Erma felt slightly ashamed of herself, and piteous towards the world as a whole. Even moreso than the Old Gods themselves, Azeroth was a world that managed to spin from the flow of money, the currents of it passing from hand to hand being the driving force behind the planet's rotation. Greed and self-interest were among the few things that kept the people alive, though. Such a fact was undeniable, as unsavory as it sounded.<br/><br/>On those premises, Erma acknowledged that she was in desperate need of funds. Though it was mostly for a few supplies that consisted most significantly of mana restoration, which were usually quite cheap, Erma had not the patience to wait for her magic to return in the middle of an adventure, as there were too many things that could be happening and were in need of being done to stand and twiddle her armored thumbs to be able to work to her fullest. The death knight grumbled to herself as she took another look at the slightly crumpled poster in her hand. Yes, she'd gotten the address right. Goldshire, Lion's Pride Inn, to be at room 42 on the second floor by eleven o' clock in the evening."<span style="color: Blue">Forty-two,</span>" she muttered under her breath, "<span style="color: Blue">Always the answer to everything.</span>" She stepped in behind a particularly curvy draenei shaman, one who seemed rather nervous about the stares she'd been getting.<br/><br/>On the toher side of the spectrum, Erma found that the stares she'd received herself were far from ones of admiration, but those of fear and disgust. Her dark blue, viciously spiked armor looked too sinister to not attract attention, and the runeblade that was never to leave her grip so long as she had a say in the matter had attracted the occasional glance and expression of horror. She responded with naught but a stare that was just as cold as her icy magic, a gaze that made most turn away, save those who were far too filled with stout to so much as give a damn. She made a snort at them all as she turned towards the bar herself, standing next to the draenei from the entrance. She raised a finger at the barmaid that stood adjacent to the barkeep the shaman had asked for water, and she herself politely asked for a glass of wine, laying three pieces of silver down on the counter top and handing another to the woman as a tip. With a grin she took it and brought down a bottle of raspberry wine, filling the crystalline glass to the brim with the drink. Erma nodded politely in response and took a very gentle sip, just barely tasting it. Though it was tart and flavorful, Erma found herself disappointed regardless. It was mostly on her own part, however; being undead had lessened and dulled her senses of taste and smell, and her touch always felt as though she was making contact through a linen glove. She still managed to enjoy what of her drink that she could nonetheless.<br/><br/>"<span style="color: Blue">Fillet Kneecapper,</span>" she said to nobody in particular. "<span style="color: Blue">A Gnomish name if I've ever heard one.</span>" She made a quick, lazy scan over the crowd, spotting only two or three of the small people. One was a waitress, one that Erma ignored. Bah. She was certain that he'd make himself known soon enough. She took another of the tiniest sips as she waited for the time to pass.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>