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!
28.May.13, 10:46 PM
Fantastic. She's quiet, Warkhim thought, hawkishly watching the girl decline his offer. He enjoyed the way her brown hair tossed in her face as she shook her head, and he was absently surprised to find himself thinking that she had an attractive smile. It was simply too tempting for him to ignore her unblemished face, miraculously untouched by the inevitable downtrodden scowl befitting lowborns like herself. It would come with time, and Warkhim planned to be long finished with her by then.
Kira, Kira, Kira, he chanted internally. She scooted to the other side of the table, likely intimidated by the presence of a handsome older man. It wasn't every day a tall, dark Harper offered his wine and company to a kitchen drudge. And suddenly, Kira the kitchen wench made his life infinitely more interesting by questioning how he procured his wine. Oh ho ho, glorious little tongue-tied Kira. Warkhim wanted to laugh, delighted that the newest object of his fascination challenged his authority without prompting. The petite stuttering hero, brave and thoughtless, retracted her statement with an apology, but Warkhim faulted her little for backing down. In fact, he found it laudable that the woman mentioned his suspicious prize at all before realizing it was not her place to question him.
He backed away with a flourish to take a seat on a nearby stool, wine still cradled in the crook of his arm. "Not to worry, Kira. It's a breathtaking wine- one of the finest I've ever had," he began casually. It was also a lie that he'd never had better: as a younger man, Warkhim had stolen the most expensive white blend from the Harper Hall's cellar, unrepentant when the kitchen guards were whipped for their neglect. It wasn't his fault they hadn't caught him, and it certainly wasn't his fault that the moronic herdbeasts carrying staves believed a Junior Journeyman was inherently trustworthy.
"It's a gift from Lord Derrigan for playing at his granddaughter's nameday party. I'm a Harper," he added humbly, as if his impressive craft were a trivial afterthought. "I mostly work in the Archives. If you ever happen to swing by the library, I could give you a tour, Kira." Enjoying the taste of her name in his mouth, Warkhim lounged against the kitchen's wall, staking a claim to continue watching her clean. He pressed down his bangs pitifully, suddenly furious at their presence. Warkhim hated his hair, but his vanity would never tolerate shaving it off.
He changed the subject quickly, hoping she hadn't noticed his preening, "Do you always work in the kitchens?" Warkhim had not seen Kira puttering about Telgar that he could recall, and his memory was superb, but she didn't look like the regular porcine kitchen drudges. Perhaps she favored weaving or had dreams of becoming a Harper. Not that she could with that stutter, he thought distastefully. The Archivist immediately classified Kira as a girl who preferred dainty activities like sewing her husband's clothing, or something equally charming. He favored the mental image of her as a submissive woman, idly toying with the cork of the wine bottle.
Kira, Kira, Kira, he chanted internally. She scooted to the other side of the table, likely intimidated by the presence of a handsome older man. It wasn't every day a tall, dark Harper offered his wine and company to a kitchen drudge. And suddenly, Kira the kitchen wench made his life infinitely more interesting by questioning how he procured his wine. Oh ho ho, glorious little tongue-tied Kira. Warkhim wanted to laugh, delighted that the newest object of his fascination challenged his authority without prompting. The petite stuttering hero, brave and thoughtless, retracted her statement with an apology, but Warkhim faulted her little for backing down. In fact, he found it laudable that the woman mentioned his suspicious prize at all before realizing it was not her place to question him.
He backed away with a flourish to take a seat on a nearby stool, wine still cradled in the crook of his arm. "Not to worry, Kira. It's a breathtaking wine- one of the finest I've ever had," he began casually. It was also a lie that he'd never had better: as a younger man, Warkhim had stolen the most expensive white blend from the Harper Hall's cellar, unrepentant when the kitchen guards were whipped for their neglect. It wasn't his fault they hadn't caught him, and it certainly wasn't his fault that the moronic herdbeasts carrying staves believed a Junior Journeyman was inherently trustworthy.
"It's a gift from Lord Derrigan for playing at his granddaughter's nameday party. I'm a Harper," he added humbly, as if his impressive craft were a trivial afterthought. "I mostly work in the Archives. If you ever happen to swing by the library, I could give you a tour, Kira." Enjoying the taste of her name in his mouth, Warkhim lounged against the kitchen's wall, staking a claim to continue watching her clean. He pressed down his bangs pitifully, suddenly furious at their presence. Warkhim hated his hair, but his vanity would never tolerate shaving it off.
He changed the subject quickly, hoping she hadn't noticed his preening, "Do you always work in the kitchens?" Warkhim had not seen Kira puttering about Telgar that he could recall, and his memory was superb, but she didn't look like the regular porcine kitchen drudges. Perhaps she favored weaving or had dreams of becoming a Harper. Not that she could with that stutter, he thought distastefully. The Archivist immediately classified Kira as a girl who preferred dainty activities like sewing her husband's clothing, or something equally charming. He favored the mental image of her as a submissive woman, idly toying with the cork of the wine bottle.
