[color=silver][center][h2][color=#915027]𝔏𝔢𝔦𝔣𝔲𝔯 𝔊𝔲ð𝔪𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔰𝔰𝔬𝔫[/color][/h2]
[sub]mentions: [@cu chulainn][/sub]
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Leifur wasn't sure who he'd hoped to heed his request, but the fidgety child to his immediate left was not it. The kid had practically frozen in place when he'd looked past him earlier, and didn't seem to be faring much better now. Why the faye had agreed in the first place when he was clearly too far to reach the damn thing was a mystery. Exasperated by just looking at the other's struggle, Leifur was just about to tell the boy to forget it, when the king rose from his seat. One long ear twisted towards the voice before the rest of the viera's body followed suit, sitting upright and at attention. 

Unfortunately, Leonhart seemed to speak a lot yet say little, a frustrating trait shared by people with more money than sense. Impatiently, the viera flicked the knife in his hand. Warriors, crusaders, champions, yes, yes, [i]quite[/i], but what the hell were they expected t--

The silence, maintained by bated breaths and mouths full of unchewed food, shattered all at once.

The knife in Leifur's hand stopped, and his ears twisted forward as if doubting what they'd heard. But even if someone had missed the king's words, they could not miss the echoes; whispers of disbelief and awe, repeating the three words endlessly. [i]Ten million gil. [/i]Compared to that, Leifur supposed, the expensive banquet today was little more than a beggar's brunch. But how the hell was the crown so rich? The war [i]must [/i]have eaten at their wealth. 

Among the whispers, Leifur could make out battleplans. Names. Complete strangers, now split into four seemingly arbitrary teams, trying to gauge who among them was an asset, who a hindrance. Among it all, Leifur heard a familiar name: Ranbu no Izayoi. Most who'd fought in the war were aware of her. To think this is where she was now, feasting at an Edrenian table... the Blight truly was a unifying threat.

Just then, somewhere in his peripheral vision, a plate of butter approached. The child had gotten his hands on it, somehow. Having already forgotten about it, Leifur turned, ready to take the damn thing off the other's hands, when--

The boy stood, sharply, [i]suddenly[/i], arm raised - and butter swung.

Leifur's sensitive ears flattened at the deafening crash, but the rest of him stayed almost unnervingly unmoving. Ever so slowly, his eyes trailed to the remains of what was once a platter. A moment of silence followed, whether to mourn the loss of the golden spread, to decide which of the boy's hands to cut off first, or to contemplate the king's offer. 

Then, in one sudden motion, he thrust the knife into the table, dangerously close to Aelphis's wrist - a coincidence, surely - and spoke.

[color=#915027]"Leifur, a sellsword,"[/color] he offered, forgoing a surname. It was doubtful the others could pronounce or remember it anyhow. [color=#915027]"I'm not much for introductions, but I can handle myself in battle. Point me at a target, and they'll be no more." [/color]His eyes trailed to the faye boy - nothing but another coincidence, of course - before he continued: [color=#915027]"Lacking any other clues, a move against Valheim seems like a good enough start."[/color][/color]