Muxileth was trying not to laugh. The elf seemed determined to make her laugh, though, by becoming ever angrier.
It had started simply enough. She’d asked the elf where her sandals had come from. Well, before that the elf had been staring at her. She looked nice enough; who’d have thought someone in such a nice color scheme (light grey, mossy green, some amber) would react in such a hostile manner? Who knew she’d seen Muxileth dismiss the felhunter before boarding?
“Don’t try to be friendly with me, warlock. I saw you with that thing.”
“Well, it seems we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, what with the name-calling and all. How about we try again? It’s going to be a long trip, so–” she spun about, then curtsied with a flourish of her staff. “Muxileth Sixtysix. Researcher, antiquarian. At your service.”
“No one needs the services of your kind.”
“You wound me, darling. But your sandals are adorable. Perfect for hot days like this. Are they from Darkshore somewhere?”
“I’ll be watching you, gnome. Use your foul magics and the crew will hear all about it.”
“As much as I’d love to entertain the crew, you fascinate me more. And since we’re going to be such bosom companions, I promise not to use any magic.”
The elf looked at her, eyes narrowed. She continued, “…unless we’re set upon by pirates. Or sea monsters. Or–”
“Spare me your deceptions.”
“…or I get bored. Or it gets dark, for that matter. I’m glad we’re setting boundaries like this. It’s a good start to our friendship.”
The elf snorted.
It was going to be a lovely trip.