It appeared that Thirodaen was not alone in standing, though the human who remained so surprised him. He should have more respect for his superiors. He stood with the rest of them, might as well, if he was going to be associated with them for a while, he should probably get used to it. The elf was dressed in a thin, baggy linin shirt, and a small silver wolf hung on a thin metal chain around his neck. Two swords in intricate sheaths rested by his side.

"Thirodaen," He gave a mock bow, "They call me 'Fey wild'. Don't ask me who they are. I don't know." That was always the first question he received from those people who thought themselves smart enough, or drunk enough, to have any form of wit. It had become a habit to say the last bit, usually ended the conversation. His speak was smooth and graceful, like any elf's, but there was a hint of sarcasm there too. He'd never been one for formal occasions. He preferred these things done as quickly as possible, which ended up better for all involved. Glancing at the rest of them, it appeared that doing it quickly would certainly be better for him, anyway.