<span style="color: orange">"Messengers usually get got, but I'll tell you what, if you can get me a glass of wine I'll stop conjuring my own. Deal?" </span>The mage took a bite her a food and smiled in a bit of surprise.<span style="color: orange">"Maybe I won't need to be tipsy to enjoy this after all." </span>She let her wine vanish and looked up to the waiter.<span style="color: orange">"A glass of juice, any kind will be fine." </span><span style="color: DarkGreen">"I'd appreciate it, I have a very low tolerance for disrespect and she's pretty much made of it."</span><br/><br/><span style="color: darkorange">"My pride is all I have left... what little that wasn't taken from me at least." </span>She looked down at her son with a sad sigh but shook it off.<span style="color: darkorange">"We are of different generations, different instincts, maybe you can't help me. I don't want to kill dry skins, I give people a chance to earn my respect, or I try to at least, I don't have the same dominate instincts... You've been a victim of Azshara, you know what she can do to us. My mother... my mother was her bodyguard when she was a child and I grew up beside her. I've spent my life, above and below the waves by Azshara's side." </span>Nyarien paused for a moment and looked over at Ophidian.<span style="color: darkorange">"You can't kill me, I'm a far better fighter than you are... but I have no interest in harming dry skins. I don't have any interest in anything but raising my son and learning to... tolerate these dry skins."</span><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>