The small, swarthy child tugged on the fabric of the courier’s leg, and the elf responded by stopping in his tracks and squatting down to the child’s height. Elbows perched on his knees as he regarded the young orc, who looked at him with conviction before pointing an arm in the direction before them. Fiachre followed the child’s line of sight for a moment, one gloved hand slipping down to his waist to fetch a coin from the small pouch roped there. A single coin, bronze in color and ranking, was pressed into a waiting hand. The shal’dorei’s composed features broke in an exaggerated gasp, hand reaching out to the small orc.
“What's this? An illusion? ”
Mockery and humor laced the words as he conjured another coin from behind the child’s ear, pressing it, too, within the delighted figure’s grasp. Satisfaction wrote itself on his face as he righted himself and stepped away, moving from initial leg of his job to the final point of it. As he approached the figure the orphan had pointed out — mop of hair, dappled in earthy tones — the elf procured a stack of envelopes from the bag slung around his shoulder. No fair greeting rang out to the other, no semblance of or air of grace or social finery setting the stage. Instead the elf cut right through such niceties.
“ I believe I have something you’d be interested in. ”
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