The human’s clothes were layers of ruined garments, one covering up the failure of the last. On the top layer remnants of Hallow’s End costumes could be discerned, bright bits of color over the muddy sameness of the unwashed rags below.
Tripsy paused in the Trade District, watching the crowd watching the tatterdemalion prophet. It was more crowded than ever, and her eyes traveled to the tall masonry buildings as another tremor shook the ground, another ripple of fear excited the crowd.
It seemed the absolute worst place to be if those tremors got much worse. Though no one was certain they -would- get worse, she was certain that being crushed by even a small fraction of Stormwind’s building materials would be unpleasant.
She made a note to keep her dimension-folding transporter fully charged.