Snippet #2659499

"...And wham!" Winielle tosses her arm aside, her hair bouncing along with her and nudging a small mortatr and pestle with the movement. The thing starts to topple but is quietly fixed back onto the desk and moved farther back to avoid another push. Meanwhile ".. He just breaks off the top of the column, which I'm pretty sure scratched him because I had that thing poking against his neck. Unless he had really thick skin? More like a hide? Well he was an orc. They're bred ruggedly, more, live ruggedly right?" She asks while situating colorful containers of liquid, odd ingredients, and papers written in all manners of language.

Ithilwen nodds while summoning the mortar and pestle to her open palm. Once it was in her grasp, she swirled her finger in the contents while blinking slowly. "Yes. Orcs live by the pholosophy that only the strong may survive and the weak will perish. Physical incapability is heavily frowned upon so they train and build themselves ruthlessly." She answers her pupil's questions in her monotonous voice while 'gliding' over to her stores for a few more items.

"Right right.." She muses quietly, her eyes bronze with thought. Gently, she taps the bottom of the stack of papers against the desk, the force slowly aligning them with one another. Humming, she turns to look to the Triclops. "Master, Frostarians are those tall pale ones right?" She asks.

Ithilwen confirms yet again "Yes. Daunting in height, pale in pigment, bred for the cold, a thirst for battle, very intelligent, and own many secrets I have yet to know. You ask because you've seen them?" Her third eye glances over to the Demoness who talked far too much.

Winielle sighs girlishly and fiddles with the corners of the papers in her hand, a small smile on her lips. "I have.. He was tall and rugged and muscly.." Her finger trails down the center of a page as she recalls his facial features.

Ithilwen inwardly sighs and rolled her eyes, continuing to listen while crushing the herbs in the mortar.

"...And he seemed.. Kind. The curious type, you know? And he was a weapon smith. I don't know his name though. I wonder if the rest of them are like that." She looks up with a dreamy smile. Winielle was in her prime Demoness years. Demons lived for a fairly extended period of time so she had a ways to go before she was seasoned.

"Curb your enthusiam. From what I've studied they tend not to interbreed. It explains why all of them can be characterized by only a few physical features." Ithilwen gives Winielle a look with all of her eyes this time as she passes by her to the tower's library. "Then again, I still have much to learn about the specie so maybe a few of them are more open minded. It would not be surprising from the few at the embassy." She muses aloud, her voice, although keeping her same tone, projected from the library space.

Winielle tapped the papers against her lips, thoughtfully looking after her Master. "I wonder.. Where is the Embassy..?" She perks up a little, her eyes wide.