Othello was surprised by the sudden speaking voice, his axe was coming in a sweeping arc from the ground, low and powerful on the uptake, "WEEPIN' TITS OF A FISHERMAN!" he bellowed pulling just a bit off its intended mark killing some of the strength so he only took a large chunk out of what would be the guts of a human or in her suggestion an extremity of a summoned creature, the large steel battle axe followed through still in a spinning smash into the sands at his feet. He stayed there wild blue eyes locating the source of the voice. A woman. His hands remained gripped on the smooth leather bound handle of the axe, chest heaving, but still smiling, "sorry about that...shouldn't haven't said it, just surprised me is all," he left the axe buried as he corrected himself full upright, "aye, it's a formality that the lumber trade is a potent part of any infrastructure....just trying help honest hard working men," he began to move walking toward a crumpled shirt laying in the sand, "but I guess of you make it a game or a competition with your little summonings...I could see me starting a trendy profitable lucrative new trade," he picked the shirt up and began to put it on, it wasn't saw as nice or pure to be shirtless around a lady of any kind, not unless...

"Othello. Allemeade," he broke down his introduction even though she should recognize who he was (blonde hair; blue eyes; collar) he'd been showcased to the entire Nevermere military both in precession and at the ball, "Champion of Nevermere."

He bowed deeply, deeply than usual but quite comical as per the usual, "I'd say that's a swell idea if I had access to my gift...events....have made me weary of your witches magic...respected you can say."

"not a Princess?" the Champion looked flabbergasted as he gently shook her hand, "Then please tell why you all look like Princesses?" it was true Othello found the wicked dark nature and allure of the witches from Nevermere far more appealing than any boring Lorendaler (though he did have that moment with the Queen of Lorendale the shadow woman).

"oh I know all about respecting a witches magic," Othello cooed as he walked back to grab his axe from the ground, "I find magic or gifts better suited to be better feared, like mine is," he indicated once again the collar around his neck, "a fearful respect...call your creatures Witch, I'll have a bit of a go with'em."