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!
09.Apr.21, 10:59 AM
It took N’mor’s sleepy brain several long moments to catch up to the change in topic that Cazan brought about. A frown marred his features and he mouthed the words she’d spoken, trying to catch up and then a soft, “oh,” was released on a breath, and N’mor snorted in response. “I’m not surprised,” he said mildly, almost drawling the words. Most of his friends and Z’rin couldn’t keep up with his drinking when he decided to go for it, so he was hardly surprised that the small goldrider hadn’t been able to keep up, either. He’d been somewhat impressed by her attempt to do so, however.
“Do you always migrate topics so quickly?” N’mor asked irritably when he realised she’d changed again, and barely a breath between commenting on his clothing, drinking, and now she was talking about his missing arm and life without it. N’mor was prickly at the best of times, but exhausted from riding his dragon all day was a special kind of irritable; preparing for Threadfall was going to really fuck up all the dragonriders. N’mor had done some research, and knew that Falls lasted for some six hours, which was almost as long as they had been flying that day. Dragonriders all around were going to be waddling for weeks when they began their wing practices in preparation.
Rubbing his hand over his face, N’mor didn’t bother to apologise, but he did modulate his tone when he answered her. “Most of my belongings have been modified already.” It had been eight years, after all. N’mor wasn’t really sure what further alterations could be made to make his life easier. Giving him back his arm would be nice, but after so many years without it, N’mor was fairly sure he’d find it remarkably awkward to relearn how to use it! Four more years and he’d have been without his arm as long as he’d ever had it.
“Ah, that’s not necessary.” N’mor said warily, eyeballing Cazan over the top of T’ryn’s head. The idea of being stuffed into a pair of skin tight pants like T’ryn had been wearing at that party did not appeal to N’mor at all. Neither did the idea of either Cazan or T’ryn getting close to his nether regions with measuring tapes and pins. No thank you. No thank you at all. “My aunt has already taken all my measurements and gets me clothing made.” And he’d failed at getting her to take no for an answer, too. For some reason he felt Cazan might be just as hard to persuade to leave him alone.
“Do you always migrate topics so quickly?” N’mor asked irritably when he realised she’d changed again, and barely a breath between commenting on his clothing, drinking, and now she was talking about his missing arm and life without it. N’mor was prickly at the best of times, but exhausted from riding his dragon all day was a special kind of irritable; preparing for Threadfall was going to really fuck up all the dragonriders. N’mor had done some research, and knew that Falls lasted for some six hours, which was almost as long as they had been flying that day. Dragonriders all around were going to be waddling for weeks when they began their wing practices in preparation.
Rubbing his hand over his face, N’mor didn’t bother to apologise, but he did modulate his tone when he answered her. “Most of my belongings have been modified already.” It had been eight years, after all. N’mor wasn’t really sure what further alterations could be made to make his life easier. Giving him back his arm would be nice, but after so many years without it, N’mor was fairly sure he’d find it remarkably awkward to relearn how to use it! Four more years and he’d have been without his arm as long as he’d ever had it.
“Ah, that’s not necessary.” N’mor said warily, eyeballing Cazan over the top of T’ryn’s head. The idea of being stuffed into a pair of skin tight pants like T’ryn had been wearing at that party did not appeal to N’mor at all. Neither did the idea of either Cazan or T’ryn getting close to his nether regions with measuring tapes and pins. No thank you. No thank you at all. “My aunt has already taken all my measurements and gets me clothing made.” And he’d failed at getting her to take no for an answer, too. For some reason he felt Cazan might be just as hard to persuade to leave him alone.
