[center][h3]Nemeia[/h3][/center]
[hr]

Nem pretended to carefully study the elaborate silver medallion that the scarred man wore. Focusing on the details of the amulet was distracting and gave her time to think. She did not fully understand the strange obsession that the Lowlanders had with mostly useless chunks of metal and their love of elaborate, pointless hierarchies. Especially when those obsessions meant that an old warrior who seemed well-past his prime had the power to make her life difficult.

Had she been in the Highlands or the wilds, Nem would have simply resolved the matter with a sword. It was her experience that a sharp or pointy object was usually a good way to clear a wide path of passage through almost any obstacle. In the sanctity of the guild hall, Nem had no intention of drawing her blade first. But she would not cower. And she would not meekly surrender to the guild officer. She would not silently trudge out of the guild hall with her head bowed in shame. She would not give the scarred, wounded man that satisfaction. If she could not choose her victory then she would at least choose the manner of defeat that suited her temper.

Turning towards the nearest guild runner, a young man, barely grown out of childhood, who appeared to be doing his best to turn invisible, Nem pointed past the guild officer blocking her path,"Guild runner, would you please tell the Guild Master that Nemeia Naïlo has arrived as requested and humbly awaits her orders."