Contrary to what Magnan might have expected, he would peculiarly find that no one seemed much aware of, nor bothered by his presence. A quick look around would perhaps hint at the general acceptance - or more likely indifference - towards his presence. The answer was simply that he was hardly the strangest one among the crowd. The once predominately human populated city now seemed to hold all manner of beings in this current era, he wasn't the only one clad in armor. To those around him, Magnan was nothing more than another foreign refugee from the south.
The heavy weight of Magnan's armored hand upon the woman's shoulder brought her wheeling about to face him. There was a moment of perplexity as she assessed the situation, and took in the state of the being before her. His armor and clothing were in a sore state of disarray and deterioration from the years - a fact that seemed strangely contradictory to his words. He had the look of a man who had literally just climbed out of the grave without a penny to his name, and yet he spoke with strength and conviction.
The man at her back was quicker to words than the woman though.
"Heh," the man harrumphed. "If you and your armored friend are willing to take it on yourselves to get together the volunteers needed to provide proper protection for my men, I'll get those supplies put together for you. But don't hold your breath on it coming from the Militia."
With his business seemingly concluded for the time, he turned his attention to others vying for his attention and left the woman and the armored stranger to converse between themselves.
His brief interjection had provided the woman time enough to process her observation and formulate her own words.
"Perhaps we should start with introductions," she mused. "I'm Tahlia, of the Elysian Vanguard."
---
The heavy weight of Magnan's armored hand upon the woman's shoulder brought her wheeling about to face him. There was a moment of perplexity as she assessed the situation, and took in the state of the being before her. His armor and clothing were in a sore state of disarray and deterioration from the years - a fact that seemed strangely contradictory to his words. He had the look of a man who had literally just climbed out of the grave without a penny to his name, and yet he spoke with strength and conviction.
The man at her back was quicker to words than the woman though.
"Heh," the man harrumphed. "If you and your armored friend are willing to take it on yourselves to get together the volunteers needed to provide proper protection for my men, I'll get those supplies put together for you. But don't hold your breath on it coming from the Militia."
With his business seemingly concluded for the time, he turned his attention to others vying for his attention and left the woman and the armored stranger to converse between themselves.
His brief interjection had provided the woman time enough to process her observation and formulate her own words.
"Perhaps we should start with introductions," she mused. "I'm Tahlia, of the Elysian Vanguard."