Hello loves! While I haven't been writing, I have been working on updating some issues that have been hanging around on the layout! The Character change box is now at the bottom of the page, beside the up/down arrows! Green and Gold dragon flight dates have been shifted to the bottom of the page, where the (useless!) discord widget was located. Where the dragon flights were in the header, is now replaced by a Monthly Event box! This will be updated at the start of each month, with a fun mini-event you can take part in, if you want to! Thistle!
26.Jun.14, 06:25 PM
His fingers drummed steadily on the table top as he stared quietly at the food set out before him. He was having a horrible time deciding whether or not he was going to leave. Somebody needed to watch the herd beasts and other creatures, not only that but he was technically still a candidate, which made him all the more eligible for remaining at Katila. Mizeath was as round as a fucking gourd so it was probably safe to assume the Dragonriders wanted as many viable candidates possible for the upcoming clutch. He'd heard rumors there was a betting pool for how many eggs the Queen was going to lay, but he wasn't entirely sure whether or not there was any truth to the claims. Though, having known the Katilan culture for a while now, he honestly wouldn't be surprised if one actually popped up somewhere. Firah sighed, the tapping of his fingers picking up an entirely different rhythm to change up the sound. There was a large part of him who wanted to do was hop the first available dragon out of this place so he could ditch this life and go back to his family, but the other part of him worried for the animals he cared for. He paused the tapping. How old was his son now? Four? Five? He'd forgotten how old the boy was. Touching the space between his eyebrows with a finger he tried to think back to when he'd been stolen. That's right Farayn had been born in the first month of the year 230... so he would be five? Sinking down into his seat the Beastcrafter passed a hand over his face, settling it over his eyes.
Four sharding turns. The realization hit him. He'd been stuck in the South for four whole turns. His son wouldn't even know him when he went back... if he went back. Would Sarin even recognize him? Living in the south had changed him physically and mentally. Would she even still be waiting for him? Some small part of him hoped she would have. That she would return to her paternal homestead to raise their child, hoping that one day he'd show up. But another part, one that he hated even existed, told him his hopes were wasted. Sarin probably would have given their son up to his family, Farayn was now the direct heir to the family since his father was probably presumed dead. They weren't nobles by far but the upper class families always tried to emulate their more auspicious counterparts. He only hoped that if that was the case, that his sister would have taken in Farayn rather than leaving him to their asshole brothers. They'd taken more after their father than Firah ever had and it would be a warm day Between if his only son turned out like those dogs. They may be family but the beastcrafter held little love for his male siblings. They were pampered, spoiled, and over all asshats because of an inflated sense pf self-worth. In his absence Faridan would have had to step up. Hopefully that had punched a hole in his ego.
With a heavy sigh the Beastcrafter sat up so he could access the lukewarm stew. He needed to pull his head out of his ass and get focused on surviving another day. That's all he could do right now as muddled as he was. Once he'd assured himself that his duties would be covered when he left, perhaps he would go back to Nabol and attempt to reclaim the life that had been stolen from him. But until then he had a job to do and an oath to honor, despite the circumstances under which it was made. He was an honest man if there was nothing else to him. After he had ladled a spoonfull of the stew into his mouth Firah was able to find his appetite again. Things would improve, they had to. Then again the entire world seemed against him from the day he'd been stolen. Aggressively ripping off a piece of the bread he held it in the stew to soak for a few seconds. Whatever. Just keep moving forward, right?
Four sharding turns. The realization hit him. He'd been stuck in the South for four whole turns. His son wouldn't even know him when he went back... if he went back. Would Sarin even recognize him? Living in the south had changed him physically and mentally. Would she even still be waiting for him? Some small part of him hoped she would have. That she would return to her paternal homestead to raise their child, hoping that one day he'd show up. But another part, one that he hated even existed, told him his hopes were wasted. Sarin probably would have given their son up to his family, Farayn was now the direct heir to the family since his father was probably presumed dead. They weren't nobles by far but the upper class families always tried to emulate their more auspicious counterparts. He only hoped that if that was the case, that his sister would have taken in Farayn rather than leaving him to their asshole brothers. They'd taken more after their father than Firah ever had and it would be a warm day Between if his only son turned out like those dogs. They may be family but the beastcrafter held little love for his male siblings. They were pampered, spoiled, and over all asshats because of an inflated sense pf self-worth. In his absence Faridan would have had to step up. Hopefully that had punched a hole in his ego.
With a heavy sigh the Beastcrafter sat up so he could access the lukewarm stew. He needed to pull his head out of his ass and get focused on surviving another day. That's all he could do right now as muddled as he was. Once he'd assured himself that his duties would be covered when he left, perhaps he would go back to Nabol and attempt to reclaim the life that had been stolen from him. But until then he had a job to do and an oath to honor, despite the circumstances under which it was made. He was an honest man if there was nothing else to him. After he had ladled a spoonfull of the stew into his mouth Firah was able to find his appetite again. Things would improve, they had to. Then again the entire world seemed against him from the day he'd been stolen. Aggressively ripping off a piece of the bread he held it in the stew to soak for a few seconds. Whatever. Just keep moving forward, right?
