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High Elf Eldritch Knight.
Darkvision: 60ft Blindsight: 10ft
AC: 17 HP: 68/72
PP: 15 PIv: 12 PIs: 12
Conditions:
Concentrating on:
7 / 7 d8 HD
Second wind 1d10+7 1/1 Action surge 0/1
Spell Slots- 4/4 1st, 1/2 2nd

The elf clicked her tongue in irritation. Everyone seemed to have just stopped fighting as soon as the Warm Hand or whoever has shown up. There was no satisfying conclusion to things.

She plucked her familiar out the air, placing him in the space next to her soul, inside in a way that had nothing to do with red and wobbly bits no matter how you chopped them. He squeaked a caw out before he disappeared. She ignored it, brooding on the end of the battle. Now everyone was giving their weapons to the new arrivals, so presumably that was the custom after these events.

It was vaguely upsetting, in a way. Not that it mattered if they took the axe, she supposed, she could just get it back with a snap of her fingers, but it was the principle of the thing, is as far as she'd learned any principles in her scant hours of life outside the tower.

She wasn't even disarmed with the loss of the axe, and she absently-mindedly clicked out her claws and back in as she retrieved the weapon. She wondered how people generally disarmed elves, clawed as they were. Did they chop off the fingers? That would be inconvenient.

She shoved the heavy axe into the waiting hands of the Heated Gloves, along with the longbow. They better not make it grubby.

On the cart, she hummed to herself thoughtfully, her enormous golden hairdrills bobbing with the motion.
"I have definitely concluded," she said, to no one in particular, "That was an unsatisfactory lodging experience."
Spoiler: OOC
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