[Realm: Álfheimr]
[Location: China Country]
Grimm moved lightly through the porcelain streets, each step placed with care. But even so, the ground beneath his sabatons gave a small, brittle creak. The porcelain street protesting armor that had no business treading upon it. It was difficult enough to walk here without shattering something, more so when one was clad in armor.
And as he walked he did not acknowledge the hushed whispers that followed him, but they were impossible to miss. Porcelain folk leaned from doorways and stalls, their glossy faces hard to miss as fingers pointed and murmurs spread. Children—small, doll-like figures with seams visible at their joints—stared openly, eyes wide with astonishment. One pointed so sharply her arm wobbled at the elbow. Menders paused mid-task behind their stalls, one frozen in the act of reattaching an arm to another porcelain man, adhesive still dripping.
More and more heads turned. More eyes lingered.
