TIMESTAMP: 16th Glacial Dusk, Frost 4621
NOTES: -
NOTES: -
► Show Spoiler
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Late Frost in Verant is moody, cold and wet. The beautiful golds, reds and oranges that adorn the trees and the bright colors of other plants and flowers are thoroughly muted or gone entirely– it is dull, dreary and forlorn in aesthetic in many ways. A chilled breeze sweeps over the Ferrier and his companion as the two of them stand on one of Boghadar’s raised stone roads overlooking the flowing waterfalls that surround the city. The pair stand in silence, kept company by little more than the sound of wind and crashing water below. They were, however, far enough away from the falls that if one were to speak, hearing the words would be easy enough.
It was late afternoon and growing colder the lower the sun fell in the sky, though the two Sil’Norai came with that weather in mind. They both wore thick capes of dark leather treated to resist water and block the chill of bracing winds over dark furs, sturdy boots and gloves. The only parts of them the cold was able to bite at would be their faces, pale cheeks tinged rosy as the wind continued to blow against the two silhouettes.
The shorter of the two figures stood with crossed arms and strong, tall posture. She stared forward with clear, but empty jade eyes– squinting against the wind when she was struck with its frigid gusts. Her pale features were shrouded by her hood, but the lower part of her face was set in an expression of melancholic pity. Soft, pink lips sit slightly uneven due to a bite of one side of the lower lip, as if stuck in thought.
The taller of the pair leans forward against the wall of the road, resting on the elbows of long, thin arms. His stance is far more compressed when compared to hers, barely putting in enough effort to do much more than hold his head up. His head being tilted slightly to the side, eyes of crimson tinted amber stare down at the impact point of the waterfall and the river below; he’s watching it crash with a tired, half-lidden expression. His jaw is clenched, teeth set together in worry. With a soft, sighed exhale, his head tilts down and eyes close.
The woman picks up on this, green eyes moving first then followed shortly thereafter by a turn to her head. Staring at her companion for a further few seconds, she breaks the silence, “Why did we come here?” The question was less ignorant than it would sound– the two would often come here when the taller one was upset. However, this time she knew not why as he had said nothing beforehand other than requesting that she walk with him. Nothing but the sounds of wind and water follow the woman’s query. Tilting her gaze up to look at the sky, she too sighs, though hers is much louder to express her annoyance with her Veir’s total silence. Head languidly drifting to face forward again, she continues to stare, still left in the dark.
A few more minutes ticked by and slightly larger drops of water began to rain down in addition to the mist of the waterfall. Unamused, the woman says, “Must we stay in the rain?” Though she sounds impatient, concern is woven through a voice that is smooth as silk. “Yes.” The Veir finally speaks for the first time since they’d left the estate, though that is all he says– his voice is heavy and as brisk as the wind. Though she rolls her eyes in response, she’s worried about him. He’s usually very open about what’s bothering him…at least, to her he is.
Switching gears, she opts to be a bit more assertive since it's abundantly clear that he’s not going to tell her on his own. “I will ask again: why are we here?” Her words are louder this time, more firm, but she is far from yelling and there is a cushion of her affection for him to keep her voice from sounding too harsh. For the moment, the rain was a light drizzle but the dark clouds in the distance looked fat and foreboding. When she spoke, clear eyes were staring intently at the silhouette of the man, shifting over his body and face to try and read his features; her ability to do so was fairly keen even with strangers, but with him who she has known for years? He was easy.
The Ferrier’s normally upright and confident posture was completely broken on this day and he held himself up weakly. Additionally, he was almost never this quiet– the Veir was an expressive man, vibrant in his emotions, his body language, his words. While it was somewhat common for his eyes to be half-lidded or tired when his face was in a resting expression, the anxiety and pain reflected within was a distinct red flag. The clenched jaw was also a dead giveaway to worry, anxiety, emotional strife or a combination thereof. He was very clearly upset about something, yet even when Lucia had asked a second time, he chose to abstain from any form of explanation.
With a sigh, she steps forward and rests the palms of her hands on the smooth stone of the wall before them. Tapping dainty fingers against the rock, there’s really only one thing she can think of that he may not be comfortable talking about. Turning her head to face him again, “The little Rathor, right? I watched your fondness for him grow even as you continued to deny it. The two of you spent, ah, nearly twenty days in near constant company…and now, it's been…what? A fortnight and he hasn’t come ‘round? You never told me why.” Her voice is much softer than it was before, maintaining its silvery smoothness with notes of concern and affection. The Veir’s grip on his arms tightens and his eyes squeeze shut in response to her words as cold rain continues to fall around them. “He was another Veir’s slave and his master summoned him back. In all likelihood, I won’t see him again. Most do not make a habit of letting their pets run around on their own, and it’s not as if he’s in possession of a proper mark to raise his status,” knowing he’s been read, the Ferrier finally indulges his Valran and begins an explanation of his predicament– voice low and his usual velvety timbre was rough, as if frayed by gravel.
Degare felt pretty damn stupid for allowing himself to over indulge in the stranger’s open adoration. He’d had a bitter taste in his mouth and a hollow, aching pit in his stomach since the day the object of his affections departed and it’d only festered since. He felt sick, in a way. His mind was split between anxiety and worry for the companion he’d grown fond of as well as being gripped by wicked, choking vines of guilt relating to his past lover, Averre.
The Valran’s expression softens at his words. She knew it– but hearing his pain nonetheless tugged at her limited empathy. “Did he not tell you that at the beginning?” Her inquiry was light and lacking in judgment. To which he replies, “No. I only found out on the last day we were together. He cannot read and brought me a letter that was addressed to him– the information was contained within.” The Ferrier’s words are spoken much the same as before, though these seem to be suffused with more concentrated sadness. Shifting his jaw in consideration, “I suppose it is worth noting that he told me we’d find each other again. I just meant that I don’t believe such a thing will come to pass. Very rare it is that anyone ever gives a mark to a slave, even if one says they will,” he felt the need to clarify this to add that potentially not seeing one another again would be against the will of them both for whatever that mattered.
Lucia clicks her tongue and purses her lips, though she keeps her immediate reaction to this revelation to herself. It took a second for her to filter her thoughts into something she thought was actually appropriate to say, “That is…most unfortunate. Much as there are likely ways to pluck the boy from his master’s hands, fighting another Entente over a slave would come across…poorly,” she pauses, thinking. “...and while there’s subtle methods to dispose of other nobles, such things just carry inherent– and heavy– risk. As you are well aware. I’m…not sure that’s worth it in regards to your entire House’s reputation.” One arm was brought beneath her breast and gripped the elbow of the other, resting her cheek on that fist as she mused. The Veir doesn't reply. He knows she's right.
Lucia stares off into the distance somewhat at a loss in terms of what to say. She hadn’t seen Degare be as happy as he had been in the company of the little Rath in over two decades and she found herself longing for the two to reunite…but at the same time, she knew what the Veir was saying was true. In all likelihood, such a thing wasn’t going to happen, so was it really in his best interest to encourage him to foster any kind of hope? Was hope in this scenario not ultimately cruel? Her internal debate was interrupted by a loud clap of thunder in the distance followed by a bright flash that rippled through the darker clouds in the distance. Both elves snapped their attention at the sound.
At this point, his brooding wasn’t worth potentially getting soaked. Lucia rests a hand on his arm and speaks, “Really, Degare, we should go. We can continue this at home, alright?” Voice soft, warm and reassuring, she coaxes the man back to his estate.
- - -
Late Frost in Verant is moody, cold and wet. The beautiful golds, reds and oranges that adorn the trees and the bright colors of other plants and flowers are thoroughly muted or gone entirely– it is dull, dreary and forlorn in aesthetic in many ways. A chilled breeze sweeps over the Ferrier and his companion as the two of them stand on one of Boghadar’s raised stone roads overlooking the flowing waterfalls that surround the city. The pair stand in silence, kept company by little more than the sound of wind and crashing water below. They were, however, far enough away from the falls that if one were to speak, hearing the words would be easy enough.
It was late afternoon and growing colder the lower the sun fell in the sky, though the two Sil’Norai came with that weather in mind. They both wore thick capes of dark leather treated to resist water and block the chill of bracing winds over dark furs, sturdy boots and gloves. The only parts of them the cold was able to bite at would be their faces, pale cheeks tinged rosy as the wind continued to blow against the two silhouettes.
The shorter of the two figures stood with crossed arms and strong, tall posture. She stared forward with clear, but empty jade eyes– squinting against the wind when she was struck with its frigid gusts. Her pale features were shrouded by her hood, but the lower part of her face was set in an expression of melancholic pity. Soft, pink lips sit slightly uneven due to a bite of one side of the lower lip, as if stuck in thought.
The taller of the pair leans forward against the wall of the road, resting on the elbows of long, thin arms. His stance is far more compressed when compared to hers, barely putting in enough effort to do much more than hold his head up. His head being tilted slightly to the side, eyes of crimson tinted amber stare down at the impact point of the waterfall and the river below; he’s watching it crash with a tired, half-lidden expression. His jaw is clenched, teeth set together in worry. With a soft, sighed exhale, his head tilts down and eyes close.
The woman picks up on this, green eyes moving first then followed shortly thereafter by a turn to her head. Staring at her companion for a further few seconds, she breaks the silence, “Why did we come here?” The question was less ignorant than it would sound– the two would often come here when the taller one was upset. However, this time she knew not why as he had said nothing beforehand other than requesting that she walk with him. Nothing but the sounds of wind and water follow the woman’s query. Tilting her gaze up to look at the sky, she too sighs, though hers is much louder to express her annoyance with her Veir’s total silence. Head languidly drifting to face forward again, she continues to stare, still left in the dark.
A few more minutes ticked by and slightly larger drops of water began to rain down in addition to the mist of the waterfall. Unamused, the woman says, “Must we stay in the rain?” Though she sounds impatient, concern is woven through a voice that is smooth as silk. “Yes.” The Veir finally speaks for the first time since they’d left the estate, though that is all he says– his voice is heavy and as brisk as the wind. Though she rolls her eyes in response, she’s worried about him. He’s usually very open about what’s bothering him…at least, to her he is.
Switching gears, she opts to be a bit more assertive since it's abundantly clear that he’s not going to tell her on his own. “I will ask again: why are we here?” Her words are louder this time, more firm, but she is far from yelling and there is a cushion of her affection for him to keep her voice from sounding too harsh. For the moment, the rain was a light drizzle but the dark clouds in the distance looked fat and foreboding. When she spoke, clear eyes were staring intently at the silhouette of the man, shifting over his body and face to try and read his features; her ability to do so was fairly keen even with strangers, but with him who she has known for years? He was easy.
The Ferrier’s normally upright and confident posture was completely broken on this day and he held himself up weakly. Additionally, he was almost never this quiet– the Veir was an expressive man, vibrant in his emotions, his body language, his words. While it was somewhat common for his eyes to be half-lidded or tired when his face was in a resting expression, the anxiety and pain reflected within was a distinct red flag. The clenched jaw was also a dead giveaway to worry, anxiety, emotional strife or a combination thereof. He was very clearly upset about something, yet even when Lucia had asked a second time, he chose to abstain from any form of explanation.
With a sigh, she steps forward and rests the palms of her hands on the smooth stone of the wall before them. Tapping dainty fingers against the rock, there’s really only one thing she can think of that he may not be comfortable talking about. Turning her head to face him again, “The little Rathor, right? I watched your fondness for him grow even as you continued to deny it. The two of you spent, ah, nearly twenty days in near constant company…and now, it's been…what? A fortnight and he hasn’t come ‘round? You never told me why.” Her voice is much softer than it was before, maintaining its silvery smoothness with notes of concern and affection. The Veir’s grip on his arms tightens and his eyes squeeze shut in response to her words as cold rain continues to fall around them. “He was another Veir’s slave and his master summoned him back. In all likelihood, I won’t see him again. Most do not make a habit of letting their pets run around on their own, and it’s not as if he’s in possession of a proper mark to raise his status,” knowing he’s been read, the Ferrier finally indulges his Valran and begins an explanation of his predicament– voice low and his usual velvety timbre was rough, as if frayed by gravel.
Degare felt pretty damn stupid for allowing himself to over indulge in the stranger’s open adoration. He’d had a bitter taste in his mouth and a hollow, aching pit in his stomach since the day the object of his affections departed and it’d only festered since. He felt sick, in a way. His mind was split between anxiety and worry for the companion he’d grown fond of as well as being gripped by wicked, choking vines of guilt relating to his past lover, Averre.
The Valran’s expression softens at his words. She knew it– but hearing his pain nonetheless tugged at her limited empathy. “Did he not tell you that at the beginning?” Her inquiry was light and lacking in judgment. To which he replies, “No. I only found out on the last day we were together. He cannot read and brought me a letter that was addressed to him– the information was contained within.” The Ferrier’s words are spoken much the same as before, though these seem to be suffused with more concentrated sadness. Shifting his jaw in consideration, “I suppose it is worth noting that he told me we’d find each other again. I just meant that I don’t believe such a thing will come to pass. Very rare it is that anyone ever gives a mark to a slave, even if one says they will,” he felt the need to clarify this to add that potentially not seeing one another again would be against the will of them both for whatever that mattered.
Lucia clicks her tongue and purses her lips, though she keeps her immediate reaction to this revelation to herself. It took a second for her to filter her thoughts into something she thought was actually appropriate to say, “That is…most unfortunate. Much as there are likely ways to pluck the boy from his master’s hands, fighting another Entente over a slave would come across…poorly,” she pauses, thinking. “...and while there’s subtle methods to dispose of other nobles, such things just carry inherent– and heavy– risk. As you are well aware. I’m…not sure that’s worth it in regards to your entire House’s reputation.” One arm was brought beneath her breast and gripped the elbow of the other, resting her cheek on that fist as she mused. The Veir doesn't reply. He knows she's right.
Lucia stares off into the distance somewhat at a loss in terms of what to say. She hadn’t seen Degare be as happy as he had been in the company of the little Rath in over two decades and she found herself longing for the two to reunite…but at the same time, she knew what the Veir was saying was true. In all likelihood, such a thing wasn’t going to happen, so was it really in his best interest to encourage him to foster any kind of hope? Was hope in this scenario not ultimately cruel? Her internal debate was interrupted by a loud clap of thunder in the distance followed by a bright flash that rippled through the darker clouds in the distance. Both elves snapped their attention at the sound.
At this point, his brooding wasn’t worth potentially getting soaked. Lucia rests a hand on his arm and speaks, “Really, Degare, we should go. We can continue this at home, alright?” Voice soft, warm and reassuring, she coaxes the man back to his estate.
____
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
"Silvain Tongue/Speech"
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
"Silvain Tongue/Speech"
