Thoraniel kept to the background. There were too many people around. She did not like many people around her. Especially not dwarves. Their presence made her elven blood boil. She began subtly scanning the room, sorting escape routes by quality in her head. There were too few exits. She did not like lacking many of those. What if someone had recognized her? She did not like being recognized. No she did not.

Some of the people were discussing an ugly sword, but she could not quite pick up exactly what was so special about it. She hadn't seen anything like it before, decided then and there she did not want to either. It was ugly. Disgusting. Ill-made.

When she heard one of the field-men speak down to one of the other women, she reacted on instinct. Jumping clean across the room, landing right beside him, she drew her dagger mid-leap, pressing it against his chest, without breaking through the cloth, let alone skin. She made it abundantly clear she would have no trouble pushing it all the way through. "Do [i]not[/i] speak to her like that..." she hissed out, disgust dripping from her mouth. "Had Thaddeus not needed you, you would have been dead now." She drew her dagger back, then sheathed it and turned around. Only then did she walk away again, taking a position along one wall near one of the exits, but close enough to hear the conversation.