A momentary silence fell over the three elves as Telthar’rion said this, quite unsure of how to continue a conversation from that point, when presently, Telthar’rion loudly clicked his fingers. Alyxandra and Alceren were confused by this arbitrary action; Alyxandra was unsettled suddenly by Telthar’rion’s eyes - they had turned almost jet black, and were more piercing than ever.
Only moments after he clicked his fingers, the inn door opened once more, and across the threshold three more elves came - two women, and one male, a proud, gloriously gold lion following the male, to much dissent from the tavern’s other visitors; they forced themselves to lean upon the walls, recoiling in fear as the lion paced his way through the tables, ever following his master.
His master, at the back of the line of newcomers, had a wide smile upon his face; his face was lively, coloured with the gentle flushes of life, that made his face appear a little more human than Elven. His emerald eyes were filled with an innate cheekiness, unlike Rupert’s, but filled with a more wistful nature than perhaps Alceren’s. He carried a tall, red helmet, with a two parallel white lines running down to his forehead. He wore a deep red metal breastplate and white robes, a large axe over his shoulder. His collarbone length, auburn hair, curious among elves, was a little ruffled, probably due to the fact that he had been wearing a helmet. He came and sat down by Telthar’rion, and shook his hand, before introducing himself. “My name Yvellen Arestora, one of the Trainers of Gold,” Yvellen then pointed to the lion who sat dutifully, almost purring beside him, “and this is Luan, my greatest friend.”
At this, a laugh could be heard behind him. The woman who had laughed, one of the two remaining elves, was one of the most beautiful any of them had ever seen. Her face, soft, pale yet striking, was framed by her shoulder length, deep brown hair, and her eyes were an extraordinarily deep blue. Her hourglass figure was enhanced by the azure breastplate she wore, acting almost as a corset, beneath which flowed long, azure robes, covering her arms to the wrists. She carried a large shield, steel and edged with blue, and she leant upon the hilt of her longsword, with blue detailing in the silver steel hilt. For those who attempted to see her legs (who were of a large number, as virtually all in the tavern at the time gazed upon her; the men wide-mouthed and wide-eyed in awe, while the women there glared at her in supreme jealousy, at her face, clean of cosmetic array, aside from her lips, a deep red), blue boots could be seen protruding from beneath the fabric.
Seeing the others sitting there, she approached them, seemingly impervious to the comments, some quite obscene, which were thrown at her. Rupert approached her, unable to look her in the eyes, and began to employ his roguish ‘charm‘ once more. However, things did not go quite according to plan for Rupert, as he soon found himself slapped across the face; he fell to the ground, flat on his back, as the elven ‘goddess’, as he perceived her, bent closer to him, uttering only five words, in a voice she knew would have his attention.
Rupert nodded, rendered speechless by her face, her voice, her close proximity all too much for him. A cheeky smile crossed Rupert’s face, his cheeks reddening. The elf smiled, finally depleting what was left of Rupert’s limited decency, and he moved his arm to touch her chest. The elf merely kicked him between the legs and left, having taught Rupert his lesson, before finally reaching the table at which the others sat, Yvellen laughing into his hands, having found the whole affair hilarious. She took a seat next to Yvellen, and began to speak.
“My name is Aranaytha Raymar, one of the Sword Wielders, of the presently besieged Valston.” Alyxandra smiled, letting her know of her understanding of the dangers there, but Aranaytha simply frowned.