<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c4/a2/eb/c4a2eb3622a5fd5f4149b8e094a22fa3.jpg)</div><strong>Name: </strong>Danae Vine-Lott (https://www.dndbeyond.com/characters/13428552/mqOlTT)<br/><strong>Location: </strong>Island docks<br/><strong>Wearing: </strong>Grey hemp blouse, navy blue felt breeches, leather boots<br/><strong>Content: </strong>Armed<br/><strong>Tagging: </strong>Faelyn<br/><br/>"You have my gratitude," Danae acknowledged the generosity of a fellow warrior and took the shortsword in hand, feeling its heft and balance. It had an odd curve that for some reason reminded her of a crescent moon.  She remembered picture books from musty shelves at school showing the arts and crafts of the fey, and always thought the illustrations must have been fanciful.  "It is not a blade to which I am accustomed.  I must see that I do it justice.  You will certainly have it back before we part and, should I fall, you can always take it off me!"  She gave a grim chuckle and sat with her musket propped against her shoulder.  "This is no club, though I have at times used it as such when I ran short of powder.  This is like a slingshot with a very hard and very heavy bullet.  When powder and fire kiss, the burst forces out the bullet at great speed. The flash and noise do much to disconcert an undisciplined foe, too.  Goblins scatter under a volley of well-drilled fire and break rank.  Then the lancers can ride forth and make short work of them."<br/><br/>There, she paused.  She did not suppose Faelyn knew anymore about her military service than she knew about the life of an elven rover.<br/>