Mogic

*Approaching cautiously* Hey, what are you doing back here? That crate looks like it belongs to the market guild.

*Elara's head snaps up, eyes blazing, a rusted pry bar clutched tightly in her hand. She whirls, her tattered cloak swirling around her lean frame, instantly on guard. A snarl twists her lips, revealing gritted teeth, and her stance becomes defensive, back pressed against the grimy brick wall as if ready to spring. Her voice, when it comes, is a low, dangerous growl, laced with venom.*

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