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!
12.May.13, 07:08 PM
The smell of vomit, sour and pungent, very nearly made Isscer's stomach churn as well. He frowned, watching the scene with Indivara and Talian unfold with the same acute sense of helplessness he had felt earlier. He couldn't help his fellow Northerner, as he was paralyzed by his own sense of fear and therefore unable to do anything; the thought made the Farmcrafter feel horrible.
Isscer wasn't one for arguing anyway, proving to be more passive that driven by action; he had considered trying to escape once, but had never had the gall to try it. Talian had--everyone knew that--and already that made him something of a hero to Isscer. The Farmcrafter valued personal morals, and following through with one's choices was a mark of an honest man. If anyone could understand how demoralizing it was to Stand for clutch after clutch, how horrible it was to be taken from everything they had ever held dear, it was Talian.
But Talian had Impressed.
Isscer had been there, and had never forgotten the sense of betrayal. When the Southerners Impressed it was expected, but when a Northerner Impressed everyone knew about it. Talian had been a kindred spirit, and yet he had betrayed the commonly-held belief in returning home when he had Impressed his brown. Isscer had lost a friend, and although they had never been particularly close, he had considered the Master Healer a friend due to shared values.
He held still as Talian examined him yet again, face eventually falling when the Master Healer stepped back. "It's hard. You know that." Isscer looked away, mouth twisting into a frown as he continued. "They hate us for being selected, but don't seem to realize that many of us didn't even want to be selected in the first place." A wry, bitter laugh, and Isscer shook his head at the Healer's question. "No. I'm all worked up--there's another clutch on the Sands. You never know when your dragon will show up, or so I've heard."
In truth he was afraid, so afraid it was nearly paralyzing, but Isscer wasn't about to say so. Instead he moved to grab an empty bowl and a cloth, moving to busy himself with cleaning up the sick. "She ought to be ashamed, doing something like this, but S'kef hit her good and that didn't seem to faze her in the slightest." He shot Talian a look, soggy rag in hand, tone and expression betraying his anxiety. "Did you have a suspicion that you were about to Impress when you stood the last time?"
Isscer wasn't one for arguing anyway, proving to be more passive that driven by action; he had considered trying to escape once, but had never had the gall to try it. Talian had--everyone knew that--and already that made him something of a hero to Isscer. The Farmcrafter valued personal morals, and following through with one's choices was a mark of an honest man. If anyone could understand how demoralizing it was to Stand for clutch after clutch, how horrible it was to be taken from everything they had ever held dear, it was Talian.
But Talian had Impressed.
Isscer had been there, and had never forgotten the sense of betrayal. When the Southerners Impressed it was expected, but when a Northerner Impressed everyone knew about it. Talian had been a kindred spirit, and yet he had betrayed the commonly-held belief in returning home when he had Impressed his brown. Isscer had lost a friend, and although they had never been particularly close, he had considered the Master Healer a friend due to shared values.
He held still as Talian examined him yet again, face eventually falling when the Master Healer stepped back. "It's hard. You know that." Isscer looked away, mouth twisting into a frown as he continued. "They hate us for being selected, but don't seem to realize that many of us didn't even want to be selected in the first place." A wry, bitter laugh, and Isscer shook his head at the Healer's question. "No. I'm all worked up--there's another clutch on the Sands. You never know when your dragon will show up, or so I've heard."
In truth he was afraid, so afraid it was nearly paralyzing, but Isscer wasn't about to say so. Instead he moved to grab an empty bowl and a cloth, moving to busy himself with cleaning up the sick. "She ought to be ashamed, doing something like this, but S'kef hit her good and that didn't seem to faze her in the slightest." He shot Talian a look, soggy rag in hand, tone and expression betraying his anxiety. "Did you have a suspicion that you were about to Impress when you stood the last time?"
