A Bright and Noble Soul

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Log Info

  • Title: A Bright and Noble Soul
  • Emitter: Ravenstongue
  • Place: Ravenstongue and Telamon's house
  • Summary: Skielstregar happens to be in the University District, so he stops by Ravenstongue and Telamon's house. However, Telamon is not there on account of being stuck at a Shining Chalice meeting, and Skielstregar is introduced instead to Ravenstongue's ancestor, the Feathered One. The Daeusite is invited into the house and is treated to lavender-honey tea and cookies. It takes a while to explain what exactly the Feathered One is to Skielstregar, as well as the circumstances surrounding Ravenstongue's family, but he gets it eventually. Grandfather compliments Skielstregar on the quality of his character after an unexpected confession, and Skiel departs into the evening. Meanwhile, Pothy has a massive box of candied bacon to work through.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Dramatis Personae =--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-   
Ravenstongue         5'0"     99 Lb      Half-Elf          Female    Short half-elf girl with violet eyes and black hair.                       
Skielstregar         7'2"     330 Lb     Sith-Makar        Male      A silver/bronze scale with fangs and empty eyes.       

It's a beautiful evening. The stars are out in a cloudless sky, twinkling like jewels in the deep blue above the heads of everyone in the University District.

And there's a cute house, cozy and warm, which has a certain sorceress inside the house sipping a cup of lavender-honey tea. The white raven sitting next to her, however, looks like he's about to fall asleep.

The tall fey lord sitting in the new rocking chair in the room is in the middle of narrating a story. "... And so, that is how I came to enjoy knitting," he concludes, his monstrous claw-hands working with a pair of long knitting needles with a long and flexible cord in between them. He's knitting with incredibly delicate silk yarn, dyed a light lavender-purple that's almost the same pale color as the tea that Ravenstongue is drinking.

"That's a lovely story, Grandfather," Ravenstongue says happily, setting her tea down onto the table. "You really don't have to knit me a shawl for my wedding, though--"

"Nonsense," Grandfather rumbles. "It is tradition. Many of your earlier ancestors--the ones who did not come to live with me--received my knitted shawls when they married. It has been quite some time since I've sent any, however. Permit your Grandfather this one silly notion."


A certain friend would have been there earlier after doing a little bit of studying in the University library.

But uh... softskin cities are confusing. They got a little (lotta) lost.

Finally, after so long, they arrive.

A hefty >knock knock< comes from the door.

What little lantern light from the mana lamps illuminates the area causes soft, scattered reflections to be seen through the window.

And behind the door is an incredibly dressed down familiar silverscale. Just in a tunic, some pants, and a dagger on his hip. He's also got some kind of package held in his hands as he shifts on his big feet.

GAME: Ravenstongue casts Unseen Servant. Caster Level: 7 DC: 16

The knock from the door causes Grandfather to lift a brow. "Is that your fiance come back from that meeting of his?" he asks Ravenstongue, violet eyes looking at violet eyes.

Ravenstongue lifts a brow as well--like eons-ago 'Grandfather', like eons-later 'granddaughter'--and she sets her teacup down onto the coffee table in the living room. "He has a key, so he wouldn't knock," she replies as she stands up, walking over to the door. She stays a distance from it however, and instead summons an unseen servant to open the door...

Only for her hesitation to disappear once she sees it's Skielstregar. "Oh! Skielstregar!" she says happily, her face lighting up with happiness. "Gods, I was thinking it was--a traveling salesman or something."

She clears her throat and walks up to Skiel to give him a nice and friendly hug, and her attention turns to the package in his hands. "Oh, what's that?" she asks, curious.

Skielstregar's head is sort of over the door frame, cutting him off from the shoulders up. He ducks his head some to peer under the top of the frame. "Ah! Sssshaman Ravenssstongue," he rumbles in that deep tone, one massive arm reaching forward to return the hug. "No, it wasss jussst thisss one! They, erm, forgot what ssstreet inerssectssss thisss one and got lost."

He coughs. Then perks up. "Ah! Yesss! Cussstomary giftssss for new living ssspacesss to help with getting ssssettled in!"

He holds out the package. It... weighs a good ten pounds or so. "Candied bacon!"

Oh gods.

"Ah, I can help take that," Grandfather says as he looms over Ravenstongue's shoulder. Not quite to the degree that Skielstregar looms over anyone, mind you, but he is a foot taller than Cor'lana.

And this pale-skinned man with a thick cloak of feathers over his shoulders and strange cotton robes is holding out his big clawed hands to take the package.

Just smiling like nothing's wrong and there's nothing odd about him. Nothing at all.

"Who is your friend, Cor'lana?" Violet eyes and black hair that look like they could have been cloned from Ravenstongue's head at least provide a familiar frame of reference, but the deep and melodious voice, as well as the fact that one can't quite discern any particular emotion from the man's eyes, might be enough to set off the comfort of familiarity.

"Oh! Umm--Skielstregar, meet Grandfather. My ancestor," Ravenstongue says with a smile. "He likes to come visit me."

Skielstregar blinks, and goes down on one knee to see further in.

Dead silver eyes meet ancient violet.

Aside from how brilliantly shiny and reflective the makai's scales were, his eyes lacked any life to them, and a set of wicked fangs protrude from his maw.

Yet despite these obviously undeathly characteristics, he still smiles lightly, and holds the package out. "Your ancesssstor?" he echoes.

And he holds out a hand to shake, a massive mitt that's got half foot long talons. "Pleassssure," he rumbles, giving a closed eye smile.

Grandfather takes the hand to shake, the two strange fellows both having claws--and it appears that this ancestor of Ravenstongue's is aware of how to shake hands. He feels odd to the touch--cold that quickly warms. "A pleasure to meet another friend of my little one's as well," he says, smiling. "You keep interesting company, Cor'lana."

"Skielstregar has protected Telamon and I on a few of our expeditions," Ravenstongue adds with a smile. "He's fearsome in combat and has helped us get home safe and sound."

At Ravenstongue's description, that handshake suddenly becomes much tighter, the slight wrinkles underneath the Feathered One's eyes turning with an even wider smile on his face. His pointed canines are slightly too long for an elf. "Then I am very grateful, young Skielstregar, for your friendship to my dear Cor'lana and her betrothed. Please, let me relieve you of my burdens and allow me to play host."

It is Ravenstongue's house, but it appears that while Grandfather is around, he likes to treat the place like it's another roost.

Skiel wasn't so accustomed to shaking hands, but he's alright at it. Though, unlike Grandfather, his touch never warms, stiff, and chilly.

The massive makari, still kneeling to talk, puffs his chest out proudly at the mention of protecting his friends. "Of courssse, thisss one wouldn't be a proper Warrior-caste if they did not ensssure their friendsss got home sssafe."

He bobs his head. "Of courssse."


He shifts on his knees some.

"... can... thisss one come in?" he asks a bit quieter, tail swishing behind him in large yet slow arcs.

"Of course!" Grandfather replies, taking the box without any ounce of difficulty--one could say it was as light as a feather. The fey lord steps inside and walks into the kitchen, setting it down onto the counter. "May I interest you in some tea?"

"It's good tea," Ravenstongue says, stepping into the house and pulling in a chair from the kitchen, leaving the couch open for Skielstregar. Pothy appears to have left to go snooze for the evening on a book roost in another room. "Lavender tea with a bit of honey added to it. I purchased it at the market a few days ago."

Skiel ducks his way into the house, him about to rise to his feet once more, but he stops short as his horns thud against the ceiling. "Ack, sssorry," he mumbles, going back down to hunching over. "Um, ssssure, thisss one would enjoy sssome tea.

He carefully. Carefully. Carefully pads over towards the couch, each step calculated and measured, tail held stock still behind him as he moves like overly cautious cat. He eyes the couch, squinting at it and judging its load bearing capacity. He reaches into a pocket, pulls out a cloth, and wipes the bottom of this taloned feet off before laying sideways on the couch with an arm propped up.

Spread his weight out. And, well, that big tail would crunch against the back of the couch if it didn't sit like this. "Thisss one was wondering where Pothy was."

"Oh, it's okay! I hope that didn't hurt, though," Ravenstongue says, more worried about her friend getting a lump on the head than she is about the structural integrity of her ceiling.

"I saw him slip into the study. He looked very sleepy when I was telling you the story about how your first ancestor encouraged me to start knitting. I think his cup of lavender tea put him to sleep," Grandfather says with a note of amusement. Indeed, there's an empty mini-teacup on the table next to Ravenstongue's half-full cup, corroborating this story.

The ancestor comes out of the kitchen with a large cup of tea--the handle big enough for Skielstregar to comfortably fit two fingers through it--and a plate of shortbread cookies. "I baked those earlier today," Grandfather says with a smile to Skielstregar. "I hope they are to your liking."

He returns to his large rocking chair and picks up his neglected knitting, carrying on with the lacy garment that's already a foot long in length. "Now tell me, young one--I have never interacted much with your people, although I am told they are proud and noble. Do you know of Quelynos?"

Skiel shakes his head. "Thisss one isss fine. They've had worsssse than that." It's true. Ravenstongue has seen the extent of the man's fortitude.

He lightly nods. "Thisss one sssees. They did not know the bird sssleeps."

The massive lizard shifts some to take the cup: carefully! It's small in his grasp, and the two fingers that fit in his grasp over curl around it. He raises a hand to cover his mouth as he carefully takes a small drink. He rumbles lightly in approval. "Thisss isss well."

He glances to the cookies, his scaled brows raising. "Ooh.. yesss, sssoon."

Oh, he's being a representative! "Yess! SSSith-makar are a proud!"

He blinks.

"Oh thisss one hated it," he answers honestly, if naively. "Thisss one went with Ravenssstongue. Sssshe had a better grasssp on the place than thisss one."

There's a silence in the room after Skielstregar says it. One could hear a pin drop. Ravenstongue looks like she's seen a deer charge into the line of sight of a hunter who hasn't even obscured himself and witnessed its corpse fall to the ground with bloodsplatter on the grass for its folly.

But then Grandfather cracks into laughter--a sound more like the tolling of deep bells than true laughter. He even lifts a monstrous claw to his face and wipes a tear away, the force of his joy so great that it has ushered tears from his violet eyes.

"Ahhhh, I do not blame you, young one," Grandfather says. "It is very difficult for mortals to navigate my homeland, and parts of it are more... hospitable than others. The forests that surround my home can be quite treacherous to outsiders, for instance, if I have not given those who seek me an invitation to find me."

He wipes his eyes again, the laughter finally dying off. But the grin remains. "Has Cor'lana ever explained to you how she is comfortable navigating the wilds?" he asks. "I don't mean to be rude and presume you have knowledge that has not been given to you."

Skiel, to be completely honest, didn't really know why everything got so quiet. He glances between the two. "... uhh..."

Laughter. He blinks. And he sips his tea. Well, it's less sipping, and more 'making sure it says in that big maw'. "Ah," he says after a beat, rubbing his shiny neck. "Well, thisss one found it frussstrating to navigate. It defiesss logic, and attemptsss to trick one into perils needlesssly."

He slowly shakes his head as he sets his already empty cup down. He glances to the woman. "... no, ssshe hasss not. Thisss one... pardon thisss one's blutnesss, but hasss not considered Sssshaman Ravenssstongue to be quite well at, erm, tracking and wildernesss thingsss."

He taps his chin. "... no, this one findss them lacking knowledge they had more often than not.."

"Skielstregar's right, I am not actually that good at navigating the wilds," Ravenstongue says with a snicker.

Grandfather looks at Ravenstongue for a moment with a genial smile and says, "Ah, perhaps it is only because you were never raised in my home. Perhaps in time I will teach you how. It is not needed yet--but I trust that when you do learn, you will be splendid at it."

Then he turns his gaze back onto Skielstregar. His monstrous claws fold politely into his lap, resting on top of the knitted shawl. "I suppose I will rephrase the question. 'Has Cor'lana ever explained why she is so comfortable with the fey?'"

Grandfather smiles. "I am called Grandfather because I am Cor'lana's ancestor from eons ago. I am more commonly called the Feathered One, and I dwell in Quelynos--even now. What you see before you is a messenger whose form I have altered to match my real one."

"Grandfather is... Well, he's a member of the fey nobility," Ravenstongue explains. "He's old. But he's kind of a hermit and doesn't like many others of his kind."

Skielstregar slowly pans his head from Grandfather, to Ravenstongue, to Grandfather once more. There's a lot of words, and a lot of information being told to him at once. The silver warrior is a kind man. Merciful, yet scary if he has to be. But he is not a bright man.

"... thisss one... ssseees."

He doesn't. It looked like only half of the explanation stuck to him.

"... sssso... he isss from Quelynos. Jussst do not messs with thisss one'sss head. Pleasssse. It isss hard enough to keep it on ssstraight."

"No, no, I wouldn't dream of such," Grandfather says merrily. "You are a friend of Cor'lana's, after all. Besides, Cor'lana has instructed me to not interfere in her work unless she specifically asks for it."

Ravenstongue smiles at Skielstregar. "He's not going to do anything to hurt you. Heck, look at him. He's knitting a wedding shawl for me."

Which, well, was true. Except for the fact that he's a fey lord and is managing to knit with monstrous clawed hands despite the rest of him appearing somewhat elvish. Perhaps none of that registers as threatening to him.

Skielstregar relaxes some as his worries are assuaged, him reaching out to lance a cookie with a too long talon as he pops it into his mouth. All in one bite.

Though, he glances to the hands. "... clawsss..." he notes to himself. He has big claws too, and they get in the way of everything. "Well, um, thisss one isss glad. The Ssshaman doesss well on her own. Particularly dazing foolsss while thisss one-"

He clears his throat. "... takesss care of them."

"She is excellent at that, isn't she?" Grandfather says with a smile. "And yes, I do have these hands--have had them as long as I can remember. I do adopt a more conventional humanoid form for when I want to visit the bookstore for the latest Crimson Pen and the new copy of the Tribune, but such is the lot of being fey. Many of us have more primal features--horns, tails, feathers... Cor'lana inherited my eyes, as you can see."

Although Ravenstongue's are far easier to read emotions from. She smiles. "Skielstregr is very good at what he does, too," she says. "Telamon and I probably would have returned in even worse form from the Feypool mission if it wasn't for him."

"And my million gratitudes for that, young Skielstregar," Grandfather says with a nod. "Cor'lana is the single most precious thing in my life, and I am very fond of Telamon, as he makes my little one happy. So the fact you have protected them both is... Well, if we were in Quelynos, I would reward you."

He gestures to the cookies and tea. "Alas, that is all I can give you for the moment." It's an apology.

Skielstregar glances to the indicated features of the fey lord's descendant, and he gives an ever so slight nod. Though he rubs his neck and looks aside. "Ah, it isss nothing. Thisss one isss glad they are ussseful and helpful to their friendsss is all..." he rumble mumbles with a light smile.

A chuckle leaves him. "Thisss isss an apt enough reward," he hums, lancing one- two- three more cookies on sharp talons. And each one is plopped into his massive maw.

He thinks for a moment.

A long... long moment.

Okay more like five long moments before he points a finger to the fey lord. "Issss thisss where your magic comesss from, Ravensssstongue?" he inquires.

"I am the source of some of Cor'lana's magic," Grandfather elaborates, "but not all of it. Pothy and the rest of Cor'lana's magic come from her mother--who I met once. It was... Well, I wish it had gone better." His tone turns dour, as does his expression.

"She might have liked you better if my father had explained everything to her," Cor'lana says, her brows also furrowing.

She also adds, looking to Skielstregar, "But yes, Grandfather is... Well, when I said I have fey ancestry, I mean him. Literally. He is... Well, Grandfather's not even sure of how old he is. But he is old, and he is powerful."

Skiel knows better than to not ask further about that bit about Cor'lana's mother. He just chews on more cookies.

Mmmm. Cookies.

His attention reels back after their little back and forth. "Ah," he says, nodding slowly. "Thisss one sssees. A mix of both then," he surmises.

Then he stares at Grandfather in a way only an undead lizard person could. Still. Unmoving. Corpse-like. "Yess, he isss. Elssse he would not be from "Forest of Dreams." <Draconic>

He thumbs his necklace, the pad of it brushing against the red scale.

"Ahhh, the tongue of dragons. Forgive me if I sound amateurish," Grandfather says, smiling as he speaks fluently, "but I cannot resist the chance to speak in other tongues that I do not get to use often." <Draconic>

Then he glances at Ravenstongue, who looks utterly lost, and Grandfather shrugs. "But, Cor'lana does not know that language, so perhaps it is nicer to not converse at length in it... Much as I'd like to."

"That would be nice," Ravenstongue says with a little bashful smile. "I want to be able to participate in the conversation too."

Skiel shifts a bit uncomfortably on the couch. "... you are well, Grandfather, thisss one, jusst... findsss it easssier to ssay that instead of..."

He tugs at his collar. It was just a little bit of his native tongue. Surely this didn't have to be a big deal?


"I just don't get the opportunity to speak many other languages often," Grandfather says with a small smile. "I am... Well, I do not speak to other people in Quelynos, and even if I did, it would only be my native tongue. And I limit myself mostly to the bookstore, the market, and, of course, this house. I would rather not cause undue issues for Cor'lana, of course, by causing a ruckus."

He leans back in his rocking chair. Creaaaaaaaaaaak.

"Grandfather is a bit excitable at times," Ravenstongue says with a little giggle. "I guess we both can be like that."

Except for the whole 'he's a fey lord' and 'Ravenstongue is Ravenstongue' bit. But Grandfather looks far too comfortable as he returns to knitting the shawl. "Well, when you're as old as I am... and you hardly have much to do besides garden and knit... You long for any bit of comfort you can get."

There's a note of sadness in that last bit. Only a note.

"Thisss one only knowsss two tonguesss," Skiel mentions, twiddling his thumbs. The talons 'clank' together every and now and then. "But thisss one can underssstand, thisss one... there wassss a time where thisss one didn't have any to talk to for... a while."

He looks to his lap, him rubbing his cheek with his palm. "... jussst.. hard to remember how to act sssometimesss after a while."

"I think all of us can relate," Ravenstongue says, looking between Grandfather and Skielstregar. "I didn't have any friends growing up, after all, and... I mostly shut myself into mother's home."

Grandfather nods, his face turning somber. "I always wish I had been able to take you into my home as a babe so that you would have been spared that pain of loneliness, my little one," he says. "And that I had not become so pained by my own in the time where I had an empty home."

He looks to Skielstregar and says, "It is tradition in Cor'lana's paternal family line to send the firstborn's firstborn of the mortal head of the family to me in Quelynos, Skielstregar. I have... long suffered a curse of madness from loneliness that is only abated by having someone live with me, and as I cannot tolerate my kind, it was decided that the family line would handle the matter once my mortal wife passed on and my children were grown. It was once considered an honor, as I am their ancestor, but..." He shakes his head. "The last few generations have abandoned their traditions to play politics in Llyranost and have denounced the old ways as chains they do not wish to keep. And yet they still benefit of the gifts in their bloodline. I do not demand my descendants' love... but Cor'lana was a victim of their scheming ways, and so therefore, I do not care for them."

"I was supposed to have lived with Grandfather," Ravenstongue explains, "but my father did not explain anything to my mother. Probably because he was cheating on her with his younger brother's wife at the same time. So when I was born and she saw me being handed to Grandfather, she attacked both my father and Grandfather, despite being weak and weary, as she assumed he was a monster."

Skielstregar is there once more, shifting a bit on the couch as more of this raw emotion and history that is unfolding before him. He twiddles his thumbs more. His big head swings between both slowly.


It's a lot to process. And that look in his eyes is bordering on 'should I be here for this?'

"... thisss one... ssseesss... that iss... quite complicated."

Should he share something? They did.

Is that was softskins do in a situation like this? Certainly it was... okay. A friend was sharing something important and deep. Perhaps it would be okay to mention some of his own woes?

"Thisss one isss like thiss becaussse they ate their kin."


He blinks. "... um. Thiss one meansss... um."


"... they did that and died. And then isss stuck like this."


Ravenstongue's eyes go wide as Skielstregar admits it. And then they stay that way as Skielstregar clarifies it for the class.

But Grandfather smiles. He doesn't even stop his knitting, yarn tensioned perfectly around his monstrous claws as the yarn quickly works up, sliding from needle to needle.

"We all have a different path before us, Skielstregar," the Feathered One replies calmly. "Some of my kind would treat you with disgust on principle. Others would regard you mistakenly as someone who is like them, as they consume their kin and revel in that evil. I am neither, young one. I am too old and too exhausted by such matters of debate to issue sweeping dictates on principle. I prefer to know the individual."

His needles stop.

"And while I have not known you long, Skielstregar of the sith-makar, I feel you are a bright and noble soul despite your actions. You speak so earnestly of protecting my little one and her betrothed. You speak your mind without pretension but with enthusiasm when you feel safe. And when you are reluctant, even your earnestness shows through--for you are earnest about your concern and care for other people."

Lights dance in the Feathered One's eyes as he smiles wider. "Do not be concerned, noble Skielstregar. You are here among friends. And it is clear to me that the shine of your scales reflect the whole of your actions and your heart."

Skielstregar is staring directly as his lap. "... thisss one didn't do it because they wanted to..." he rumble mumbles, stealing just a glance to Raventongue's shocked expression.

Though, such kind words assuaged by the fey lord make his fidgeting slow to a halt.

"... you are kind. And wissse," Skiel compliments quietly, looking at the reflection of his scales that he was oh so proud of. Seeing him looking back it himself in its mirror finish.

Though under that silver, was inky black. And that was part of him too.

"Thank you."

The makari sits there for a moment overlong, emotions a slow turn for him, before he finally stands. Ducking slightly for the ceiling. "Thisss one... needsss some resst. They have been walking around for sssome time. Thank you for having thisss one over Sssshaman," he tries to smile."

Ravenstongue seems to remember how to speak. She nods to Grandfather and to Skielstregar, her brows furrowing in worry. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you nervous, Skiel," she says. "Just was, umm... Processing that."

She offers him a little smile. "Grandfather is wise. And he's right. You're not a bad person for what you did, especially if you didn't do it on purpose. You're still my friend, of course."

Then the makari rises, and Ravenstongue rises from her seat first. "Let me walk him to the door, Grandfather--you're busy knitting," she says with a look towards the shawl. It's growing quickly despite the complicated lace pattern that appears to look like lavender-purple feathers.

"Then allow me to give my farewell now to noble Skielstregar," Grandfather says with a smile. "May you walk brightly in the sun tomorrow and always. Peace upon your nest."

It appears the old fey lord knew a bit about sith-makar, perhaps more than Ravenstongue expected. Seeing her mild surprise, Grandfather elaborates, "One of the shopkeeper's assistants at the bookstore is sith-makar. I do know things about your mortal world, little one."

Ravenstongue snickers, shaking her head. "You always surprise me, Grandfather. Let me walk you to the door, Skiel."

The large silverscale pats Ravenstongue (carefully!) on the shoulder. And his expression brightens at the parting words. "Thank you. May the Dragonfather's light shine your path. Peasse on your nessst. Both of you."

Skiel carefully maneuvers his way out of the abode and onto the streets, him giving a soft, gentle wave to the two behind him as he goes, and the door shuts.

There's a sharp whistle. And a muffle, deep voice of the makari. "Voarexautha! We ride!"

There's... the pounding of horse hooves?

A shiny silver makari races by the window on a black steed, its hoof falls leaving behind inky black imprints on the ground, only to fade away into the night, just like he.