A soft chuckle rose from the crates nearby. There was a flicker of movement and the soft sound of feet lightly hitting the ground. Ordhan's hand darted to his belt--only to find an empty scabbard. He lifted his chin to look at the floor, eyes combing the dusty surface. His sword lay where it had fallen several feet below, flung out of its sheath when he had been yanked upside-down.
His searching gaze then fell upon a young elf man walking towards him, a self-assured smirk on his thin face. Every nerve in Ordhan's body tensed when he saw the glint of a dagger in his hand. He was holding an apple, sliding the blade of the knife beneath the skin before stabbing it. Ordhan's mouth set into a grim line. He was no stranger to the hatred that often simmered between the humans and elves of the city. Who he was or what he had done may not matter compared to the fact that he was shem.
Ordhan just stared at the elf as he taunted him, jaw clenched. The sound of the knife cutting through the apple's raw flesh was oddly sickening. With some effort he drew his arms back up, clenching the forearms across his stomach. Not only did it lessen the tension in his ribs, but it would keep his hands free. "What do you want?" he repeated angrily.