Mazerine squinted as she looked up towards the sky, halfway shielding her eyes from the blinding sun.  From its position, she could see that it was near midday.  She found herself mildly surprised at how swiftly the morning had passed.  Apparently, the monotonous task of copying field notes into ledgers passed time much more quickly than she had originally assumed.  As she was only a junior ambassador, then head ambassador of the embassy always had her doing his busy work.  He had horribly shoddy handwriting, and the archivists requested that all of his journals and notes be rewritten in more legible print.  She had not volunteered for such a task, but she supposed there were much worse things she could be made to do.  The elders seemed to trust her a bit more after she accepted the task of rewriting the journals without protest.  She had been awaiting the day when she would be appointed to field work, and knew that complaining about mundane jobs was not a way to put herself in the good graces of the elders. 

–

Mazerine had been called to council with the elders at the embassy.  Apparently, they had been in discussions with a Highlander by the name of Domnall who led a company stationed not far outside of Adeluna.  At first, Mazerine had nearly choked on her wine during the council.  She found herself wondering why the elders would want to cohort with humans, when humans were the reason that the elves no longer had a large hold on the world… but she knew better than to question their motives directly, considering she was attempting to keep stay in their favor.  Instead, she listened carefully - it seemed that the intent was to create a symbiotic relationship with the company.  Elves prided themselves on being well-to-do and above the likes of human roguishness, though some situations called for such behavior.  The embassy would be able to call on the company to take care of such matters, and in turn the elves would reward them with coin as well as attempt to shed a positive light on the reputation of the Highlander company.

She had fought tooth and nail not to roll her eyes at Eramriel, the high ambassador, during the council meeting.  She held him in high esteem, as he had single handedly chosen her from a large pool of candidates on a trip to Endapano to accompany him back to the embassy in Adeluna.  She had jumped on the chance.  Though she felt the same elven prejudice towards humans that most did, she still wanted to experience their world, and becoming a junior ambassador had seemed like the best way to do so.

The high ambassador had spent the next few hours explaining some history of the company to the rest of the council, recalling events that had taken place during the ‘Godslayer War,’ as it was so often referred to.  Apparently the company had been quite successful during the campaign, and that was what made Eramriel want to involve them in the affairs of the embassy.  He gave several examples of events that had taken place in which such a partnership would have been beneficial.  The other ambassadors all nodded in agreement, murmuring words of acceptance at Eramriel’s words.  

Mazerine did her part as well, joining the ambassadors in their approval.  She was unsure of how she felt about the situation as a whole, but again she was not going to question the actions of the elders - though her mind nearly changed when Eramriel spoke her name.  “Mazerine, you will meet with Domnall to discuss terms,” he said, his voice authoritative and brief.  She froze, and stared at him with wide eyes.  That had been the last thing she expected to hear from him, and she was unsure how to respond.

“I… um, what?” she responded.  She had not been expecting that.  To her chagrin, the others around the council chamber reacted quite negatively - some chuckled quietly, some shook their heads in disdain.  “Me?” she asked again, her face reddening with embarrassment.  Eramriel raised a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes, before speaking to her once more.

“Yes, you, Mazerine,” he said, his voice carrying the same brusque tone as before.  “The encampment isn’t far outside the city walls, and you will have trouble going there.  When you arrive, you will simply introduce yourself as an ambassador from the embassy for the Kingdom of Endopano, and explain your business.”  She stared at him once more, and found herself nodding in understanding, though she could not help but wonder why he had chosen her over all of the more experienced ambassadors.  Looking around the chamber, the answer to her own question dawned on her.  The majority of the other ambassadors were male, and those who were female were onwards in their years, having surpassed the mark of five hundred, while Mazerine was young, having only one hundred and eighty herself, allotting her the equivalent appearance of a female human aged in her mid twenties.   Of course, the Highlander leader would be more favorable towards an attractive young maiden than the matronly sort… it all made sense to her now.

“Alright,” she said, attempting to sound much more confident than she felt.  The thought of being in an encampment of men - specifically, human men - gave her an uneasy feeling.  She had heard many a tale of horror when she was younger, and the memories of all those came to light now, no matter how ridiculous and improbable they actually were.  She knew, however, that this was part of her duty as an ambassador, and that she should feel honor at the fact to serve her people.  

Eramriel stood from his chair and walked towards her, setting a large leather bound packet of parchment on the table in front of her.  “Study this closely,” he said, a hint of caution to his voice.  “You bring this with you to the meeting, tomorrow at midday.  Domnall will be expecting you, as we’ve already sent word of your name,” he added, which answered her suspicion as to whether his decision to send her had been premeditated, and she assumed it had to do with many of the same reasons she had thought of herself.

With that, the council session had ended and they were dismissed, and she took to her quarters to read the information that she was to bring with her to her meeting with Domnall the following day.

–

She found herself standing at the city’s main entrance, the one which Eramriel had instructed her to venture from.  In order to keep up appearances, she had dressed in a fairly elegant gown, though not so elaborate as to hinder her travels.  The fabric was of a deep leaf green, consisting velvet and satin intertwined together.  It fell just off of her shoulders, revealing the Endopano talisman she wore around her throat.  Her dark hair fell in parted waves past her shoulders, a few braids intermingling in the strands, an elegant headpiece atop so as to designate her status within the elven community.  Smoothing down the front of her dress, she stepped outside the gate and took a few paces, before muttering a few small words and disappearing from sight.

A few moments later, her gate travel incantation had deposited her not more than a few minutes’ walk from the Highlander encampment.  As she closed in and the buildings came into view, she made out the sounds of voices drifting over the breeze.  She had been instructed to enter the main hall, which she assumed was the largest building in the encampment.  It was midday, and she assumed that most, if not all, of the men in the company would be enjoying their lunches presently.  

As she stepped into the hall, she saw that her assumption had been correct.  Men, more than a hundred, if her eyes did not deceive her, were scattered about the hall at different tables, talking, laughing, and eating.  Moments after walking in, one of them had approached her.  “You from the embassy?” he asked.  She was momentarily taken aback by the gruffness of his voice, nearly mistaking it for hostility - but then she realized that she must have been quite noticeable in a place such as that, what with her pointed ears peeking out from beneath her hair. 

“I am,” she answered, calmly.  “My name is Mazerine Alaudriel, ambassador from the embassy of the Kingdom of Enopano, and I am here for a meeting with Do-” she began, but the Highlander cut her off.

“Yer here to see Domnall, I know, follow me,” he said, heading towards a table.  She followed him quickly, where he pointed the correct table out to her.

“Thank you,” she said, politely, though the man had already began to walk away from her.  She blinked, before turning to introduce herself to the man at the table.  Introductions took place, and she took a seat, so the two could begin to discuss terms.

–

Over an hour had passed by the two had finally finished speaking.  Mazerine felt much more confident with herself as the conversation seemed to have gone well, and Domnall seemed pleased as well.  She stood from the table and extended her hand to shake his, as her trainers had instructed her was human custom.  With that, she excused herself from the table with a plan to meet with the company again in seven days time, and began to head towards the exit.  She found herself attempting to avoid eye contact with any of the men in the hall, as she still held an uneasy and unexplainable ill will towards humans, but she couldn’t help but gaze at the sheer number as she slowly walked, not wanting to rush and seem impolite to the man that had just spent two hours of his day speaking with her.

He hated every waking moment since the plague left him in charge of a war band of twenty warriors and Galin knew there was no end in sight. All he could do was make the best of a bad situation. The company was not his, not really. It was Dyffd’s; men who had known him for years and served under him, and now, instead of man from their own ranks, Domnall, in some sort of act of kindness to Galin, placed an outsider in command. Galin was no stranger to those men but he may as well have been from the moons in their eyes. It was the way of the Domnall’s company, with men, usually from the same towns in the North, serving alongside each other. These were men from the southwest of the Highlands, strong men comfortable with a bow as well as a blade, and Galin, from the more northern hills, was a foreigner in their eyes. They listened to him patronizingly as he tried to give orders and did whatever tasks he set them grudgingly, muttering about the soft new leader just loudly enough that he could hear them. Galin hated it all.

He had asked Domnall why, why he had chosen to inflict this sort of torture on him and the old captain laughed. “Because you are the only one I could think of that wouldn’t drink himself stupid and fuck it all to hell in the process. Dyffd’s lads are great in a fight, some of the best, but they’ve gotten to thinking that they are above proper work and discipline. So giving one of them the lead, it would just let them run to ruin. They’re good, though, so I don’t want them to be dulled, see? That’s why you’re there. You’ve got a good head in a fight and we’ll have plenty use for that in time. But you’ve also got the sense to not try and make them something they’re not and break a good band in the process. Give it time. You’re stuck, so you may as well enjoy it.” Galin shook his head, biting back retorts as Domnall spoke but in truth, the captain was right. He was stuck and he had to make the best of it.

“So, Domnall, Dyffd’s… my men. When we’ve fought, I don’t see them in the line as often as on the flanks and the like. Will we be doing the same now? Skirmishing and all, I mean.” It was a different sort of battle than most of the company would fight when armies met. Galin had fought in the shield wall all his time in the company and the world of Dyffd’s men was a strange one to him. “I am not a skirmisher, Domnall, I belong in the wall.” What he did not want to say was that he preferred the glory of serving in the wall where a man could gain reputation to skulking around between the lines to disrupt the enemy before the proper fighting. Domnall, however, disagreed, and that was the end of it. Galin was well and truly stuck.

Things had grown so frustrating that Galin actually volunteered to attend the meeting with the elven ambassador. He hated the tedium of talks and would have preferred to be training, but he was quietly but completely shut out from his band at the moment. They were still at loggerheads and there was nothing he could do about it until he learned how they fought and they learned he was not a useless addition to their number. The meeting was a wretched as he expected, with pleasantries spilling all over and it took all his energy to keep from rolling his eyes. When they concluded and the ambassador set a meeting to discuss more concrete terms in the future, Galin stood to usher he out of the hall. She seemed uncomfortable and Galin smiled, trying to reassure her that he meant no harm.

“Out this way,” he said, and pushed open on of the hall’s oak doors. Once they emerged into the sunlight, he motioned for her to slow down so they could speak. “Look, ma’am, I know you’re negotiating for the elves, sure, but it’s a strange thing. Your kind don’t seem to like ours overmuch, so I am wondering what use we are to you. Trade with Adeluna makes sense, so talking to them does. But us, we’re a bunch of unwashed barbarians from the North, and that’s what Adeluna calls us. Maker only knows what you lot do. So… what is this all really about?”

One of Domnall’s men had been polite enough to show her out of the hall, swinging open the heavy oak doors that acted as both entrance and exit to the building.  She had caught a smile directed towards her, and politely offered one back in return.  Her discomfort was glaringly obvious, but she did not disregard common courtesy.  She took his smile as a gesture of good will, possibly an assurance that he was merely being polite in showing her out of the hall - but she knew better than to let her guard down.  Chances were that this particular human meant her no harm, considering he had been involved in the discussion that had just taken place between Mazerine and Domnall.  It most likely would not bode well for the agreement between the embassy and the company if the ambassador assigned to the agreement was injured or mistreated in any form.  Still, she held her suspicions.

The man who had held the door open for her followed her out into the bright sunshine, making a movement so as to get her to not walk away so quickly.  She paused, keeping a brief distance between the two of them, her eyes focused on his own.  “Yes?” she asked, and quieted as he began to speak.  He seemed to be unsure of the reason for the partnership that was to form between his company and her own embassy - and truth be told it was a feeling that she felt herself.  She had yet to figure it out, aside from what Eramriel had offered the rest of the council during their gathering.  

Being raised in the upper class of Endopano had taught her not to question the authority of the elders, but what good would this partnership be?  What the man was saying was true - the Highlanders certaiinly did not have a good reputation within the city, and humans themselves were not amongst the favored of the elves.  She had a suspicion that there was something Eramriel had chosen not to share with the council… but she was unsure if she could trust this man, and she was not about to voice that concern to anyone, let alone a human.  She had been raised to think of humans as a lesser species, and although they had nearly eradicated elvenkind, she still found part of that bred-in prejudice to be present in her mind.

This did not stop her from thinking of an answer to his question.  She did not want to offer him lies, yet she was unsure that he could be trusted with what knowledge she did have.  She supposed that the information Eramriel had shared would be pertinent, thinking of the best way to phrase things.  Furrowing her brow, she looked away from him for a moment, before turning back.  “We are assets to one another.  My people do not… wish to get their hands dirty, so to speak, and your kind seem more than happy to do such,” she began.  Her voice was soft, and she managed to keep it from wavering - after all, this had been the first day she had spent any discernible amount of time speaking with a human. “Your people can offer us this service, and in turn we can perhaps help to improve your reputation with Adeluna and its people,” she added.   

She could not help but allow a soft bout of laughter to escape as he mentioned his company being ‘unwashed barbarians.’  She had noticed that their company seemed to lack a certain aesthetic when she had entered the hall, but compared to the aristocratic elven upbringing she had, anything would seem as such.  “If it makes you feel better… I was just as taken aback, if not more so, by the thought of this agreement,” she added.  “I’ve honestly never done fieldwork before,” she admitted, surprised at how candid she was being with the man.  “Eramriel, our High Ambassador, assigned me this duty in our council meeting yesterday.”  She looked contemplative for a moment.

“Honestly?  I’ve never really spent any time around your kind,” she said.  “Humans, I mean,” she clarified, shrugging her shoulders.  She looked towards the sky for a moment, and turned her gaze back to the man.  Her eyes were filled with curiosity, and she spoke once more.  “I’ve spent my entire life being raised to hate your kind,” she admitted.  “So it’s just as strange to me that Eramriel sent me on this meeting as it is happening in the first place.”

She studied him for a moment, before continuing even further.  “Honestly, your lot does not seem to be exceptionally horrid,” she said.  “Domnall seemed quite polite, as do you now,” she added, though she narrowed her eyes slightly.  “So this puts me at an impasse.  Either your kind are actually not as bad as my people - and the people of Adeluna, for that matter - or you are all just very skilled actors,” she said, her tone serious but a hint of a smile at her face.

"Of course you were taken aback," he said with what sounded halfway between a laugh and a growl.  "Your lot still don't like that my lot won the war.  And then you sit away on your wee island and grouse and grumble about it."  That was the truth of it, as Galin understood things.  In the North, there had always been pockets of human settlements far enough into the mountains and valleys that they were safe from the depredations of elves, protected, the legends said, by the Maker himself, living among the people he loved as his own.  When the elves pushed into the high valleys, the men of the North would put aside their familial infighting, gather in the hills, and attack the invaders. Eventually, the tides of time shifted and the elves were in a decline.  Some said it was the natural order of things, that one rises and falls and will rise again with the ages.  Others said the elves finally extended themselves too far, stretching their empire beyond the bounds of its resources and that left them vulnerable when the armies of men came together and acted in concert to end the hegemony of the elves.  Others said a terrible plague ravaged the continent, one that struck elves more strongly than humans, and when the dust had settled, there were not enough elves left to defend what they had once held, so they began a retreat that ended centuries later on their island refuge.  

"Then again, I can understand it.  A man's as good as his last battle and it rankles me when my last one isn't a victory, so it's something I can grasp, if only a little."  He shrugged a bit.  It was the closest he could come.  The Northmen were generally left alone in their mountains by other men, preferring to have them as allies rather than enemies.  Theirs was not a rich land and farmers and herders make for poor plunder, so their simplicity was their shield.  Instead, the rest of the world of men fought among themselves over the richer lands in the south or the trade routes through Canelux and the Highlands kept quietly to themselves.  The Highlanders would never be like the elves or the lords of Adeluna, looking to expand beyond their borders and stretch power beyond the lands given them by the Maker.  At least, Galin thought, not so long as they remained as he knew them.  "And since you've been frank with me, I will do the same.  I am not well used to elves myself.  Saw a few during the war, mostly on our side, the Conclaves, but I heard they were with both.  Never really spoke though, plus I never had a knack for languages, so your own tongue's lost on me for sure."

The arrangement made little sense to Galin but that was a problem for Domnall to work out.  He was already out of his depth with the skirmishers and politics would like as not kill him.  "At least you're having a better go of your first proper assignment than I am.  Domnall, for all his wisdom, put me in charge of a bunch of stubborn, intractable light troops, and me a proper sort of soldier.  It is like pulling teeth to get them to do anything.  At least you got Domnall talking."  He leaned against a fence post that enclosed one of the cattle pens.  "And there's no reason to hate us, I figure.  The wars are over so long that even your elders probably don't remember them, so what's the sense in that?  And this is coming from a Northman.  We're famous, even among men, for our long memory for grudges.  Other than the past, though, what's it about us that's so repulsive and terrifying?  I haven't flayed you alive or assaulted your virtue and it's been a whole ten minutes out here alone."  He shared her smile, his tone full of mirth.  "Don't we usually attack like rabid dogs far quicker than that?"

A disgruntled shadow cast over her visage.  “We don’t grouse or grumble about it, thank you very much,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.  “Your people, humans, all but eradicated my kind.  Our ‘wee’ island, as you’ve so eloquently phrased it, is all we have, now,” she said, and the sadness was somewhat apparent in her voice.  Though the wars that had left the elves with nothing but Endopano had been long before her time, her people kept the wounds fresh.  The elders spoke of the travesties of the humans quite regularly, which instilled the injustices of the past into the minds of every elf.  She looked away from him, holding back the prejudicial words that she wanted to speak.  Part of her knew that the prejudice was not her own, and what had this man done to deserve her lashing out at him in such a manner?  Such behavior was below her.

She turned to look back at Galin, raising her gaze up to meet his eyes.  Although she could understand where he was coming from, on a man being as good as his last battle, she was unsure of whether she should express such understanding to him or not.  A moment’s contemplation led to the decision that no harm would be done by such.  “Perhaps you do have a point,” she said quietly, casting her gaze away from him as though admitting such was shameful.  Pride was as strong among elves as any other species.  Perhaps that was why the elders spent so much time instilling a sense of aristocracy among their people, so much so that it was nearly a crime to speak anything ill of their own people, regardless of whether or not one was thinking it.

He caught her attention once more as he admitted his own naiveté, having not been exposed overmuch to her kind.  She found herself wondering if humans had the same prejudices that her own people did, but in another respect.  Did he think of her as some foul creature?  He did not seem to be speaking to her with any sort of disdain or looking at her in disgust; in fact, he was actually holding a conversation with her.  She found it much easier to speak with him than she had with Domnall at her earlier meeting - perhaps that was due in part to the formalities that the meeting included.  This conversation with - what was his name?  She could not recall as to whether or not his name was brought up during the earlier discussion.  She found her conversation with him was much more informal and relaxed.

“Want to know a secret?” she asked,  offering him a smile after he mentioned difficulty with languages.  “In the embassy, we rarely speak our native,” she admitted.  She opened her mouth to say something more, but hesitated, again unsure if she was about to share information from which she should refrain.  The hesitation only lasted a few seconds, before she parted her lips and continue speaking.  “The elders say that it’s only polite to speak the language of the land you’re in,” she continued, her shoulders raising up with a bit of a shrug.  “It’s funny, isn’t it?” she asked, chuckling softly.  “We hate humans so much but we speak their tongue more than our own.”  

She felt a surge of pride when he brought up it being her first assignment, the reminder giving her a heightened sense of satisfaction.  “If he’s a decent leader at all, he would not have put you in charge if he did not think you could do it,” she said, though the words were clearly meant more for herself than for the Highlander.  

She found herself momentarily alarmed at the mention of violence.  The fears she had initially felt on her journey in surfaced again, until she noticed the humor in his voice.  The alarm subsided, and she relaxed once more.  It was clearly going to take time for her to understand the humor of his kind.  The elves were not a humorous folk - in fact, Eramriel had chastised her on more than one occasion for her sarcastic sense of humor.  “If you ask my people, the answer to that question would probably be yes,” she said, smiling warmly.  “But you don’t seem to be like a rabid dog - or like a dog at all for that matter.  Speaking with you has actually been quite pleasant,” she admitted with a smile.  “I think that maybe our fears, the fears of my people, may be unwarranted, to a point,” she said.  She found herself thinking that maybe the elves blamed all humans for the events of the past, when in fact those who lived in present day were not responsible for them.  “I mean, Domnall was polite to me, of course,” she continued, her speech losing some of its formality.  “And you have been awfully polite to me, too,” she added.  “Maybe I just need to know your kind more,” she suggested.  Knowing more about the general lives of humans would probably be beneficial to her position as a liaison with the company, as well.  The only knowledge she had of humans was that of their transgressions and the disdain the elves held for them.  

“Any ideas on what I should explore on the human-side of the world?” she asked with a cheeky smile, though the question was posed in seriousness.  “I think that would be the best way for me to properly fulfill my duties that the embassy has sent me on,” she said.  “We are normally forbidden from partaking in anything ‘human,’ to an extent,” she said, speaking of the ambassadors of the embassy.  They were nearly royalty in the eyes of the elves.  “But I would imagine if it was for field work, for an assignment, there would be an exception,” she finished, her hands now planted firmly on her hips.

"Well, if you want to learn about us folk, you’ll need to get out into the city, away from the palace grounds, that is, and experience things the way we do. You’ll have to get down in the muck where the likes of me and mine thrive. That’s, I think, the difference between us, our people, that is,” he said, abruptly taking her arm and leading her back toward the town and its many splendors of dubious quality. “You folk have gone so far from the world that you forget the muck and grime of it and find that repellant. Me, that’s where I am at my best, where things are unclear, murky, and downright nasty. Makes life a fair sight easier since I don’t expect a whole lot from it, and when things are elevated some, it’s a bloody miracle, not the expectation.” He was glad to get away from the camp a while, to put aside the burden of his new command, and to show the elf what it was like to live among the humans that she had so far demonized as was the custom of her race.

“What your folk… hells, most folk forget, is that the violence that comes with men like myself is the exception and not the rule. We are the ones that do what needs to be done to keep things calm in the rest of the world, you see. Your elves had those among them that would kill and fight and do all the sorts of things we do, and it kept your empire safe.” He had thought about it some and in the end, there was enough between the races that he could draw on for comparisons to make this envoy understand. “You still have men under arms on your island, ready in case we nasty men come over the water to take it. They’re no worse than what we are, hard types willing to get themselves dirty and carved up. Only down here, there’s a thousand reasons beyond patriotism.” He spoke as they walked, shortening his pace so the smaller elf would be able to keep up.

“Some of the men with me, they’re thieves and killers who fled rather than die hanged by their chiefs and lords. Some are drunks who had nowhere else to go. And the worst, the absolute worst, are the soft-pated idiots like me that joined to find adventure and see the bloody world.” He laughed and shook his head, almost unable to understand his own stupidity. “And most of the world of men is the same. We’re all the same mix of strange buggers you know up in your land, only with normal looking ears. You’ve got drunks and idealists and cretins as well, I trust, so why worry about our ways? One thing being a soldier has taught me, in the end, we all bleed, we all weep for our mothers, and we all die.” He shrugged again and guided them through a gate to one of the ubiquitous taverns in Adeluna. “And the best place to learn that, to see humanity in all its sordid glory, is right here.”

He pushed open the tavern door and called for a table for the pair of them. It was not a well-run establishment. The rushes that covered the floor were a week old and Galin could see a dog eating last night’s vomit in one of the alcoves. The ale was decent, though, as he had learned through experience, and he called for a jug and two cups. He poured her one and raised his own in a toast. “To an understanding between our peoples, aye?"

“I can’t go out into the city on my own,” she said, scoffing at the suggestion.  “That’s just asking for tro- hey!”  She abruptly fractured her sentence as he grasped her arm and led her along with him.  She could see that the two were now headed towards the town.  The Highlander continued to pull her along, and she found herself struggling to match her pace to his own, as he stood a fair bit taller than she.  He continued his explanation to her as the two moved closer to the city, and she found herself unsure of how to respond to what he was saying.

She furrowed her brow at the mention of the ignorance of her people, though she inherently knew that he was right.  They stowed themselves away and ignored the gritty, real part of the world - the part in which this man was planning on immersing her.  If she was planning on successfully maintaining her position as liaison between the embassy and the company, it would require at least a basic understanding of the human world - one that was not influenced by the prejudices of her race.  

“Okay, so maybe you have a point… but maybe you need to learn that we elves are not all as well to do and pompous as you seem to think!” she said, though the second the words were out of her mouth she instantly regretted them.  How someone dressed in fine silks and ornate jewelry could claim to not be pompous was laughable. As he continued on, she found that he did make a good point.  Beyond all of their differences and prejudices, elves and humans had much in common in the end of things.  She bantered back and forth with him as they travelled, silently grateful when he slowed the speed of his walk to match her own.  

As the two entered through the city gates again, she found herself amazed at how long it had actually taken them to get there - the amount of time didn’t surmise to much, but for someone who was accustomed to using magic to travel, it seemed eternal.  “Could have let me get us here much faster,” she muttered quietly.  She attempted in vain to mask her disgust at the appearance of the tavern he led her to, but failed miserably.  Her eyes scanned the venue, catching site of the canine consuming the remnants of someone’s stomach contents and immediately felt her own stomach churn.  She said nothing, only following remarkably close behind him, following suit to sit down at the table as soon as he had.

She eyed the jug that he requested with caution, watching carefully as he poured the liquid into a glass and passed it to her.  She was fairly certain that she had never had anything alcoholic to drink before excluding the wine served during council meetings, and was unsure that this was the best venue in which to begin, but she threw caution to the wind and raised the glass to meet his own.  “Indeed,” she said, bringing the cup to her lips.  She took a quick sip and immediately made a cringing face - unlike the sweet wines that her people served, this liquid was bitter and far from sweet.  

She tried her best to choke the ale down without letting onto her distaste for it.  After she swallowed the drink, she realized the taste was not nearly as offensive as it had first seemed.  Realizing the beverage was not meant to be sweet, it made much more sense.  She offered him a smile, and took a much bigger sip, not making such a dramatic face this time.  

She set her cup back on the table and leaned back against her chair, looking across at him, studying him for a moment.  He seemed to be in his element, in the dark, dingy tavern - and she found herself mesmerized by the fact that anyone could feel comfortable in that sort of environment.  “I hate to sound rude,” she began, picking up her cup and taking a small sip.  “But I don’t know if I even remember your name from that meeting,” she admitted.  “Domnall went through so many things and I was trying to listen so carefully, I fear it may have slipped through the cracks.  It’s… Galin?  Is that right?” she asked, not wanting to offend him, but also finding herself curious when she realized that he didn’t even know his name.  Upon confirmation that she was in fact correct, she felt much better about the situation.

Her ease left quickly.  A man approached the two of them at the table, clearly eyeing Mazerine in a less-than-appropriate manner.  His hair was stringy and greasy, caked with dirt from weeks if not months of unwash, and his mouth appeared to only have a few teeth in it.  He glanced from Mazerine to Galin and back to the elf, tongue darting out across his lower lip.  nMazerine shifted uncomfortably in her seat, feeling warmth in her cheeks.  She was unsure if the flush was from embarrassment, the ale, or a combination of both - but she found herself instinctively scooting her chair towards Galin a few inches.  

The man coughed harshly and addressed the Highlander.  “How much you want for your elf-bitch?” he asked, jingling a pocketful of silver coins as he spoke.  A gasp escaped Mazerine’s mouth when she realized that this man was attempting to purchase her.  “Excuse me?” she said, nearly standing from the table.  She may have been an aristocratic upper class member of her society, but she was well trained in several areas of magic - she had just never actually had to use it in anything other than an educational setting for defense.  

The man took a step closer to her. “Wasn’t talking to you,” he murmured, eyeing her up and down once more.  She instinctively crossed her arms over her chest as though to cover herself, uneasy with the man’s gaze on her.  Her eyes darted to Galin, wondering how he would handle the situation.  She was well prepared to take care of matters on her own, but would rather not have had to if the Highlander could handle it.

"What, so we all look the same to you so far as you can’t even remember my name?!” Galin gasped in mock horror. “Aye, it’s Galin, though I ain’t got a proper sort of surname like your lot probably do, nor even my father’s name, seeing as himself had the idea that leaving my ma with child and not a crescent to her name as a decent sort of thing to do. Can’t complain though. By all accounts, the man was a real proper arsehole, so I am pretty sure I am better off without the bugger.” He smiled crookedly at her, his eyes sparking like they often would when he was in a mood to be humorous. “And no, we couldn’t magic ourselves here, if you’re to be among us Northmen a while. You see, we ain’t a magical people, not by a long chalk, and we don’t trust mages as a rule, even ones that somehow appear from our own kin. Ain’t natural and we get a bit touchy, you see. But the lads down here, we are a bit more tolerant after living among these southrons for a while. Bit of an acquired taste, if you will, but we’ve acquired it and don’t go screaming blue bloody murder every time someone casts a wee spell. Just be sure and not flaunt it around the camp, would you?”

He sipped on his ale a little, letting what he took for companionable silence reign. He was still not sure he cared for Adelunian ales, with their bitter, citric bite but he was not in a mood for wine and the inevitable hangover that followed. He could drink his pints all day and night and wake with just a little tenderness in his head but wine seemed to sour his stomach and leave his head pounding like a kettledrum the next morning. As he drank, a stranger approached them and his hand fell casually onto the hilt of his long Highland knife. He did not expect trouble but he learned early that trouble seemed to have a way of finding him no matter his thoughts on the matter. It seemed the man was looking for some company and thought that Mazerine was a well-to-do prostitute and Galin her pimp. The Highlander did not know immediately how to react to that implicit characterization, but leaned back, letting the man ask for a price.

Mazerine’s response, while expected, was amusing in its way and he smiled a little at her flushed face and offended tones. She was surely sheltered if this was something she was not at least expecting in the back of her mind. It seemed that her education in the ways of people outside the world of silks and embassies was beginning in fine fashion. “Ask her, mate, I don’t set prices. She’s freelance if you catch my meaning.” He smirked, then lowered his voice to whisper to Mazerine. “So begins your education. This man means to buy your company or, like as not, take it without compensation if he is pushed far enough. Let’s see if you elves can defend yourself with more than pretty words, eh? And don’t worry, if your virtue is about to be sullied, I’ll slit the bastard’s throat. Good luck!” He leaned back in his seat, boots propped on the wooden table, and waited for what he expected to be an entertaining few minutes to come.

She stared at Galin without responding for a short moment, before it dawned on her that his offense was merely in jest.  She was quietly prideful at the fact that she remembered his name correctly, as she had received quite a bit of information during the meeting.  Intently, she listened as he carried on with a sort of introspection as to his namesake.  She felt a twinge of sadness at the mention of his father’s uninvolvement in his own life - it brought to light the memory that her own family hadn’t cared much when she had made the decision to travel to Adeluna.  Her eyes became distant for a moment, before focusing back on the man before her. 

“Magic makes things much easier,” she said softly - though she did understand his explanation as to why magic would have been an ill-advised idea.  She silently nodded her understanding to Galin, making a mental note to herself to avoid using any unnecessary magic in and around the Northmen’s camp.  She found herself mildly annoyed that Eramriel had ‘failed’ to mention any such social propriety to her in her preparation for this particular field work, but she did not find herself surprised in the slightest.  

When the situation had changed from the two exchanging pleasantries to something a bit more foul, Mazerine had foolishly not been expecting such an event to take place.  Her mouth fell agape as Galin merely brushed the man off and direction his attention back onto herself, and she fought the urge to utter a string of curses at him.  She wondered for a brief moment what the outcome of the situation would be, before catching Galin’s whisper in her ear.

She felt immediate relief at the notion that he claimed he would step in if things went awry, but found herself still shadowed with doubt as to the situation as a whole.  Her mouth still hung partly open in disbelief as he kicked back in his chair and propped his boot-laden feet upon the tavern table, as though about to watch a theatre troupe put on a show.  

Turning back to the man, she could see that he was eyeing her up rather hungrily.  “Pretty thing like you must cost a good bit of silver, eh?” he asked, reaching out with a grimy, dirt-crusted hand in an attempt to touch her face.  Instinctively, she stepped aside, dodging his fingertips.  She stood quickly, taking a few steps away from the safety she had felt in her close proximity to Galin, though still within arm’s reach of him. 

“There is no price,” she said, the disgust she felt quite evident in her voice.  Eyeing the man, she took another stride backwards, removing herself completely from being within reach of Galin.  It was obvious that she was going to have to handle the situation herself, but she found herself hoping that the man would back down when he saw that she was more than willing to fight for her own if need be - but her hope was in vain.  

The man took a quick step towards her, and she found the glint in his eye to be troublesome.  “No price don’t mean I can’t have what’s mine,” he growled, and lunged forward, quickly enough to wrap one of his dirty hands around her delicate wrist.  She let out a small yelp and attempted to pull her wrist back, but being not in possession of much in terms of physical strength, she was unable to remove herself from his grasp.  She cast her eyes towards Galin quickly, but he seemed to be quite intent on letting her deal with the situation on her own.  

“I suggest you let go of me,” she said, the octave of her voice lowering quite a bit.  Internally, she was quite proud of herself - her voice did not waver in the slightest as she warned the man to cease his approach.  Unfortunately, he chose not to listen to her, instead tightening his grip on her wrist.  She sucked in a sharp breath, and closed her eyes for only a brief moment, focusing every ounce of energy in her body on one though.  

The man stopped tightening his grip but held true and watched her with momentary curiosity.  “See, not fightin’ me anymore,” he said, smiling broadly so that his yellowed teeth showed.  The smile faded quickly from his countenance when her eyes snapped back open, the black circles of her pupils more notably dilated than previously.  

“Cam sarko ba,” she whispered in her native tongue, the words hardly audible though rolling off her tongue with much more ease than the language of men.  The man looked momentarily confused, before he wrenched his hand away from her, releasing his grip on her arm.  Her gaze was fixed quite pointedly on the man’s hand which he had been holding her with, and he looked down in horror as the flesh of his hand began to rapidly deteriorate, rotting and decaying.  The putrid appendage emitted the stench of flesh that had been rotting for several days, immediately filling the vicinity.  The man let out a hollow shriek, looking down at his hand in horror.  Violently, he shook it back and forth, as though it would help the situation.

Mazerine couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle.  The dark shadow that had cast over her eyes upon the muttering of the earlier incantation had receded, and she looked back to her usual self.  “Fallancam kuila,” she said softly, and within moments the man’s hand had healed back to its earlier state, perhaps a bit cleaner than it originally had been.  A few of the bar’s patrons who had previously seemed to be unsure of the situation laughed at the man’s reaction upon seeing that he was not actually harmed in any way.

The man looked to Mazerine in a bit of terror.  “You crazy, pointy-eared bitch!” he yelled, and she took a step toward him, holding out her palm.  A dark cloud began swirling in her open hand as she whispered something inaudible. 

“You’re going to leave now,” she said, though she had no intention of fully conjuring the element within her palms.  The man shook his head and muttered something nonsensical before high-tailing it out of the tavern.  When he was no longer in sight, Mazerine lowered her hand and stepped back to the table, returning to her seat.  She left it in slightly closer proximity to Galin as she had moved it earlier, but made no move to look at him.  Instead, she reached for her glass of ale, still about half full, and drained it in two large swigs.  Setting it back on the table, she leaned back in her chair and moved her gaze to Galin, to check his reaction to the situation as a whole.

“So, how’d I do?” she asked, smirking.  Though it was no great accomplishment, she was proud of herself for handling the situation on her own.