Amos continued his weak attempt to look imposing, throwing an overcooked nod towards the goblin bartender when his death-defying orange juice was served.<br/>His act fell apart completely if one took a moment to glance at his hand, shaking nervously as it curled around the mug.<br/><br/>He always felt anxious when doing field exercises: Maybe because of his nature or maybe because he always pulled the unsavory assignments putting him knee-deep in seedy city districts and tattered bars usually filled with adventurers.<br/><br/>Treasure-hunters were terribly trigger-happy and impossible to predict, he mentally groaned.<br/><br/>And they were huge. And individually armed with more sharp things than a cutlery-store as a rule of thumb.<br/><br/>And when they weren’t walking, talking fortresses of barely contained anger and murderous intent, they were spooky mages, zealous priests or mad shamans, just to mention a few. He always felt helplessly out of place, and from what he could gather from his surroundings, the surroundings thought so too.<br/><br/>Oh well, it wasn’t all bad, he had to admit. Where lumbering oafs and soldiers of such calibers lingered, so did their much more enjoyable counter-part, the treasure-hunter women. When Amos wasn’t hiding behind tables or generally attempting to look as small as possible, he stole a wayward glance at these Amazonian demi-goddesses; elves of all kind, trolls, the best pedigree of humans.. nether, gnomes and dwarves looked gorgeous as well.<br/><br/>Not that he ever, -ever- had the gusto to do anything than steal a second-short glance before giving any of these women a chance in hell to notice him. Not that they did – he was easy to overlook once the initial shock of his frailness passed.<br/><br/>But at the end of the proverbial day, even with exposed skin and daring outfits, not even the ambitious women of this caste of madmen could trump the security he found back home in Dalarans moldy libraries.<br/><br/>Amos took a careful, polite sip from the mug. And then he gagged, a wayward glance seeing the viciously alluring worgen woman bare her canines.<br/>After a brief, haggard fit of coughing, he steeled himself just long enough to get a better look: Even in her vicious guise of part woman part wolf, the deep chocolate fur against well-defined feminine features poked at some primal urges. He got to wonder how passionate people like her were..<br/><br/>He shook his head to dismiss it, took another polite from his mug and… gagged again.<br/><br/>This time, it was the blood elven maiden who addressed his mentor: spikes of great apprehension and helpless captivity molded forth the mother of all goofy grins, carried on top a wide-eyed expression.<br/><br/>His fowled companion “Hmm?”’d, did a jerk of his wings and jumped onto the bar, saying in a well-formulated common:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: Gray"><b>Why, I’m his mentor of course!</b></span>” he said matter-of-factly.<br/><br/>Owls weren’t normally mentors of anyone, and by the looks of his pondering face, the owl seemed to remember this oversight.<br/><br/>“<span style="color: Gray"><b>Erhumn</b></span>” he started before spreading a wing: “<span style="color: Gray"><b>..I am..was.. will hopefully be a mage.. again, good madam, and this young tyro is another rising star to continue the proud tradition of Dalaran magi. Up until that point, however, he’s a bit wet behind the ears..</b></span>”<br/><br/>“<span style="color: RoyalBlue">Hey, I-I’m not THAT wet..!</span>” Amos attempted to object, his voice sporting a cute nasal characteristic.<br/>He was again summarily ignored by the owl:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: Gray"><b>..and to prevent him to bundle out and get himself skinned alive, I have been appointed to discipline him mentally, physically and.. yes, basically tell him when it’s a proper good idea to run. I teach him an odd spell or two as well, you know. Such is the burden of seasoned wizards, hhmyes.</b></span>”<br/><br/>The proud owl ruffled his feather, muttered a “<span style="color: Gray"><b>Hmmyes</b></span>” again before landing a swat against Amos’ head:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: Gray"><b>Stop gawking and introduce yourself, boy! Where are your manners?!</b></span>”<br/><br/>The owl summarily used his wing to “clonk” Amos’ jaw up again, much to the surprise of the young man. He unsteadily presented a hand, palm facing upwards, indicating the young man was ordered to courteously kiss the hand of a “maiden”. Whether they were preaching to the wrong choir, Risa being a warrioress, was a whole other story.<br/><br/>“<span style="color: RoyalBlue">N-n-names uhm.. A-A.. A-.. A-….</span>”.<br/><br/>Amos paused, sunk a harsh lump, steeled all his resolve and finally spat out his label:<br/><br/>“<span style="color: RoyalBlue">A-m-o-s, mmmm-m-madam. A puh-p-pleasure.</span>”<br/><br/>OhlightIamgoingtodiewhyamIblushingsohard, his mind so very helpfully communicated to him.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>