Tycondrius recalled that Krysaos had difficulty speaking succinctly in the presence of Oracle Atlantea.
The silver-braided dark elf was a reasonably attractive female who seemed to command a moderate amount of power. Thus, he took a half-step forward, prepared to speak for his Captain.
"Who the f*ck are you, cutting board?" Krysaos growled.
Tycon narrowed his eyes. That... was not the attitude he expected.
The elf rolled her purple eyes in disdain, "How about you *thank* me for saving your pitiful, half-broken boat, you dis-*gusting* human?"
She had a light voice, but spoke an octave or two deeper, as if to garner more respect. Her words dripped with the arrogance of an Elven Ancient... yet as an elf, she could not be more than fifty years of age.
If she were human, a bartender at a public house would likely refuse her.
