[CENTER][h1][color=BFF4BE]Ynga[/color][/h1][/CENTER]
[sub][right][color=silver][color=BFF4BE]Location[/color] — The Grand City of Atutania[/color][/right]
[right][color=silver][color=BFF4BE]Interacting[/color] — [@Yankee][@Eisenhorn][/color][/right][/sub]
[hr]

[indent][color=silver]The festivities never seemed to end, and neither did Ynga's wonder as the little sorceress wandered from stall to stall all across Atutania's fairgrounds. In the time it took her to cross from the gates of the city to just a stone's toss from the entrance to the proving grounds, she had finished her oversized sausage, a leg of mutton, no less than two sweet cakes fried in fat, and a long slice of a strange, flat bread dish topped with cheese that stretched delightfully when bitten. She was just polishing off the last of it as she reached her destination. The long lines she had spotted from a distance had seemingly shrunk amid her culinary conquest of this new land. A fortunate thing: it was difficult for her to contain herself, the energy and excitement in the air being what it was. With so many applicants having already arrived, she was admitted with little fanfare, whatever misgivings that might have been had at her slight stature all but forgotten as would-be heroes went about rubbing elbows and trading boasts.

And what an astounding roster! There were people of all sorts gathered up in the proving grounds, fighters and sorcerers from lands she could scarcely imagine. None from home, of course; her people were not the sort to send their young and bold into the ranks of the Wardens. A fact which made this task all the more important for her: she would need to distinguish herself, not only to advance her lofty goals of heroism, but to represent all of the Ienarich. A sense of solemn dignity threatened to overtake her, tamping down on the bubbling excitement that seized her gut. 

The threat passed swiftly as her big, dark eyes caught someone in the crowd. When they settled on the young man, they grew in wonder.

She had known there were a great many nations in the world, from the tales which made their way back north with the seasonal warriors, who sailed down river to these lands to ply their trade as mercenaries, earning coin with might and magic to supplement the leaner months of the year. Those nations doubtless held many different peoples, some strong, others clever, but all distinct from those mighty scions of Ienar up on the northern edge of the world. It stood to reason, of course, that the denizens of these other nations would look different, as well. But never in her life had she imagined someone's skin to resemble more the oiled teak of her grandfather's finest furniture than the snowy paleness she had always known.

Before she knew it, she was hurrying over to the young man, eyes aglimmer with wonder. How had that come about? Were they simply born that way, coming from their mother's bellies in that most unusual shade? A trick of the magic they practiced? Or maybe they crisped up under a sun even hotter than Atutania's, fated to be not unlike the sausage she sunk her teeth into upon arriving. The question gnawed at her until she was close enough to the gentleman—and his companion—to speak. 

[color=BFF4BE]"Ah! Pardon me, sir, but I couldn't help but notice your skin!"[/color]

Was it rude to interrupt their conversation? Perhaps, but this was a time for mingling, for getting to know the other competitors, so surely they would not mind her entering the fray.

[color=BFF4BE]"It's so pretty! I've never seen somebody so... dark, before! Did it hurt?"[/color][/color][/indent]