[ Neria is not actually wandering along; she is in fact perched on the top of a low wall, out of the snow, eating a drumstick. Yes, everything is baffling and kind of awful, but in the last twenty minutes no one has asked her to traipse several miles underground to find an insane woman, or deliver the heart of a werewolf, or, in fact, anything at all! It's incredibly novel. The specter of a person whirling by mid magic embolism, however, is less so, considering the flare ups she's been experiencing herself. She doesn't sense anything other than probably a mage having a bad day, but one does not simply waltz into the Fade and trust anything there; the same goes for mysterious wheres and whens and whatever this place is...eses. That's surely the correct pluralization.
Anyway. She finishes her chicken, tosses the bone over the wall for some lucky scavenger (...look, she's from like 14th century fake Britain, that's basically recycling), and leans over on crossed legs to prop her cheek on one fist. ]
Ooooh. [ A tiny round of applause with tiny, elfy hands. ] Shocking.
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Anyway. She finishes her chicken, tosses the bone over the wall for some lucky scavenger (...look, she's from like 14th century fake Britain, that's basically recycling), and leans over on crossed legs to prop her cheek on one fist. ]
Ooooh. [ A tiny round of applause with tiny, elfy hands. ] Shocking.