Remiel pursed his lips into a thin line, crossing the gap between them in a few short strides. His staff clattered to the ground, forgotten as he gripped her shoulders gently.

[1/3] Commission for voljinsbutt of their friend and their characters, Remiel and Alkaphrah.

--

Marcone sat behind his desk, his faded green eyes scrutinizing the orc sitting before him over steepled green fingers, she was obviously a Death Knight.

He wondered if the Valkyr hovering just behind him to the left made her uncomfortable at all. Since the Lich King had fallen, there were some free agents running around and Marcone wasn't going to pass up an opportunity like that, but from what he understood, Valkyr and Death Knights had a mixed relationship due to events that transpired under Arthas.

Behind him to the right lounged a flame haired orc, he was large even for an orc, heavily muscled and while he lounged, an experienced soldier could easily tell he carried himself as a capable fighter, and would be able to react quickly if need be.

The room they all were in was a beautiful display of wealth, not shoddy wooden craftsmanship like most goblins, or even most buildings in Kalimdor, it was tightly and expertly constructed from various beautiful imported hardwoods. Several Titan relics and artifacts sat proudly displayed on shelves, a globe of the world hung  suspended within golden rings beside his desk, it glowed lightly and slowly rotated on nearly every axis simultaneously, looking at too long could had begun to give Alka a headache.

The Goblin finally parted his hand with a sharp smile, "So, Alkaphrah. What exactly can I do for you?"

Send a “would you look at that”, for your muse to kiss mine under the mistletoe

Remiel had set this up, obviously, he couldn’t tell normally when there was mistletoe around so he had hung one where he knew it would be and where Alka would walk through.

He waited, hearing the clank of her armour as she stepped through the doorway before he slid forward wrapping his arms around her waist.

Send me "that’s dirty" and I will generate a number for what my muse will say to yours

Send me ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) for a bad pick up line.

Send me a ☋ and my muse will imitate yours.

Remiel squared his shoulders, placing his hands on his hips and jutted his chin out, trying to put on his best scary look on his face.