An elf in ceremonial robes waved at the dryad and asked for her name with the sweetest of voices.
A dwarf with braids outright slipped off his chair trying to see Synchra's transformation up close. "Too much booze," he cursed on the ground.
Then he slapped himself. "There's no such thing."
Two elven guards were whispering furiously about the seed-born child.
A dwarf smith, master of his trade and respected by all his peers enough to grant him a seat at this table as an advisor, shouted something about "runes" and "living flame armor." His voice cracked as if he turned from a nearly thousand-year-old master into a teenage apprentice.
Quinlan watched all of it with an amused glint in his eyes.
"Looks like someone cares," he murmured.
Scar's eyes shone with a smug blue light.
Ito folded his arms before his spear.
Nozomi hid a smirk behind her sleeve, elegant as always.
