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!
03.Jun.13, 04:21 PM
Warkhim found himself nodding as he spoke, pleased by Kira's attentiveness to his words. She had obviously abandoned her curiosity about the expensive wine, satisfied with his simple lie. The lanky archivist found it was easier to speak to the quiet drudge than to the wherry-brained lordlings and ladies of the Estate, especially those curious about their blood lines. He was the primary keeper of the Telgarian family tree, only specializing in Derrigan of Telgar's lesser subjects as a secondary form of entertainment. Every once in a while, Warkhim found a delectable tidbit of knowledge- some bastards here, some incest there- hoarding his information in the heavy annals of history where no one would think to look.
When the rich fools came to stake a claim or settle an argument ("Yes, you're related to Lord Derrigan, but I'm more related to him.") he would rewrite the applicable section of the family tree, guaranteeing no other soul had a reason to nose about his original copy. The sweeping script, Warkhim's proud handwriting, outlined verbatim the family details on the off chance that some crotchety old fool could disprove his potential forgeries. It wouldn't do to be caught faking copies of the official records. He idly wondered if he could find Kira's parentage: perhaps she was loosely descended from a highborn line. He could probably dig far enough to find a solid relation, and what young woman wouldn't fall into the arms of a man who proved her aristocratic lineage?
He watched her scrub the filthy hearth with a scowl, hoping her regular work was less disgusting. She stuttered out that her cleaning often took her to the Infirmary, and he openly sneered. Little Kira was obviously not the submissive housewife he'd dreamed up earlier. Warkhim fervently hoped she wasn't one of the idiotic Hold bitches with ambitious notions of being a Master Crafter, especially when it came to Healing. Weaving and birthing babies was one thing, but the female brain was too small to contain a proper education required for being a Healer or Harper.
As soon as Kira mention her betrothed- a dumbfuck Healer named Falon- Warkhim flicked his tongue to the corner of his mouth, vexed to hear she was somewhat taken. The young girl was clearly uncomfortable being alone in a room with him, obviously intimidated by his wit, looks, and standing. He refused to completely abandon his pursuit, knowing that the average relationship's monogamy meant nothing if a more interesting prospect came along. The plethora of bastards in the Telgarian Blood Line proved that. Still, he replied, "That must be nice for you both." He bared his teeth in an uncomfortable approximation of friendliness.
As if reading his mind (Warkhim briefly wondered if she even could read), Kira gave him a bright smile and began tending to his needs. "Why, thank you," he murmured with a sly grin. He chose to willfully ignore her comment about Talon, or whatever her fiance's asinine name was, but reserve in his memory a mental note to perform a thorough background check on the Healer. It was no taxing process for Warkhim to bring a good man to his knees with a bit of well-placed slander. Deftly removing the cork with a sharp pop, the Harper deeply breathed in the rich aromas of the red wine. He offered Kira the bottle, saying, "Care to smell? It's a full-bodied red. Should remind you of a blackberry jam."
He murmured, "If I'd thought to procure some ovine meat, this would make a lovely pairing." Glancing upward with knowing grin, he told Kira, "My mother, Rilwarina, is one of Lord Derrigan's younger cousins. A good lady, mind you, not one with her head in the clouds or a wicked tongue, and she taught me all she knows about wine. It's something we can enjoy together as a family." Warkhim's brief fabricated monologue amused him immensely. He didn't give a shit about the old hag who birthed him, and never spoke to her unless she sought him in the Stacks out of a sense of maternal obligation, which was rare in itself, as she was blatantly frightened of her youngest son. Kira looked like the kind of girl to appreciate a man who loved his parents, as naive and meaningless as that whole notion was.
Warkhim poured himself a glass, swirling the contents around the transparent rim. "Here, now smell again." He tilted the glass to her, "You'll notice different notes as it breathes: a bit of spice and vanilla. You can watch it drip down the side- those are called "legs"- and the slower they fall, the sweeter the wine is. This red is on the dry side, so the legs fall quickly." He took a slow swallow, reveling in the delicious vintage. "Mmmm, oh yes. Feel free to try a sip."
When the rich fools came to stake a claim or settle an argument ("Yes, you're related to Lord Derrigan, but I'm more related to him.") he would rewrite the applicable section of the family tree, guaranteeing no other soul had a reason to nose about his original copy. The sweeping script, Warkhim's proud handwriting, outlined verbatim the family details on the off chance that some crotchety old fool could disprove his potential forgeries. It wouldn't do to be caught faking copies of the official records. He idly wondered if he could find Kira's parentage: perhaps she was loosely descended from a highborn line. He could probably dig far enough to find a solid relation, and what young woman wouldn't fall into the arms of a man who proved her aristocratic lineage?
He watched her scrub the filthy hearth with a scowl, hoping her regular work was less disgusting. She stuttered out that her cleaning often took her to the Infirmary, and he openly sneered. Little Kira was obviously not the submissive housewife he'd dreamed up earlier. Warkhim fervently hoped she wasn't one of the idiotic Hold bitches with ambitious notions of being a Master Crafter, especially when it came to Healing. Weaving and birthing babies was one thing, but the female brain was too small to contain a proper education required for being a Healer or Harper.
As soon as Kira mention her betrothed- a dumbfuck Healer named Falon- Warkhim flicked his tongue to the corner of his mouth, vexed to hear she was somewhat taken. The young girl was clearly uncomfortable being alone in a room with him, obviously intimidated by his wit, looks, and standing. He refused to completely abandon his pursuit, knowing that the average relationship's monogamy meant nothing if a more interesting prospect came along. The plethora of bastards in the Telgarian Blood Line proved that. Still, he replied, "That must be nice for you both." He bared his teeth in an uncomfortable approximation of friendliness.
As if reading his mind (Warkhim briefly wondered if she even could read), Kira gave him a bright smile and began tending to his needs. "Why, thank you," he murmured with a sly grin. He chose to willfully ignore her comment about Talon, or whatever her fiance's asinine name was, but reserve in his memory a mental note to perform a thorough background check on the Healer. It was no taxing process for Warkhim to bring a good man to his knees with a bit of well-placed slander. Deftly removing the cork with a sharp pop, the Harper deeply breathed in the rich aromas of the red wine. He offered Kira the bottle, saying, "Care to smell? It's a full-bodied red. Should remind you of a blackberry jam."
He murmured, "If I'd thought to procure some ovine meat, this would make a lovely pairing." Glancing upward with knowing grin, he told Kira, "My mother, Rilwarina, is one of Lord Derrigan's younger cousins. A good lady, mind you, not one with her head in the clouds or a wicked tongue, and she taught me all she knows about wine. It's something we can enjoy together as a family." Warkhim's brief fabricated monologue amused him immensely. He didn't give a shit about the old hag who birthed him, and never spoke to her unless she sought him in the Stacks out of a sense of maternal obligation, which was rare in itself, as she was blatantly frightened of her youngest son. Kira looked like the kind of girl to appreciate a man who loved his parents, as naive and meaningless as that whole notion was.
Warkhim poured himself a glass, swirling the contents around the transparent rim. "Here, now smell again." He tilted the glass to her, "You'll notice different notes as it breathes: a bit of spice and vanilla. You can watch it drip down the side- those are called "legs"- and the slower they fall, the sweeter the wine is. This red is on the dry side, so the legs fall quickly." He took a slow swallow, reveling in the delicious vintage. "Mmmm, oh yes. Feel free to try a sip."
