@freydis-freydat location: Off to the Races notes: he either looks pissed or crying - Progress Day!
A whirlwind of dust kicked up and washed across the lower benches as the mechanical horse-drawn chariot whipped around the corner. He'd been perched in the corner, his body recovered from Orryn's attack but his ego still bruised, when he caught sight of at least one familiar face. Scattered though the Iskarans all were, the witcher still had his oaths - and as a member of the Guild that took on another shape now. "I think I might put my name in." Torsten stated plainly as he saddled adjacent to her, gesturing toward the race track again. He'd been riding Harold for years, how different could a chariot be? This was mechanical, not magical, narrow as his thoughts could be he took no issue with progress in that sense. "Doesn't look difficult."