Swear words really were few, in his native tongue. He had often wondered why. Did Elves not feel the need to express their dislike of a situation, like humans did? If not, was it the muddy human blood in him that made him feel compelled to such outbursts? Was there really a pshycological or mental difference decided by blood only? He did not know and he never would. He was half human, after all.
As fate would have it, he really needed a swear at the moment. The stranger had agreed to his healing and dismissed his offer to take him to the temple. Who would prefer the hand of a sweaty soldier on their chest over the soft palms of a dozen innocent Temple Maidens? Did this stranger not know that the Princess herself, a woman with beuty just as striking as that of any Elf, was a Maiden at the temple? Had his Lady General not healed his every wound with a declaration of just how much of a, well, wimp he was, he would have asked to go to the temple each and every time.
But alas, the stranger did choose his hand over the Temple Maidens' and it was his duty to heal if asked to. Had he not been a soldier, but just any other regular High Elf who had chosen the lighter magic over the arcane arts, he would have been able to sit by, sipping his wine and letting the man bleed out on the floor.
As if the misfortune of the situation was not quite bad enough, his little Lady Hobgoblin even spoke to him again, “Sir Nihmgor, this is too much, I can't possibly take it,” she said. She had heard who he was. She had not believed him when he had told her of his heritage. He was a bit disappointed at that. Did he not look the role of the son of a duke? Was it the hair? Everyone in the Earroldian empire knew that the Nihmgor duchy had always been run by High Elves. Never before had a human entered the noble family. So, was it because he was not some beautiful blonde? Nobody ever doubted his sister, with her golden curls, even if she was just as much a half-blood as he. Once he took his father's place at his hundreth birthday, he would make sure that people knew him on the streets; the crimson-haired half-Elf would not exactly be someone you would forget. The Crimson Duke, though... it had an evil sort of ring to it. Like some villan from one of the fairy tales the Maidens told the orphans.
“I insist, my Lady,” he pushed on as he moved the the wounded man's side “Consider it your prize for entertaining an old man at a bar. Even if I am young for an Elf, I certainly am old for a human,” he finished talking to his Lady and to prove this to her, he placed his hands gently on his bleeding chest and focusing the best he could on mending the torn flesh. Blood was a beautiful thing, though. So … red.
The focusing part, though, was most of the reason why his magic was so … unpredicatble, though. His mind tended to wander when he was not doing something enjoyable. The wound ever so slowly, and probably quite unpleasantly for the man being healed, began mending itself. Because his magical nature was so slow to react to him, due to his muddy blood, it actually happened so slowly and so crudely that one could see the tissue connecting again.
Meanwhile, in Grapholo
“Get outta ma way!” the small, yet strong, woman yelled out, making several of the other Grapholan engineers leap out of her way; a wrench was clutched so tightly in her little fist that the knuckles had long since gone white with the lack of blood. A mechanical dog about the size of a pony came jogging after her, its metal tongue hanging out the open mouth, leaking what appeared to be oil all over the place.
Ninni Gobbletaker was the name of that small woman and she was not a force to be reconed with when she was in one of her moods. The King himself had just turned down her sixth attempt at the mountable weapons and she was on the verge of exploding.
Her mechanical dog, Project One, was proof of her impressive skills when it came to machinery and if that was not enough, she had even developed the very first of their mechanical weapons; a thing she called a “gun”. She was quite the impressive woman, but she was a woman, nonetheless. Countless times had her co-workers, or employees as they were, heard her scream and shout about how she would build herself a mechanical penis and maybe then the King would listen to her ideas. They all doubted it.
“YA!!” the small woman called out, stopping before the Necromancer, thrusting her wrench up into the dangerous woman's face, causing her to draw back a bit, “Ya and ya f*ckin' magics's why that God damned King won't listen to a word I say!” she strongly accused, using as much spit as she did words.
The Necromancer, Azura Rabonne, was not a force to be reckoned with, either. Her magical mutation allowed her to raise the dead and she was far from shy at using this ability. She held no fear for anyone, but everyone feared her. Everyone but Ninni Gobbletaker, that is.
It was magic against mechanics; a war that had been fought in Grapholo for about as long as the war against Earroldir.
Azura scoffed and peted her skeleton dog that stood by her side, “My magic is a blessing of Humossia. Dare you say your ideas are better than hers, little woman?” was the icy reply.
“Danm straight I do!” Ninni snapped back, “A human with magics; it's unnatural!” she added in a a sort of growling hiss that it was only Ninni who could possibly make, “We've got our brains! That's why we didn't need magics, like dem mythicals!”
Their argument, even if it was only Ninni arguing and Azuyra simply speaking, was interrupted by a young messenger who came sprinting; wheezing and hacking for breath, “Lady -” he began, but had to pause for breath, “Lady Rabonne -” he paused for breath again, “- the Nords -” he paused for breath again and the annoyance in both Ninni's and Azura's faces would have been enough to stop an entire army, make them put down their weapons and apologize for their inconvenience, “- burned the Gralhold.”
As soon as she was certain he had actually finished speaking and was not just holding another pause for breath, Azura was off. It was surprising, really, how fast she could run in heels. Ninni was foaming by now, that they once again chose the magic users over her inventions, but it mattered not. Azura was already outside. The lines on her face glowed, as did her eyes and only a moment passed before the pile of bones by the stables formed themselves into a real, living horse … minus the flesh, of course. Using her dog, Skelly, as a step, she jumped onto the back of the bone-horse and without having to command it, as it took the orders straight from her brain, the horse had run off. The dog, however, fell to a pile of bones where it was left.
