[center] [img]https://i.imgur.com/C7nwoGY.png[/img] [b]Words:[/b] 878 (+2) [b][color=ea590c]Edward Portsmith: Level 9 (22 cells) (2 level ups stored)[/color] [/b][color=ea590c]///[/color]////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// (3/90) [b]Location[/b] Frozen highlands - The Midnight Walk [/center] Despite his general effort in trying to avoid such frivolities as desert while on campaign, Edward nonetheless found himself with a plate of christmas custard coated pudding in his hand, thrust into his hands by an elf who said it was to prevent any envy/temptation he might feel while watching the beasts devour their festive treats. It was only after the elf in question had vanished back into the crowd that the niggling familiarity he’d felt had resolved itself. Clad in festive garb, it had been hard indeed to recognize [url=https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/690c66afab7e.png]Sundren of House Inioch[/url], but it had most certainly been her. Indeed, the way she’d vanished really had been what clinched it, as despite her festive cheer she was in fact a Rogue Lord, master of court intrigue, propaganda and assassination. She had also been princess of the Elven Court on his world, against which his Commonwealth had waged war. A war that the two of them had acted to end first separately and then in coordination, before finally helping forge the peace that had followed, during which she had become something of a friend. She’d apparently been up to quite a bit more intrigue since they failed to stop the Shadowborn’s opening of the worldgates, namely manipulating the two major factions of Godir to positive ends. Between his trip through the astral sea, subsequent madness and his recovery from it, he’d never had a chance to catch up with her before Galeem’s light consumed them all. Why in the worlds it had decided to put her here of all places was lost on him. Truly it was a waste of her talents in his eyes. Wll… other than her ability to organize and steer a party, ball or other event to her own ends perhaps, he supposed. Regardless, her other talents that would make it rather difficult to free her from the false god’s grasp without causing a commotion, given that out of the two of them she was far more apt at stubbly offing, or in this case harming and healing, someone than he was. Still, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t consider how to go about it, but that was going to need to be a long-term plan for the night and next day, rather than something he could do right now. Plus, if he kept standing here contemplatively staring after her rather than eating the damned desert she’d handed him, that would just make her suspicious. As such, he blinked away the lingering shock, and got stuck into the Christmas pudding, which he found perfectly to his liking. Definitely here for her party planning ability, he decided, while enjoying the steamed treat. The woman was no doubt greasing wheels to keep everything running smoothly rather than enjoying herself, the poor selfless soul. That or Christmas Village politics was a lot more cutthroat than it looked. Sadly, though the pudding was both delicious and somewhat sentimental (the man finding himself half remembering an Academy party from his younger days), his slow and steady enjoyment of it meant that he was interrupted before he could finish it by the appearance of the feline of frost and its icy legions. He set down his desert, stepped onto a table, and then took wing over the head of the retreating elven crowd, ascending to a rooftop from which he could assess the situation. Could the seekers win? Yes. He’d sent the beasts to back up the seekers, and had the golems ready to ditch their festive decoration positions at a moment’s notice, which could hold back the frozen sear-troops just fine while the heroes saw to the cat king. Could they avoid collateral damage to the village? Now that was more doubtful, as the wind-blasts from those Ty-Foos would be quite indiscriminate. Thus upon hearing the cat's demands for veneration, he slipped off of the roof and made for the box of poke puffs, a reserve of which he’d deliberately held back so that the beasts could have treats in future. A joy he was, to his shame, about to rob them of. He swiftly tried to re-wrap the package, thankful that he’d saved the paper, only to find ever so little success in this. Perhaps if he’d engaged in the gift wrapping earlier, he might have, but as such his amateur talents were not proving to be up to the task To his rescue came Sundren, who took him entirely by surprise when she appeared beside him, feet ever so light on the snow, and said “here, let me. You’re already committing a sin of re-gifting, so it might as well be presentable“ before taking over. In a flash a pair of wicked looking daggers and a suspiciously fast setting glue were used to chop and reseal the cardboard box itself, followed by a swift yet perfect application of salvaged wrapping paper. [color=ea590c]”Oh, ah, thank you’re highness”[/color] Edward said as he had the box shoved into his hands, which got him a quirk of an eyebrow from the not-a princess-at-the-moment party planner before she set his slip-up aside and urged him forwards. With the Dreadnought acting as gift carrier, the Rogue followed on from Layton’s own invitation to the festivities with a strong helping of flattery delivered in an ever so proper British accent. “We have even set aside special gifts for one so grand at yourself, and are overjoyed that our faint hope for such a prestigious guest has been granted this day" she called up, before gesturing to Edward and continuing “please, accept this first of many offerings oh great Ice King” The man in question nodded, and then with careful steps joined the professor to offer his own bribe to the party crasher, while internally wondering if the Rouge had had time to poison the treats while wrapping them.