bridge of her nose with mild anoyance
“Provide some music, Troll!”
Thyrellas sips some wine then starts to sing to Shalim
"You know, in this relationship
You know it’s time for me to say how it is
I hope it’s alright with you to refer to me
From now on as “Your Majesty”
You say you like my cape and crown
So I might let you hang around
Just bow your head, get on your knees
It’s good, good to be queen
If you obey my every need
You know, maybe one day you could be king
But don’t think that it’s guaranteed
It’s not clear to me that you’re fit for royalty
Say “Your Highness,” kiss my ring
Pay your dear respect to me
Worship me up on my throne
Or you’ll find yourself alone
You say you like my cape and crown
So I might let you hang around
Just bow your head, get on your knees
It’s good, good to be queen
Good to be, good to be Queen
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Rush rashly grabs a stool which someone was sitting on and begins tapping on it like a drum. Once Thyrellas actually starts to sing, though, he almost loses the rhythm in awe.
“Supa hot fire!” he gasps when she reaches the line demanding that @Shalim kisses her ring.
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Shalim refuses to bow. Instead he steps forward and sings his own song.
“You, the one I will not forget,
I am not done with you yet
I will never bow before your highness,
who thinks himself better than other elves”
He starts to dance
"It is not fair to use warglaive or gun,
on such a coward just for fun.
Now it is good time to run
Before I…"
He pauses. Trying to find the correct words. As he tries to obey Lytherael’s request.
“Before I drink too much rum”
He glances at inkeeper
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Alystiel stares at the scene. She brings a hand to her forehead.
“Neither song is a hymn, nor an epic. No story is to be told, but interpersonal statements take the stead of mythology and legend. I would set an example, but the works of poetry I adore take three nights to sing.
The song of my heart may perhaps do, but it is ill fit for this place. None the less, I shall stand for Kaldorei tradition and share the song of our loss, that it may be an end to this bardic warbling. The words last sung, in the temple where I trained. The words first sung upon the docks where I lost all.”
Alystiel takes a deep breath, and stands straight. She takes upon a mournful tone, and begins.
"The tree has fire for leaves, and skeletons for branches
And its roots feed only upon the ashes of the dead.
The winds that sigh through it now are the cries of the dying
And this son,
This lament
For horrors unspeakable,
For cruelty unimaginable,
For this life and the beauty and the grace that once were
And shall never be again.
By the Moon’s glow, listen,
Besides the river, listen,
Holding those you love, listen,
To the cries of the dying,
To the whisper of the wind, over the silent dead,
To the song my broken heart will ever sing,
Of the story of the Tree of the World,
And all the dreams that it once cradled,
In its mighty boughs."
Alystiel bows, and returns to utter silence.
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The paladin listens, uncharacteristically solemn, as his earlier wish is fulfilled, though in a manner different then he expected. Once the song ends, he bows to the elf once more, banging a fist against his chest-piece.
“We will endure, and the corpse will pay for what she did to both of our peoples. By Liam’s grave, it must be so.”
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Dimisra sits with her whiskey glass looking at the elves with raised eyebrows.
“Well that was interesting.”
She takes a sip from her glass and looks at the human and nods
“I didn’t know this Liam guy but I’m up for killing banshees and whatnot any day.”
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“Well, Gilneans aren’t geese, they have songs of their own.” - Tanmayne sat behind a pillar, but came up to listen the singing contest. - “And as my friends said before, we’re going to get the Bland Queen one day.”
Reluctant to wait for any comment, he gnarls a bit to warm up and begins to sing with a feral bass:
Far over the Gilnean Wall of old,
Lay old redoubts and bodies cold.
We must return 'till hatred burns,
T’avenge prince Liam, so young and bold.
Then the worgen coughs as untrained but enthusiastic singer would and looks at the dwarven beauty.
“I improvised some lyrics on the classic bit from your people’s repertoire. How about you’ll let me taste that beautifully-smelling Gilnean speciality?”
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Silalinda scrambled up from the floor again, having landed there when Ralrush stole the stool she’d been sitting on to use as a drum. She stands, reclaiming her own cup of sweet-smelling tea. “Earl Greymane is decent and all, but nothing beats a nice, fruity, Silvermoon tea.”
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“Thank you! I keep saying that, but Gilneans just turn their noses up at me. ‘Too much flavor’ or something. Like it’s only tea if it’s unconscionably bitter.” Talraea pulls over a pair of chairs, slides one towards Silalinda, and sits down on the other. “Honestly, I prefer juice, but after this long away, I’d kill for some Thalassian tea.”
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“What can I say? We are a bitter people.”
The paladin winks in a manner quite contrary to the statement.
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Ral’rush finishes chair-drumming to the songs of Shalim, Alystiel, and the worgen-form Gilnean, not realizing how he’d unseated Silalinda in his enthusiasm. He misreads the human-form Gilnean’s wink when he finishes.
“For the record, I was against the invasion of your country,” Rush whispers to Araphant, as if his individual opinion somehow changes what happened. “I’d rather have had your lot join us than the bonebags.”
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