[center][b][u]Schizo Dwarf, Raven’s Inn[/center][/b][/u]

As Mikan explained the situation at hand to the group of Queen’s Blades, Algrimm was less interested by what she was saying and more so by the bright green hair that adorned the towering woman’s head. In his studies, he’d never before encountered a subject with such outright manifestations of Mechanist blood, even amongst his current companions within the Queen’s Blades, including the Tulerian girl, whose aptitude for technology belied an obvious Mechanist heritage, they were nothing compared to the woman before him. He had to have her for an examination at some point soon, before the others distracted him with their incessant prattling. Of course, there were other, more pressing issues than the woman in front of him (though the matter of her lineage was certainly very important), such as the small matter of the predicament involving the bombs and what-not.

Making his way to the Raven’s Inn, Algrimm visibly groaned when he realized who else would be handling the business there. The Minotaur and the Centaur, while both certainly capable in combat, weren’t as intelligent as they’d like to think they were. On the other hand, there were the twins, who were nothing special, other than being unusually closer than was the norm for human siblings. [i]They probably indulge in each other’s flesh. Good to see some of the family’s tenets spreading to these lesser beings.[/i] Algrimm thought as he approached.

Of course, things seemed to be coming to a head by the time he arrived, at about the same time as the final member of their little party. The minotaur had floored the old man waiting for them for some perceived slight of some sort, while the male twin had used magic to create an impromptu spear of some sort and had it leveled at the mastermind of this plot, the so-called Illusionist. Clearly, the others relied more on their emotions than rational, logical thinking. In that case, he’d have to take charge of the situation. So, thus encouraged, he stepped in between the Illusionist and the others. Putting on the most genteel attitude he could while amongst the taint of lesser beings, he began.

[b]”Please allow me to apologize, Mr, Moriarty is it not? My companions are unused to true craftsmen such as ourselves. You are an artist correct? I’d love to see some examples of your past work. Compare and contrast, you know? Algrimm Ironblood, at your service. Perhaps you’ve heard of some of my work, or even seen some of it yourself?”[/b] As he spoke, he held his hand out, offering it so the man could shake it. Still smiling, the others began to chatter as he tried to focus on the situation at hand.

[i]That tall one back there, the one with the green hair, ya? You should have gotten a bit closer, and let ole Rorin do the talking...and the screwing.
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Oh shut up, you filthy creature. The things some of your kind do for money, it’s simply horrendously disgraceful. Do you have no sense of dignity?
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I’ve got dignity all right. It’s hanging between me legs, care to take a peek, love?
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Ugh. Utter perversity.
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Dear Johann, 
I’ve lost count of how long I’ve inhabited this diminutive vessel. My host, as I’ve taken to calling him, is quite the knowledgeable one. He’s a student of anatomy as I’ve discovered, and sometimes we communicate back and forth through his strange mind. He’s an introverted person, this one, but he possesses a hunger for knowledge concerning the flesh and its secrets, whatever that means. No wonder he sought me out. Anyway, the others grow tediously loud, as the performer and the prude clash swords over something or the other, while the host’s other guests are oddly quiet. So for now, I bid you goodbye.
Best wishes,
Johann Mecklenberg.[/i]