[ stew, more like. on the argument, on the intent, on his own uneven footing and hurt feelings.
blessedly released from the lordling's attentions when matters of dinner party plans become more pressing, viktor takes to wandering the estate grounds. he permits himself time to sulk, but loses interest in the process after half a bell, when it leaves him feeling no better, no more settled on their argument.
distraction comes eventually though, with the gold glint of his echo luring him to someone in need. at the heart of the grounds stands a greenhouse, somewhat pitiful, but impressively full of friendly, singing birds. Viktor assumes the meager green growth is due to knowledge lost, the young caretakers no longer aware of how best to tend plants that had once thrived in their lands.
it is here that he finds Alice, and more importantly, the injured jay whose wing she is desperately trying to tend. Viktor heals the damage with nary a thought, and in so doing, makes a friend and learns the first interesting detail about this reflection.
he allows his echo to carry him this way and that. doing chores, he thinks wryly, as he finds one person after another in need of simple assistance. after three bells, he's made five friends, wandered most of the estate's inner grounds, and, he thinks, learned a great deal about what they face here.
his final act, as the sun sinks, is to present a gift to their annoyed-and-annoying little lordling, then takes his leave again, seeking solitude among the few flowers he knows before finally retrieving his tomestone again. looking at the messages fouls his mood anew, but he forces the feeling small and fires off the first message in bells. ]
alright. the chores are done. our little lordling has granted you fine quarters while we are here. and is most thankful for the gift of exotic dyes from your homeland. he believes you a wealthy textile merchant and sorcerer. all past offenses are forgiven and forgotten. that said, i do not think it best to make an ally of him, and not merely because he's tried to grope me three times. the people in his employ hold no love for him or his family. even the guards murmur unrest loud enough for me to hear. as an aside, be cautious of any food we are served while eating with him, if not for fear of poison, then certainly spit.
since winter settled here, bartering and credit are king. no use for the old currency. the people here lack for basic supplies. staple foods, medicines, dyes, many textiles. it seems they've also all but lost their knowledge of healing magics within the last two generations. and for all they lack, they've got a terrible fondness for gossip. seems your social standing is tied at least in part to your ability to rattle off who's probably had a bonk with the captain of the guard. a hot topic among noble and commoner alike. i've written down a list of names and left it in your quarters, in case you find you need it.
they've represented much of their recent history on wool tapestries. every blanket and wall hanging in this place bears a story. such things are given to commemorate important events, and to receive one as a gift is a sign of great love and respect from the giver. at any rate, it seems one of our Ascians was a woman who called herself The Arbiter. an advisor, "possessed by a demon" who was felled by my shard and her allies at their last stand. no sign of said "demon" since. 'least, not represented in their tapestry work.
no subject
[ stew, more like. on the argument, on the intent, on his own uneven footing and hurt feelings.
blessedly released from the lordling's attentions when matters of dinner party plans become more pressing, viktor takes to wandering the estate grounds. he permits himself time to sulk, but loses interest in the process after half a bell, when it leaves him feeling no better, no more settled on their argument.
distraction comes eventually though, with the gold glint of his echo luring him to someone in need. at the heart of the grounds stands a greenhouse, somewhat pitiful, but impressively full of friendly, singing birds. Viktor assumes the meager green growth is due to knowledge lost, the young caretakers no longer aware of how best to tend plants that had once thrived in their lands.
it is here that he finds Alice, and more importantly, the injured jay whose wing she is desperately trying to tend. Viktor heals the damage with nary a thought, and in so doing, makes a friend and learns the first interesting detail about this reflection.
he allows his echo to carry him this way and that. doing chores, he thinks wryly, as he finds one person after another in need of simple assistance. after three bells, he's made five friends, wandered most of the estate's inner grounds, and, he thinks, learned a great deal about what they face here.
his final act, as the sun sinks, is to present a gift to their annoyed-and-annoying little lordling, then takes his leave again, seeking solitude among the few flowers he knows before finally retrieving his tomestone again. looking at the messages fouls his mood anew, but he forces the feeling small and fires off the first message in bells. ]
alright. the chores are done.
our little lordling has granted you fine quarters while we are here. and is most thankful for the gift of exotic dyes from your homeland. he believes you a wealthy textile merchant and sorcerer. all past offenses are forgiven and forgotten.
that said, i do not think it best to make an ally of him, and not merely because he's tried to grope me three times. the people in his employ hold no love for him or his family. even the guards murmur unrest loud enough for me to hear.
as an aside, be cautious of any food we are served while eating with him, if not for fear of poison, then certainly spit.
since winter settled here, bartering and credit are king. no use for the old currency. the people here lack for basic supplies. staple foods, medicines, dyes, many textiles. it seems they've also all but lost their knowledge of healing magics within the last two generations.
and for all they lack, they've got a terrible fondness for gossip. seems your social standing is tied at least in part to your ability to rattle off who's probably had a bonk with the captain of the guard. a hot topic among noble and commoner alike. i've written down a list of names and left it in your quarters, in case you find you need it.
they've represented much of their recent history on wool tapestries. every blanket and wall hanging in this place bears a story. such things are given to commemorate important events, and to receive one as a gift is a sign of great love and respect from the giver.
at any rate, it seems one of our Ascians was a woman who called herself The Arbiter. an advisor, "possessed by a demon" who was felled by my shard and her allies at their last stand. no sign of said "demon" since. 'least, not represented in their tapestry work.
if you've need of me, i'll be in the aviary.