Thinking on just what the courts were, Talia watches the hooded figure sit down at the acolytes table, the tail revealing her heritage. The witch herself is a tall, thin woman with skin pockmarked by a childhood disease that may also be responsible for her mottled eyes that still seem able to see, whilst her pale blonde hair is clean and shiny, falling straight down to the centre of her back.<br/><br/><strong>  “Aye, or so you say at least. Come, give me your hand, let me get a feel for ya,”</strong>the thin woman eyes her newest customer, her fingers enveloping Lily's, squeezing gently, those murky green eyes closed. She produces the a vellum bag, which crunches with stone as she drops it on the table. Four circles have been carved into its surface, the work precise and smooth, looking new, whilst the rest of the table has seen better days. Still holding onto Lilly, she reaches inside and and pulls out five stones, casting them down. There is a flash of burned charcoal on each, but all settle with the symbol face down. Somehow, whether by magic or a trick of the wrist, one stone fell into each circle, whilst one rolled to the side, to the very edge of the table. It is this one the witch acolyte picks up first, revealing a circles of nine dashes.<strong>“The Nine Blades. You are haunted. By the sins of the past, a true monster, or your own thoughts, trapped in your head with no connection to the outside world. I cannot know for certain, though you seem too young for it to be anything but the last,”</strong>the woman finally releases Lily's hand.<strong>“Now, that showed the present, if you would like to hear the future, your future, lay two gold on the table, and we will see what the rest of the stones say. Yes?”</strong><br/><br/>Bard watches as finally the first contestant, a muscular elf, decides to try his luck with the hafling  his 5 copper snapped up by the half-elf who leads them over to a table, loudly proclaiming this to be an even match between two giants, nah, titans of physical might. The elf senses trickery, and prepares to not let the small size fool him, pushing as hard as he can from the start. As soon as their hands close around each others, and his somehow disappears in the hafling's grasp he cries foul, but it is too late as the contest has begin. He puts up an admirable effort but the hafling overpowers him somehow....and then the illusion is broken. Having and goliath had swapped skins for the day, and the cheated elf finds himself inches from a muscular giant folk, who still firmly pins his hand to the table, which dulls the sense of anger he feels. The half-elf bows, and with with a flurry of movement drops his jacket to reveal a vest of feathers below, whilst quick fingers draw a set of three lines on each cheek with black dye, thus revealing himself to be Gydion, the Thief of the Forest. The locals laugh, as this is a traditional con for visitors, and now that the secret is revealed the real halfling leaves, whilst the now unveiled goliath stays, with the original offer: 5 copper to arm wrestle him, 2 silver if you win.<br/><br/>Kess draws his share of stares, a barefoot elf, one of the old ways. “Are you a fey?” a human child asks him at one point, others are less enthralled by the notion and more worried, considering even acting. Kess can see them in the corner of his eyes, discussing their plans for dealing with the trickster just loud enough for him to hear them. For now though they dare not make a move, and several girls, two humans, a dwarf and a wilden, ask him to dance with them.<br/><br/>On her way to fetch wine, Anabella glances the wares on offer. Charms tend to prize function over beauty, and even those made to catch the eye are for peasants, not a noblewoman. A clever pattern notched along the bone, metal woven in a simple spiral, that is enough for the drunken masses, and the vendors could not afford even the raw materials for Erza's choice of jewellery, even if they had the skill to craft it. Indeed the prettiest thing on offer is an thick bracelet of beaten iron with a smooth line of silver in the centre, paired with a bracelet of smooth, polished silver with a line of rough iron through it. Sold as a pair for 5 gold and 5 copper, they are meant for slave and owner yes, but the young goliath woman hawking it probably doesn't realize just how wealthy Anabella owner is, and is unlikely to proudly display such a thing on her wrist.<br/><br/>At least the wine on offer is exotic enough, in these lands no one takes the effort of rolling cheap wine up a hill to compete with cheap ale.  Anabella can choose between a heavily spiced, fruity “Mixed Blood” blend at 7 silver a bottle, and a sour red wine, Posca, said to be the drink of choice hobgoblin nobility in the south east, 1 gold a bottle. When Erza sends her back for a second goblet, along with a debasement, amid the usual leers and crude comments,<em>“Ya Master ever share ya?”</em>, and the occasional grope, a young half-elven boy approaches and presses a dried flower into her hands. “Here, sister,” he closes her palms around the orange petals, and is gone, slipping away into the ground. The flower is canna. The flower that gave hope to the desperate half-elven prince Meerla as he struggled through a snowstorm in the mountains.