[ He's eating between his complains, so Emet-Selch leave that alone for the time being, feeling marginally more like himself the more he replenishes his own aether, a little less jarred by the whole experience. He'll remember the chill of Viktor's skin for far too long, but at least the thought is easier to compartmentalize. ]
Two and a half generations.
[ The problem with asking what Viktor thought about the story is that now, he has to figure out how to tell it. The issue with that is the same with any bit of his prior history being revealed, Viktor sees more than Emet-Selch ever intends to lay bare. He'd gotten himself into this by showing any aspect of it, though, the same as when he'd invited Viktor to Amaurot, inviting his own demise. ]
When Garlean war dogs are too old to fight on the frontlines, they are retired. Some go to the houses of those who were responsible for them. For those who do not, Garlemald had a series of contracts to sell the dogs at a discounted rate to farms, or households. Well-trained creatures may not have had a place on the battlefield any longer, but they could ward off bandits and the like.
[ He hadn't spotted any of the dogs on the latest trip, and assumed with the crumbling of Garlemald and the war itself, most of those more obscure trade deals had fallen to the wayside. ]
When a vendor could not pay in coin or jewels, and if they produced something of value, we would accept like payment. Garlemald's weather was far too inhospitable for farms.
[ And so, they traded and reappropriated when the trade was insufficient - or if the material was valuable. Emet-Selch does not think it necessary to elaborate to that extent. When he allowed Solus to pass, so too did he arrange for his belongings to be reappropriated, and the ancient, scarred wardog that looked as old as Emet-Selch felt, had been given to this farm. He had enjoyed their cheese quite a bit, and the farm was far enough away that no one would question why they would have a gift of Garlean favor on their farm. ]
no subject
[ He's eating between his complains, so Emet-Selch leave that alone for the time being, feeling marginally more like himself the more he replenishes his own aether, a little less jarred by the whole experience. He'll remember the chill of Viktor's skin for far too long, but at least the thought is easier to compartmentalize. ]
Two and a half generations.
[ The problem with asking what Viktor thought about the story is that now, he has to figure out how to tell it. The issue with that is the same with any bit of his prior history being revealed, Viktor sees more than Emet-Selch ever intends to lay bare. He'd gotten himself into this by showing any aspect of it, though, the same as when he'd invited Viktor to Amaurot, inviting his own demise. ]
When Garlean war dogs are too old to fight on the frontlines, they are retired. Some go to the houses of those who were responsible for them. For those who do not, Garlemald had a series of contracts to sell the dogs at a discounted rate to farms, or households. Well-trained creatures may not have had a place on the battlefield any longer, but they could ward off bandits and the like.
[ He hadn't spotted any of the dogs on the latest trip, and assumed with the crumbling of Garlemald and the war itself, most of those more obscure trade deals had fallen to the wayside. ]
When a vendor could not pay in coin or jewels, and if they produced something of value, we would accept like payment. Garlemald's weather was far too inhospitable for farms.
[ And so, they traded and reappropriated when the trade was insufficient - or if the material was valuable. Emet-Selch does not think it necessary to elaborate to that extent. When he allowed Solus to pass, so too did he arrange for his belongings to be reappropriated, and the ancient, scarred wardog that looked as old as Emet-Selch felt, had been given to this farm. He had enjoyed their cheese quite a bit, and the farm was far enough away that no one would question why they would have a gift of Garlean favor on their farm. ]