Aine  had gotten so lost in staring at the young Draenei tending to her weapons that the elf did not even realize she was being spoken to until she was called out a second time.  The elf jumps slightly, her back straightening and the various beads and little trinkets braided into her wild made of hair clinked against each other as she jerked her head up towards the alien’s phosphorescent eyes. They were locked on her own, searching her for something and all they likely got in return was confusion. How long had she been staring at the woman’s hands tending to her weapons?<br/><br/>The old elf clears her throat, an easy and friendly smile forming on her lips. As she smiles the old, faded claw markings on her face move with the expression and she stand sup a little taller – her arms still thrown casually up over either end of her staff as she braced it across her broad shoulders.<span style="color: purple">“ I did not mean to stare at you so.”</span>She replied brightly not in the language of men but in Raelixa’s own language. Her accent was heavy and lilting but it was at least understandable, and definitely made things a little easier for the Draenei who had a little trouble forming the words of the Common language.<br/><br/>The Kaldorei lets the words linger for a bit, a veritable giant standing tall around the shifting crowd around her.<span style="color: purple">“ You see,”</span>she started up once again, gesturing lazily towards the woman’s axe.<span style="color: purple"> “ That’s a weapon common to the people of the north. It’s not a weapon native to your people. More like the orcs, honestly.” </span>Aine raises a wispy white eyebrow and shrugs her shoulder. In reality her weapons were just as uncommon as Rae’s. A quarterstaff made of dark ironwood banded in iron and planed down smooth – and of course the heavy pair of reinforced gloves at her saide, caestus. They were both weapons associated with peasants all the same and just like Rae’s axe they were disproportionately deadly to their reputation. The stave could cave in throats, crush ribs and crack skulls and the knuckle dusters could turn a grazing blow into the one that won an encounter.<br/><br/>With a grunt the elf raises her left shoulder while dropping her arm from it at the same time. Its center of gravity shifts and deftly the staff moves upward and in one smooth motion she catches it in her right hand, bringing it forward to lean on as she offers her hand towards the sitting woman.<span style="color: purple">“ My name is Aine Nightwhisper. No titles of any kind to claim, sadly. Well, unless vagabond and drunkard apply now."<br/>
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