<div class="floatleft">(http://s27.postimg.org/47l5lspvl/Duke_Pantarei_full_452999.jpg)</div><br/>Emerging properly from the alcove, his steps quiet save for the rustle of chainmail, Dalvarien cautiously neared the variety of individuals who had been speaking earlier. Clad in a mix of the salvaged chainmail and leather crudely put together from the decayed armour, as well as the piecemeal remnants of his own clothes, and armed with a rusty bastard sword, the slender half-breed probably didn't look particularly presentable. The fey's own thoughts on that matter showed, in the manner in which he uncomfortably attempted to maintain his state of dubious dress. Among other things, he hoped that they weren't hostile, especially now as his powers were suppressed- though it looked to him like they had been similarly deposited here. Dalvarien also hoped that he wouldn't be mistaken for a woman, since that wasn't entirely an uncommon happening. As one could imagine, it lead to difficult situations.<br/><br/>Dalvarien spoke, his voice just as misleading as his appearance, as well as less confident than it would be in a normal situation. "Um, does ...anyone... have any idea what exactly is going on? Or is that just a vain hope?"