- Title: Say Nevermore
- Emitter: Seldan
- Place: A12 - Memorial Gardens District
- Summary: Seldan is drawing in the Memorial Gardens when he's interrupted in his artistry by a snack-hungry Pothy, with Telamon and Ravenstongue right behind, as well as Aya and Aryia, who are spending some quality sisterly time together. Rocky is drawn into the conversation, and Hithaeron observes it all from a safe distance. A number of things are discussed, but the main topic concerns what happened in Llyranost and the Veil--as well as the liberation of the mul'niessa from Taara's grasp.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* A12: Memorial Gardens District *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
Among the gardens, scents mingle: green, loam and subtle sweetness, wafting from the meticulously groomed grounds. The lawns are richly green, dense and close-cropped, bordered with polished pale marble stones the size of a human man's fist. The pathways are smoothly cobbled in muted tones that subtly echo and contrast with the surrounding greenery, shaded by the lush canopies of tall, straight trees whose branches arch over the walkways to form open, airy tunnels. Elegantly ornate, tall mana-lamps of wrought black iron keep the paths softly lit in the evenings; they are often situated near benches of matching material and style. It is peaceful, here. Somber. It is also curiously warm and green no matter the time of year; leaves do change color in fall but remain on the trees until spring comes again.
At the heart of the park where the paths converge are large marble pedestals supporting bronze or marble statuary, chiseled letters upon the heavy bases naming the subject of each piece. The previous sculpture celebrating the union of Alexandros with Myrddion has been removed from the center of the garden and replaced with a gorgeous statue of the Crown Princess Lianna Rena and a marble walkway that leads to the Monument of Heroes - a newly-raised edifice celebrating those who fought and died on behalf of others. Tribute is still given to the friendship between Myrddion and Alexandros in the form of the paired standards mounted above the entrance to the Monument of Heroes: one from each nation. The flagstaffs are crossed and held by a Myrrish Knight and an Old-Alexandros Miner.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Dramatis Personae =--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Aryia 4'8" 110 Lb Shadow Elf Female A heavily scarred mul with a resolved look about her. Aya 4'7" 105 Lb Shadow Elf Female Mul'niessa. Braided hair. Simple clothing. Hithaeron 5'5" 110 Lb Shadow Elf Male A tattooed Mul with a shock of short white hair. Ravenstongue 5'0" 99 Lb Half-Elf Female Short half-elf girl with violet eyes and black hair. Rocky 6'8" 460 Lb Sith-Makar Male A grey Sith in armor, bit like a statue. Seldan 5'11" 187 Lb Human Male Ginger-blonde human in armor wearing Eluna's symbol. Telamon 5'6" 140 Lb Half-Elf Male A platinum-blond half-sil man with dancing dark eyes -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
Summer is on its way, a thing for which no few people are very grateful. It's nice to see the sun for a change, and despite the humidity beginning to creep in, it is not yet either truly hot or truly oppressive, and a breeze sweeps in out of the Redridge Mountains with enough coolness to remind that it is not yet summer in the mountains. Seldan is sprawled, not on a bench, but prone in the grass, elbows propping him up over a board and a bound parchment book. A series of pencils and charcoals of different thicknesses and weights are scattered in a careless pile nearby, along with a pouch of dried raisins, figs, dates, and various nuts. One's in his hand, and he stares intently at a flower bush nearby, surrounded by rocks in an artful pattern.
Rocky naps upon the grass, soaking up the sunlight. Or maybe he's meditating? Possibally doing a statue impersonation. There's at least a few starlings who seem to find the greyscale a good place to pertch. Whatever the reason, he's nearby and staying still.
Unfortunately for everyone involved--but especially that pouch of dried fruits and nuts--Pothy exists.
The white raven soars in the sky, a familiar sight to many in the city who are familiar with the... well, the familiar, and it just so happens to be that that he does some lazy barrel rolls in that cool breeze that has been so graciously provided to him (as though other birds do not exist) by the mountains. This gets him low enough to spot that pouch with his keen blue eyes--
"SNACKS!" he sounds off. Pothy dives down in the air and lands with perfect grace next to the pouch--and realizes a second too late that it's right next to Seldan, who is drawing.
The white raven peeks over Seldan's book and looks up at him with those big blue eyes. He has never been fed in his life. Will the faithful man of Eluna take pity on this poor creature...?
Except, well, the two half-elves following Pothy on foot might have a different opinion. Cor'lana, dressed for the summer in a sleeveless cotton dress that matches her violet eyes, sighs as she looks over at the white bird. "Sir Seldan, I'm so sorry. Pothy, get back over here."
"You ate before we left, Pothy!" Telamon knows it does no good, one might as well demand Pothy not fly. Reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose, before smiling helplessly.
Looking to Cor'lana, he takes her hand and squeezes gently before remarking, "It's nice to know there are constants in this cherry-blossom world, though." He's dressed down as well, in a linen tunic, loose-fitting breeches, and his well-kept boots. He nods slowly to Seldan, his dark eyes thoughtful. "Sir Seldan. It's been a while."
Sun's out, mul's out? That's an oxymoron right there if there ever was one. A duo of mul'neissa arrive upon the gardens, one of them heavily scarred and wearing a tank top to beat the building heat from the humidity. Silver rimmed shades are pressed firmly against her face to help ward off the light. But it didn't help much at all.
She slows some, spying the man staring intently at a flower bush. She elbows the mul'neissa beside her, then jogs over to just creep into sight beside the bush, her sticking out her tongue and blowing a raspberry.
Aya's attention is drawn to Seldan via several means. One is the inescapable, ever-conspicuous and never-fed Pothy. The other would be the elbowing from her sister... before she darts off to ... add to the scenery. Thus it is that a voice calls from behind him. "Are you enjoying the view, Silverguard?" She did not suddenly appear this time, at least, nor does her inquiry bear prior hints of wry. Well... not so much, that is. "Rather, were you enjoying the view?"
Emerging from one of the airy tunnels at the edges of the park, a dark-skinned Mul'niessa emerges, wearing a loose fitting and recently tattered cloak that might've once been of fine make and cut. Silvery tattoos start behind his ears and billow down into the collar of his cloak, disappearing there with the suggestion of further markings down his body. Forest green eyes shoot a quick glance across the garden to the people sprawled, sleeping, or wandering in.
His eyes settle on the scarred Mul'niessa and their partner before they slide away, the newcomer Mul'niessa sticking to the shadowed boughs of the trees in a way that doesn't really suggest skulking, just a preference for staying out of the sun, likely for the sake of his eyes. Still, the slow gathering of people does draw interest, and Hithaeron slides out of the shadows and makes his way toward the group, looking surreptitiously like he's not listening in from afar. Or at least trying to.
GAME: Seldan rolls 1d20+9: (13)+9: 22
So intent is Seldan on whatever it was he's doing that Aryia's tongue manages to become just another - oddly colored - leaf in the bush that he studies. A closer look at the open page before him shows a rendition of that selfsame flower bush, rocks and all, with shading and lifelike detail. A brown leather knapsack leans against his right hip, and his fingers are thoroughly smudged, the more so as he adds a level of shadow to the side of a small rock with his pinky.
And then the bird shows up, followed by - people. And greetings.
He clearly hasn't noticed everyone yet, but the voices he hears are enough for him to snap to attention, quickly shut the book, and maneuver himself into a sitting position, tall and upright. "Mistress Aya," he greets cautiously, nodding to Telamon and Ravenstongue as well. "So it has, Master Telamon." The boyish, relaxed man is gone, vanishing in an instant to be replaced with someone cool, even, level - but wary.
Rocky opens an eye, peering towards the noise, but keeps still. He already has feathered companions, and a starling on the back is worth two ravens in your face... or something.
Pothy looks highly reluctant to get away from Seldan--well, more accurately, that pouch of goodies next to Seldan--but then Telamon blows his cover and reveals that he has, in fact, been fed lately. He draws his head back and sighs like a fed-up teenager before he wings back to Cor'lana's shoulder.
"Oh, I'm sorry--I didn't mean to disturb your art, Sir Seldan," Cor'lana says apologetically, followed by an annoyed glare at Pothy on her shoulder. The bird looks nervously away from her and looks instead at Telamon with pleading eyes: 'help me, Telamon! You're my only hope.'
Cor'lana also looks back at Telamon for a moment and smiles at him warmly, followed by a smile at Seldan. It is an opportune moment for a summer chat, after all. "We were just passing through--but you know what, it's a nice day, and while I'd hate to interrupt your art--I get a little miffed every time I'm interrupted writing poetry, after all--why not just... Chat?"
"And snack," Pothy adds on hopefully, imitating Cor'lana's voice.
The scarred mul'neissa woman, Aryia, silently snickers as she pops upright and all but skips back to the other mul'neissa woman's side. Being in a good mood, coupled with being satisfied with her little distraction, her attention drifts across all present, and instead of addressing each and every single one of them, she just gives a big wave.
Except for- she squints behind her shades. Unlike the not-skulking figure, she's blatantly staring at them. None hidden perplexion written across her visage.
Telamon gives Pothy a look. Exasperated. But without rancor, as he just rolls his eyes. "Indeed. I wish to register a complaint," he directs to Seldan. He lets the moment build appropriately, for dramatic effect -- let it not be said he has no sense of timing -- before continuing.
"The pantry in your old house is far too small. I'm going to have to add on storage. How did you get by with it?" His voice is deadpan, but his eyes dance with humor -- clearly this is his mischievous tendency shining through. At the sight of Aya and Aryia, he offers a wave and a grin.
Aya may not have noticed that Rocky is not, in fact, part of the garden statuary. The wave from Telamon is returned, and concerns of Pothy (she might have her own snacks to guard) are lessened as the bird returns to roost upon Cor'lana. Her own mirth fades notably at shift in Seldan. Not that she can fault him for not remaining at ease. "It is a pleasant day to enjoy the gardens," she offers, to all, though decides to remain where she stands rather than approach further.
The Silver Guard in the grass takes on the cast of a stone pillar at Telamon's first statement, all expression bleeding from him into the impassive silence with which he listens to the rest of the complaint itself. Yet, when it is done, he cracks only the very smallest ghost of a smile. "Bags of holding, Master Telamon, and similar magics," he answers. "Mal is an accomplished transmuter, and is no slouch as a conjurer. Much of our belongings remained in the bags." Why, he does not explain.
Instead, he picks up the pouch, and tosses a raisin in Pothy's general direction. "I do not object, my lady," he answers Cor'lana, somewhere between caution and puzzlement at the statement. "What would you speak of?"
Aryia gets an incline of the head, as if he is only now just seeing her for the first time, and Aya similar, although the wariness is real, and the knapsack stays close to hand. The third mul he has not apparently spotted, not yet. To those attuned to such things, he seems to be waiting for something - or standing trial. It is difficult to tell which.
Rocky gives a slow shrug, sending brids fluttering in a mix of surprize and indignation. Stretching, the greyscale stands and lumbers his way towards the gathering crowd, his ears not quite accute enough to linger afar and still follow what's going on. "Peace unto your nests." he intones politely.
Pothy's head hangs for a moment as Telamon refuses to give him any snacks. He makes a sniffling noise--mimicked from a toddler on the cusp of throwing a temper-tantrum--but otherwise stays in place on Cor'lana's shoulder--
And then Seldan tosses him a raisin. His blue eyes dilate. "Snaaaaa--!" he cries victoriously as he dives for the raisin, with the rest of the phrase cut off as the dried fruit plunges into his mouth. He swallows and it's gone--and Pothy's maw remains open.
The problem with feeding Pothy is, of course, that it's never done.
Cor'lana smiles a little as she observes Pothy's behavior. "Oh, well--I'd recalled that you'd sort of... disappeared from all the hubbub around the time that the Veil of Llyranost went down. And I just started putting two and two together--the realtor I bought the house from mentioned that he'd had it for a while and it was an urgent sell... So I guess what I'm curious about is... What happened? And is everything all right? Could we possibly help in any way?"
Telamon gently puts his arm around Cor'lana as he nods. "You're probably expecting something different, Sir Seldan. Sorry to disappoint, but Lana and I, well... we'd rather be part of the solution than part of the problem."
He gives the Elunan knight another insouciant grin. "And it's been my experience you can never really have too many friends, no matter where they might be. There may come a time when you need them."
Aryia, very, very slowly, turns her head back to the conversation. But it's clear her eyes are not moving off of the lingering mul'neissa a bit of the ways away.
An ear twitches, her interested in what was going on. Rocky does, however, get a curious wave hello. They've yet to be acquainted.
"It is I, Seldan," Aya offers directly, presuming his wariness, "though we have yet to establish an assuring method of validation." After Cor'lana makes her inquiry, Aya adds. "I would ask that you not concern yourself with my ... matters, as you have many other pressing concerns, though I do not expect you to do so." She only now seems to notice Aryia's static eyes, which she follows towards the loitering mul'niessa. A brow lifts. "If you wish to converse, or merely listen, it would be polite to do so more directly."
Seldan blinks owlishly, something in Cor'lana's and Telamon's offers freezing him uncertainly in his tracks. He is totally caught off guard, and it shows plainly in a startled deer-in-headlights look for maybe a breath and a half. "Ah. No, Mistress Aya. I do not doubt that I am among her targets, if she be the selfsame that sought me and found them," he nods to Telamon and Cor'lana. I shall concern myself with the destruction of evil stalking Alexandria's streets, and no less when it is myself that it stalks." Something in his tone says that something evil wanting to kill him is hardly news.
"I had departed Alexandria some months previously," he explains carefully, chewing his words over. "Mal had expressed a desire to live - elsewhere, and both of us are capable of teleportation. I did not wish to abandon my duty to the innocent of this city, and thus do I maintain a presence here at times, although we no longer reside within the city's walls." All of this is carefully said.
He pauses, then, to throw a chunk of dried fig into the air some feet from Pothy. He is clearly intending that Pothy needs to go get it, if he wants it, but instead explains. "Yes. I am certain that the Veil's abandonment of Llyranost caused chaos in the Greatwood, and yet is it of their own doing. For the Veil is not merely a magical effect, but an intelligent being, formed from Eluna's will and Animus' spirit. She -" and here he pauses, looking from face to face. "She no longer wished to remain in Llyranost, for as Animus has perished, so too shall she, in time, and had another task to undertake. She bade me steal her."
Rocky chuffs softly, nodding to each. "This one is called Rocky, of Warrior caste. Am nestmate to Speaker Cryosanthia." He nods to Seldan specifically. "Little Sister speaks well of you." He's a bit on the young side to call a centuries old sith a sibling, but there was that whole mess with a time traveling archfey. "Freedom of a person is never theft."
Pothy, of course, goes diving for the fig. He is duty-bound to taste all things, and the dried fig is certainly no exception--even if it wears him out in the process! ... If such a thing is possible.
Cor'lana, meanwhile, listens with rapt attention--and her violet eyes go wide when she learns that the Veil is not merely a veil, but a person. A thing with a soul and a will. "That's... Wow. Sir Seldan, I had no clue..."
She shakes her head. "Grandfather said that the llyranesi were behaving like children that had a beloved blanket taken away. And... Well, I can't say I'm much impressed with them, either. More accurately, their leadership."
Telamon's eyes glint, the stars within them flickering. "There's something you don't hear every day," he adds. "I know the Mythwood has something of a similar enchantment, though it's mostly to keep out sticky-fingered adventurers and plunderers. I never thought it would be something... alive? Does that term even apply?"
He smiles slightly at the mention of Grandfather, and nods. "It's easy to get comfortable under a shield that exists for so long, never making plans for if it might just... go away."
"Were she to hunt only me, I would be grateful," Aya acknowledges Seldan's valid concerns for others and himself after turning back along with a brief pained glance to Telamon and Cor'lana, "but fiends are not known for their kindness." That said, she focuses now upon Seldan's other words. "You said before that she, The Veil, reclaimed her brother from Taara? That would be deemed impossible, if one were to believe Her teachings. I do not, and assume it a lie, but it remains no minor achievement. If more could have their vision cleared of Her influence..."
A smirk forms at Cor'lana and Telamon's comments concerning the llyranesi. "Many mul'niessa now scurry and scramble ahead of usurpment and chaos in Charn, like rats evading sudden light; all their careful plans falling to naught. Our peoples may be more alike than they might care to believe or admit."
Aryia has a look of through crossing her face as Seldan speaks. Her having heard most of this tale, though it was a second time around with little pieces that were missing from the first interlocking now.
She tilts her head to the side, the random mul passerby growing lower on her priorities. But it's filed away for later. The events are grand in scale for certain, and she sums it up with a few simple signs of: "That sounds like it fucking sucked to deal with," she motions. <Handspeech/Tongues>
Her head turns to Aya, brows raised. It was news to her.
Seldan hesitates, fixing Rocky for the first time with a long look. "Much lies between myself and the Speaker, Warrior, although it is well met. I wish peace upon your nest, and upon hers." He takes a large cashew, and flings it as high and as far as he can - in the opposite direction to here he flung the last one. In fact, he appears to be bent on scattering them as much as possible. "Nay, Aya, think not that she will focus on you alone, for truly do such fiends delight in the suffering of any that they may find. But lately have I been released from what lies within the mind of a demon, by the mercy of Eluna and Her Seers." Although he does not state the words, you don't want to know lies clearly unsaid.
Finally, Seldan appears to relax a little, bit by bit, strand by strand. "Your grandfather is more right than he knows, my lady. For truly are the llyranesi as spoilt children, believing themselves entitled to hold a living spirit against its will for their convenience, that they need not mingle with "lesser" races. They possess the means to defend their people, but prefer instead to hide themselves away, never considering that when the Veil does fade, do they not act now, there shall be none for them to stand with, and they shall find themselves alone."
The commentary from Aya about Charn does not appear to be news to him - he merely nods. "Even so, for the conqueror sets his sights on the lands of the Raven Lords, and Xiang Sei beyond them. They stand little chance against a man who knows the truth of all that he views. The Forest of Whispers has been silenced, and though its people are freed from the Tempter, they now find themselves facing another threat. They are not without defenses, for Caeldra and Menesil together now hide the souls of the mul'niessa from Taara's sight."
There's a dark look in Cor'lana's eyes as she says, "Trust me, I know all about llyranesi disdain for those they deem as lesser. I am sylvanori through my father's side, but because my mother is human, I have been slighted even though I have the blood of the fey in my veins--more recent than many fully-blooded can say."
She sighs deeply and shakes her head. "Let them alienate everyone else. I am focused on my future ahead." Her left hand intertwines around Telamon's as she says 'my future'.
Pothy, meanwhile, looks ready to go for another round of flying dried figs and raisins. He's standing--well, perching--at attention on Cor'lana's shoulder after he's eaten the last one.
Rocky chuffs, and rumbles thoughtfully. "'The llyranesi'... all of them? Or just a few who acted 'for the greater good'? For such a few, no sympathy. But for many who thought their homes and families safe, but now fear dangers, for them I empathize."
Telamon gently squeezes Lana's hand again. "It never fails to shock me how... lucky I was, I suppose. Father was of llyranesi stock but the family moved to the Mythwood long ago. He shares your opinions... both of you." His smile shows it's aimed at both Lana and Seldan.
"But yes, the great game is afoot once again, gods and mortals moving on their own boards and sometimes one affects the other." He inclines his head. "Still... someone once told me that the right man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world. And so it falls to us, to be that person."
Aryia has crossed her arms and is leaning on her back foot as she watches Seldan. Relaxing a tinge as he mentions that the fiend's influence had been ejected. Some old dangling threads are intertwined with that information shared about the state of things as well as those that wish to conquer and spread influence.
Though, she can't help but snap to rapt attention at the last bits of the Silverguard's recounting.
Her gaze drifts off, spurred by shifting and bouncing thoughts. Her lips part as her brows knit. Lingering thoughts seemingly find some kind of purchase as Aryia gives a pointed look to her sister, then turns to Seldan. "Exactly... how long ago did you do this? Because I've been feeling... I don't know. Different." <Handspeech>
"Of course," Aya frowns as Seldan repeats their shared view of demons... or rather what that represents; to herself and to others in general. The update on the conquering is welcomed though unsurprising. Her focus on that was delayed significantly with more pressing concerns intervening in the interim. Misplacing her soul, for one.
His last comment causes her to blink thrice. "What?! All?!" It is more that she attempts to process that rather than a failure of her ears, and she manages to trade looks with Aryia as she looks to her sister in mirror. "Yes, when did this occur?" A translation for Seldan's benefit, her own question, or both.
Seldan quietly closes his eyes and reaches for the crescent-and-sphere around his neck. "Until the day Eluna calls me home," he murmurs at Telamon's words. There is a wistful sound to the words, but soon enough, he opens his eyes again to regard the sith-makar, levelly and evenly. "Those who have suffered at the hands of foolish policy are not to blame, and are to be aided, as much as may be. They have been wronged as much as anyone, and more than most. That is so, and yet are there more llyranesi who care not for any save themselves than I could wish for. It is many. Not all."
He then turns his attention towards the mul'niessa. "A few days past? We were sore wounded in the fight against Taara, a battle not easily explained, I fear. It delayed us a day, ere we teleported back, and then journeyed where we might. Nigh on a week past, now."
Almost as an afterthought, he draws a chunk of dried date from the pouch and throws it for Pothy to chase.
Rocky nods. Not all. "The False Shadow holds a claim on the Mul'niessa no more... but what does that actually mean?" He looks to the local examples. "What is actually different?"
Cor'lana looks thoughtful, even as Pothy tumbles off her shoulder to take flight in the air and dive for the date that's been flung into the air. There's apparently little that Pothy could do that would distract her from her thoughts--probably from a lifetime of being conditioned to his hijinks. "Right," she says. "We cannot blame the people for their leadership. I'm... admittedly quick for emotions to flare, and to make statements based on them."
She gives a little smile with a bashful quirk to the crease in her cheeks. "A hazard of being so feytouched, I'm told. I'm moved to tears by the smallest of things sometimes."
"Crybaby," Pothy says as he returns to Cor'lana's shoulder--insult to injury in that it's said in a perfect mimic of Cor'lana's voice. Telamon gives Lana a squeeze. "And yet, you're still wiser than me," he remarks to her with a grin. His gaze turns back to Seldan, though. "There's a tale to be told there, I'd wager. A good one, too."
He heaves a sigh. "Llyranost will have to learn to not hide its head in the sand, though. That's their problem. I hate that it sounds so heartless, but they need to stand up for themselves -- the world's full of dangers and the ability to hide is just a luxury, one that never lasts."
The mute mul'neissa pulls her shades down, shining bright eyes flicking across the human's visage as he recounts his answer. Never mind fighting Taara.
The thought of the Unholy Matron once spurred a bitter taste in her mouth, yet a deep seated something she could not place would echo close behind with it. Yet now? 'twas as muted as her.
Her hands move as if motioning her thought process. The gestures understood by all, even if they didn't get the direction translation, the gist could still be understood. "You fought... Her? How in the fuck...-"
"Wait... She doesn't... the days line up... and now...?" <Handspeech/Tongues>
She whirls around to Aya, grabbing her by the shoulders with her eyes wide. "H-LY F-CK-NG SH-T, S-S!" she suddenly hisses out before turning into a coughing fit afterwards.
GAME: Seldan rolls will: (8)+32: 40
"Crybaby?" For the first time, Seldan levels an even stare at Pothy, and closes the pouch. "And yet is it not she who requires constant feeding." His attention turns away, and his eyes lower. "Say rather that we did what was needful, to free Menesil from Her grasp, and by extension, his children. She is angry." That does not displease him at all, from his tone. "It is as Master Telamon says. Llyranost cannot hide forever, although it is a brutal lesson to those who trusted in their leadership."
"We have felt it," Aya admits in context for her-no, their- inquiry. "Perhaps? A subtle... peace? Contentment? Aryia spoke of it to me last eve. I thought my own was merely that Daechir and I had..." A pause as she looks back to Aryia, though her eyes lower some and her cheeks lighten, "reconciled matters between us."
Her countenance regains itself and eyes snap back up at Aryia's exclamation before looking to Seldan. "You may have freed the bulk of all syldanari with that, Seldan. If the llyranesi are no longer inclined to hide and the mul'niessa are no longer inclined to deceive..." What will that mean? Aya does not know, but it is certainly a stark change.
Pothy whips his head around at Seldan in a manner like a double-take, blue eyes wide. "Well, I never!" he says, mimicking a very offended noblewoman.
Cor'lana can't help it. She leans into Telamon as she laughs, a giggle that starts from her belly and shakes all of her. Pothy looks back and forth between Cor'lana and Seldan rapidly. "You're supposed to be on my side!" the bird complains, mimicking what sounds to be a very irritated gobber.
"Ohhh, goodness!" Cor'lana says, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "I haven't laughed that hard in... days! Weeks, even!"
The look of betrayal in Pothy's eyes is there. The white raven knows the score. Maybe it's time to take flight and, to quote another raven, say nevermore.
"Screw you guys! I'm going home!" Pothy says, in the voice of a very irritated child, before he takes flight off Cor'lana's shoulder--and it appears, indeed, that he is actually going home. Cor'lana's still laughing, however--perhaps even harder because Pothy's left.
Telamon just rolls his eyes. "Like I said before. That bird is a titanic, salty ham. We're going to find him in the backyard, sulking, and encouraging the garden pixies to fuss over him." He watches Lana giggle happily, his lips curling up at her mirth and cheer, the happiness infectious.
Grinning, he touches her hand. "Maybe we better follow, and make sure he doesn't make a mess of things. He does tend to be childish at times. Ok, most times." He bows to Seldan. "Make sure you write this tale down, sir. These are the stories that should live on, no matter what the future holds."
Aya's supplemented insights only further bolster Aryia's sudden onset mania, her releasing her sister and turning back around just barely catch the absolute verbal slappage that Pothy had to bear and run away from. She smiles. Broad and wide. An ill fitting thing that seems rarely worn.
Her attention shifts back to the once-drawing Silverguard. Her hands move. Stop. Move more. Stop. Flail some.
"J-s, -, g-nn-, th-t m-ns, n-d," she sputters.
It's all gibberish and mashed together before she jabs a finger at him. "I'm going to make something for you Idon'tknowwhatyetfucking HELLS."
Aryia runs away, suddenly filled with intense desire to create. <Handspeech>
GAME: Aryia rolls profession/tailoring+2: (19)+17+2: 38