<div class="floatright">(http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2013/049/b/8/cleric_copy_by_yamao-d5vddiv.jpg)</div>Something perked Anton's attention as he fell quiet. He hadn't paid attention to the low murmur that passed between the others, but a phrase had caught him, and a memory rose unbidden of a soft hand on his forehead as he lay shivering from fever beneath a blanket wet with his sweat, the cool hand a source of comfort and ease, drawing away some of the pain that wracked his body. He remembered of stories, words that had taken him to other places far from the harsh realities of life in the cruel world in which they lived, stories of her grandparents and great-grandparents before they had been killed by the demons. Hundreds of years ago they had roamed the land, and a time or two she had mentioned the words... spell dancers.<br/><br/>Twice his eyes blinked as he turned his full attention on Velatha, catching the rest of her sentence as she declared her heritage, and something within him could understand that with the title of "spelldancer" there was also the enormous weight of history crashing like a bull through the centuries, carving a path into tomes and grimoires that would live on even after the people who had embodied them were gone. It meant something, to be a spelldancer, and he studied the woman more carefully. An elf, like his mother, yet more lithe than the other one, less apt to flaunt her body--and perhaps less of a body to flaunt, at that. There almost seemed to be something masculine about her, the leather armor that encased her form shrouding what curves she might have. It startled him a little, though he was unsure whether it turned him off or excited him because of its unusualness.<br/><br/>Beats passed before he brought the sudden silence with his own words. "I've heard of them," he said softly, the words accompanied by a slight inclination of his head in her direction, his tone serious and almost dour. "My mother would tell me of their exploits and deeds. She told that they could weave blade and magic in a way that few could match, flying at speeds that rivalled the elementals of air and wind, or even connect the distances between places to appear suddenly in another place with barely a word or a spell cast." His words suddenly grew heavy, as his gaze at her deepened. "They also died out over the course of the demonic invasion over the last ten centuries," he added simply. The questions he wanted to ask was obvious--how she had come to unlock the secret arts of the spell dancers with no one to guide her? Were there others out there? And lastly, one that he did everything possible from showing on his face... had she survived and been taught by submitting to the demons when others had fallen before their claws and talons?