<strong>Theswyn</strong><br/><hr/><br/>It may have started as a question of ego, maybe a way to start some trouble or just tweak the nerves of one of those "superior" elves who've been showing up lately. Now that it's almost over, though, the small group that had gathered with their wagers were just enjoying the show. Maybe it was the elf's unflappable good mood that kept things from spiraling out of control toward more hostile outcomes; maybe the tavern's just too mellow for a brawl. Whatever the reason there's no spite behind the knife tapping its way across the tabletop, just a quick hand guiding it between the opposite's fingers more and more quickly until, with a final thok, the wielder embeds the tip into marked wood and leans back.<br/><br/>Grinning, Theswyn lifts her unmarked hand to point at the man sitting across from her. "That's another round on you, mate," she says.<br/><br/>The fighter's red hair hangs free at the moment, its brick waves made that much more vibrant by her comparatively drab green tabard. The garment fits fairly loose, its open sides cinched together with leather strips, the lower half dangling between her legs which are themselves covered mainly by a pair of light brown embellished boots that just crest over the knee. When she stands she lifts the satchel that had been resting against the base of her chair and slings it over one shoulder to the sound of metal brushing metal, carrying it along on her way back to the booth from which her betting mates had pulled her away for this little game they had in mind. That's one more drink for herself and the others at her table that won't be added to her own tab!