by Istril on February 9th, 2011, 2:05 am
25th of Winter, 510 After Valterrian
"Lost, gem arm?" one of the passer-bys dared to ask. Istril ignored him. He was nothing to her. The fingers on her right arm drumming against her palm in rapid succession, from her pinky to her index, as she thought about how the human must simply be jealous of her superiorly-sculpted body. She turned to him, not even offering a tilt of her head, her cold eyes simply staring at him as he looked upon her with a sneer. "You should probably go to the Sanity Center, then. You travelers always have that look on your first day. Go on, then! It's the little, red, mossy house, right by the maw! It doesn't move, unlike everything else in Alvadas... but can you remember what streets you went down to get here?" The sneer only grew, and before she knew it, he had turned sharply on one foot and was walking off, laughing to himself at how he had supposedly tormented the newcomer. All he had done was help her, however, giving her a reference for this... this insanity, this illogicality. All she could hope was that this Sanity Center truly existed, and it was not simply a prank played on outsiders for some sort of entertainment she would never understand.
An hour later, two hours later, she didn't know how long it was, she just knew that she found her way to the red, moss covered building next to the maw eventually. She ran her hand along the outside, tilting her head, breathing slowly as she approached the door, pushing it open. Once entering, her short, stocky form made its way to the desk, which was suspiciously empty. Aha, a bell upon the table. Obviously, she was supposed to ring it to summon whoever normally manned it. Logical. Odd, for this city. She pressed her gem hand upon it a few times, causing it to ring out through the room, at which point she began to look around for the mysterious desk-manager. Whenever said person emerged, they were instantly barraged with questions, ones that Istril found quite important.
"Malanos Ironfist, Maliken Ironfist, and Navir Firmhand, all with arms of Black Rock," she immediately began, showing her own hand. "I look for them." She was speaking in Common, a language she was rusty with, at best, and it showed, in both her accent and her word choice. It was almost as if she was silently begging to use Isur, but was uncertain if this woman could speak it or not. "Said they come here. I must find them."