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!
25.Sep.18, 03:58 AM
F’drel stared blankly at R’dal, positive he was mishearing things. R’dal thought what? He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. R’dal was lucky F’drel was so stunned otherwise he might have gotten shoved out of the boat. A lordling.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” he said stiffly, each syllable sharp as ice, “for one thing, I’m from Nabol, and there’s nowhere to fish there, only mountains. As such, fishing isn’t exactly the common lordly activity. The relaxing and fun thing to do there tends to be drudges, not fishing. That’s what I was, by the way, because my mother was one, and that’s all you have to look forward to as the child of a drudge — being one yourself until you die. Unless you get lucky enough to be Searched, and that wasn’t a dream I got to have growing up, considering dragons had disappeared and were presumed all dead. Though I’m sure if there was anywhere to fish nearby I would have gotten to do all the less pleasant bits for the sons of Nabol, but, unfortunately, I never got the chance.” F’drel bit the last bit out, sarcasm dripping from the words.
He was shaking. In anger? Maybe, there was a lot of that swirling through him, but F’drel knew there was a lot more there as well. He carefully skirted over thinking about it too closely, focusing instead on the anger — the anger was easier.
Stupid weyrbrats who knew nothing about the rest of the world. Did he act like a lordling? Self-centered, always assuming the world will bend to his wishes, never asking, only demanding, thinking everyone existed to serve him and his whims, not giving a single fuck about anyone else ever — he wasn’t. Was he? F’drel felt sick. He didn’t come across like that, did he? He couldn’t. He couldn’t.
His chest hurt. He wanted to leave. He had to leave. “Halomirth,” F’drel said aloud for R’dal’s ‘benefit,’ or whatever, “come get me please.” The green, who had been paying close attention to her rider at the spike of emotions, sent him a quiet affirmation. With a sad little chirp to Edath — she wanted to hang out longer! — Miri started moving through the water towards the boat to get her rider and take him somewhere else where he didn’t feel like this. She didn't like it at all, it hurt!
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” he said stiffly, each syllable sharp as ice, “for one thing, I’m from Nabol, and there’s nowhere to fish there, only mountains. As such, fishing isn’t exactly the common lordly activity. The relaxing and fun thing to do there tends to be drudges, not fishing. That’s what I was, by the way, because my mother was one, and that’s all you have to look forward to as the child of a drudge — being one yourself until you die. Unless you get lucky enough to be Searched, and that wasn’t a dream I got to have growing up, considering dragons had disappeared and were presumed all dead. Though I’m sure if there was anywhere to fish nearby I would have gotten to do all the less pleasant bits for the sons of Nabol, but, unfortunately, I never got the chance.” F’drel bit the last bit out, sarcasm dripping from the words.
He was shaking. In anger? Maybe, there was a lot of that swirling through him, but F’drel knew there was a lot more there as well. He carefully skirted over thinking about it too closely, focusing instead on the anger — the anger was easier.
Stupid weyrbrats who knew nothing about the rest of the world. Did he act like a lordling? Self-centered, always assuming the world will bend to his wishes, never asking, only demanding, thinking everyone existed to serve him and his whims, not giving a single fuck about anyone else ever — he wasn’t. Was he? F’drel felt sick. He didn’t come across like that, did he? He couldn’t. He couldn’t.
His chest hurt. He wanted to leave. He had to leave. “Halomirth,” F’drel said aloud for R’dal’s ‘benefit,’ or whatever, “come get me please.” The green, who had been paying close attention to her rider at the spike of emotions, sent him a quiet affirmation. With a sad little chirp to Edath — she wanted to hang out longer! — Miri started moving through the water towards the boat to get her rider and take him somewhere else where he didn’t feel like this. She didn't like it at all, it hurt!
