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As Gitana barked out her cry and defiance in Aire, the Blue Gnomes have resorted to arguing amongst themselves, their own language a series of shrilled and highly clipped sounds, mixed with the occasional growl and . They seemed unfamiliar with the Gypsy langugage, which gave them a somewhat puzzled expression, if the drawing down of their brows and pulling back of their jaws to expose rather stubby rotting teeth was a look of confusion, that is. None seemed to be excessively threatening toward the girl as of yet.
Finally, after what seemed to be moment of reconciliation among the Gnomes, the leader, by the name of Bettlegrim stepped forward, his facial structures hard to discern beneath the coat of blue paint that was drawn harshly over his bones and eye sockets.
"You will--"
The King didn't manage to finish his own setence before an avenging Jehan appeared, and with a hard smack to where the sun doesn't sun, he sent one of the eight little creatures flying... well not so much gracefully, but he did lift off the ground for a few feet before landing -- no, crashing into the bark of a tree as he dropped and laid down in an unconscious heap.
The rest of the Gnomes seemed shocked and completely stared at Jehan Chumomisto as if he was a spirit that had risen from beneath the greens and had come to slay each and everyone of them.
The dart emerged from the blow pipe, and also struck the intended target, only it didn't quite achieve the desired effect. The feathered needle was impaled on the large forehead of the flatten skull, seeming not to be causing anything more than a superficial wound, and King Bettlegrim seemed more annoyed than in pain with the fact that a very sharp needle was stuck halfway between his eyes. He crossed his arms, and seemed perfectly unimpressed, looking at Jehan like the way an impatient mother would glance at a unrepentant child.
The rest of the Blue Gnomes behind quickly formed a protective layer around their ward, weapons drawn -- consisting of wickedly curved scimitars, albeit blunt, but would still hurt a lot if inflicted, small daggers caked with strange colors, while the King stood firm on the ground, unbudging.
"You will say sorry an' beg for de King to forgive, or you never get out of Dolwood!" One of them rasped, his yellowish eyes twinkling with a mixture of dread, but surely an accomplished liar like Jehan would be able to catch on a lie if there was one. Only there wasn't.
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