No--no, you cannot have my autograph, I'm not touching your pen--
[ Adrasteius nimbly sidesteps anyone trying to accost him. He demurs shaking hands, turns away autograph pens, and in general does not seem to be in the spirit of things. Truth be told, he feels a little ill at all this attention, and particularly by all these strangers trying to touch him. He's exhausted, besides: he can feel the magic in this world, as rich and present as the unbound streams of mana on Draenor. It's almost overwhelming to his senses, and frustrating, too, because he can't simply reach out and absorb it.
His long ears twitch and curl like a cat's, and in fact that's the impression he gives off to anyone approaching--a cat, agitated and nervous. When he stumbles away from the parade proper, he runs up against the food stalls and fares no better. ]
No. Nope.
[ He makes a 'pass' gesture at curries, burgers, tacos, or any other kind of meat-laden dish. At one point, he argues with a particular vendor. ]
I'm a vegetarian, okay? I don't eat anything that can look me in the eye. Yes, I know you're saying it's vegetable curry, but is that true? No animals harmed? Not even for the sauce.
b. no light, no light;
[ The design of the staff looks familiar, and its weight is of a piece with similar staves he carried in Azeroth. It's a comfort--at least until he tries to swing it. Then the thing slips from his hands as though his palms were suddenly greased with butter. He swears colorfully as he picks it up again.
He's in the courtyard, trying to wrangle this staff like someone else might wrangle a snake. He takes a deep, steadying breath. There's magic in this weapon. First step, draw it out. ]
Light help me.
[ It's both a sigh of exasperation and a real prayer. He hasn't been able to call on his powers since arrival, and it's not improving his mood any. Trying to clear his mind, trying to concentrate, he focuses on the staff. After a moment, it glows brilliant white. If anyone nearby has gotten scraped up in the course of working with their own weapon, their wounds are now healed. ]
Ow!
[ Adra's pain, however, has just begun. He sinks to his knees, aching. ]
No good deed will go unpunished with you, huh.
c. job - setting up shop;
[ What little muscle Adra has is not up to the task of lifting more than a few pounds. They had magic for all of that nonsense back in Silvermoon. Everything you wanted just floated amicably where it ought to go. But he's not useless here. After demonstrating his knowledge of a range of basic ingredients, if not the resulting dish itself, Adra's ready to help cook. If he catches anyone else hanging around, he'll accost them to give his work a try. ]
Here, take a bite.
[ He offers them a plate of white fish on a bed of tender, seasoned asparagus. Sesame paste, sweet and not too thick, coats the fish and the vegetables alike. If the flavors are to the diner's liking, it's delicious.
He stares down the person in question, one hand on his hip. Maybe a little bit anxious. ]
adrasteius | open
No--no, you cannot have my autograph, I'm not touching your pen--
[ Adrasteius nimbly sidesteps anyone trying to accost him. He demurs shaking hands, turns away autograph pens, and in general does not seem to be in the spirit of things. Truth be told, he feels a little ill at all this attention, and particularly by all these strangers trying to touch him. He's exhausted, besides: he can feel the magic in this world, as rich and present as the unbound streams of mana on Draenor. It's almost overwhelming to his senses, and frustrating, too, because he can't simply reach out and absorb it.
His long ears twitch and curl like a cat's, and in fact that's the impression he gives off to anyone approaching--a cat, agitated and nervous. When he stumbles away from the parade proper, he runs up against the food stalls and fares no better. ]
No. Nope.
[ He makes a 'pass' gesture at curries, burgers, tacos, or any other kind of meat-laden dish. At one point, he argues with a particular vendor. ]
I'm a vegetarian, okay? I don't eat anything that can look me in the eye. Yes, I know you're saying it's vegetable curry, but is that true? No animals harmed? Not even for the sauce.
b. no light, no light;
[ The design of the staff looks familiar, and its weight is of a piece with similar staves he carried in Azeroth. It's a comfort--at least until he tries to swing it. Then the thing slips from his hands as though his palms were suddenly greased with butter. He swears colorfully as he picks it up again.
He's in the courtyard, trying to wrangle this staff like someone else might wrangle a snake. He takes a deep, steadying breath. There's magic in this weapon. First step, draw it out. ]
Light help me.
[ It's both a sigh of exasperation and a real prayer. He hasn't been able to call on his powers since arrival, and it's not improving his mood any. Trying to clear his mind, trying to concentrate, he focuses on the staff. After a moment, it glows brilliant white. If anyone nearby has gotten scraped up in the course of working with their own weapon, their wounds are now healed. ]
Ow!
[ Adra's pain, however, has just begun. He sinks to his knees, aching. ]
No good deed will go unpunished with you, huh.
c. job - setting up shop;
[ What little muscle Adra has is not up to the task of lifting more than a few pounds. They had magic for all of that nonsense back in Silvermoon. Everything you wanted just floated amicably where it ought to go. But he's not useless here. After demonstrating his knowledge of a range of basic ingredients, if not the resulting dish itself, Adra's ready to help cook. If he catches anyone else hanging around, he'll accost them to give his work a try. ]
Here, take a bite.
[ He offers them a plate of white fish on a bed of tender, seasoned asparagus. Sesame paste, sweet and not too thick, coats the fish and the vegetables alike. If the flavors are to the diner's liking, it's delicious.
He stares down the person in question, one hand on his hip. Maybe a little bit anxious. ]
Well?