The Otter

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

week's been pretty brutal

@HereComesTheSnow

understatement

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Esben Mathiassen

---

"Mmm."

Distinctly noncommittal. A talk with Galahad wasn't a bad idea, nor continuing a prior discussion with Éliane, but it wasn't yet a good time for either. "Let's put a pin in that for now. He's not the only one to talk with about such things."

---

Given the much-needed windfall that was finding Miina's tribe so soon, Esben was finally allowed a moment to actually relax. Without feeling such a need to watch their backs, without focusing so much on what he would need to do to deal with the Grovemaster problem for the moment, he could focus in on the other things that needed it. First and foremost being the group he was travelling with. The information on Izayoi's background was an idle curiosity for him, given that in current circumstances there was little utility that could be found in having that knowledge.

However, her own choice to get up and leave the chat was quite useful to him.

He silently slipped out behind the samurai, his cat-like tread rivaling the ears that any of the Mystrel around possessed. It only took a moment for his longer stride to catch up, slowing down as he came up next to her. "Izayoi. Care to talk for a minute or two?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Fionn MacKerracher

---

Fiadh may well have continued worrying over it, but Fionn's reaction was just to grin once he realized that all his hair was now a bright, vivid pink. Even the fine, still-essentially-translucent hairs that absolutely covered any adult—without a doubt, his overall apparent complexion must have been something interesting at that moment. Gerard's certainly was, given that the man was now a pulsating rainbow. Sure, he may have suffered the little fairy queen's displeasure, but it was entirely performative.

Perfunctory, even. She had all the power in her realm, and they were all already aware. If she was truly so put-out, there was much more she could have done.

He had a sneaking suspicion that somewhere deep down he must have been right, and she might appreciate it...even when she had to look stern.

"Oh, dear, I've been pinked," he muttered, turning to Fiadh where she was finishing up with the captain's hair, as the Moonlit Queen turned her attention to Fleuri and eventually back to the captain. "Do I still look good?" Their host didn't waste any time, however, in giving them the task she expected as part of her wager.

Defeating the Midnight Hunt? Arken may have been dumbfounded by the idea, and mere weeks ago Fionn may have shared in his trepidation—but nearly all the knights present had found their individual capabilities greatly raised recently. Beyond that, they had Tyaethe with them, who truly had first hand experience fighting their targets. He was quite nearly the opposite of worried about it.

Someone else seemed at least as inclined not to worry, though perhaps the technicolour knight was not so relaxed about it either. "Oh, aye, I nicked one of the knight's helmets alright," he replied airily. "Was hiding up a tree, saw an opportunity, reached down and plucked it right off the head that was wearing it. Hopping between the trees until I could find a good one to go back down and run was the harder bit."

Of course, he'd never revealed that the one he yanked the helmet off of was not a Knight of the Midnight Hunt himself, as Fiadh had been sure to correct him once she learned of it. He found out later on that there was a band of mercenaries that their core had managed to survive against the Hunt, and had claimed as much of their gear as was possible in the aftermath and made it part of their company's distinctive character after. A decent number of the helmets to go around, some of the spears that they kept only for ceremonial purposes.

Yet, for all he'd told the story, he was careful to make sure he didn't lie and claim that he got it off a Knight of the Hunt directly.

Given the state his sword was in, though, he was in for some trouble in the fight if he couldn't get that taken care of. "So, after we win, would you still like me to come by and visit?" he joked at the diminutive queen, before laying a hand on the misshapen pommel of his weapon. "If so, could I ask you to fix this, if you're able, to keep things sporting? Or lend me a good blade if you have one in your collection, for the same purpose, just for the course of this challenge."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Esben Mathiassen

---

"Hmm? Oh, sure. I'll go look with you."

In their time since washing ashore, Esben had spent the majority of it in quiet contemplation of the events that had led up to their current predicament. All told, considering just what had faced them—it wasn't a complete, unmitigated disaster. But to call it a setback would be a severe understatement. The most value he'd gotten out of everything was a clearer picture on the dynamics of the Grovemasters. Isolde, either an utter fanatic or using it to hide a deeper betrayal; Zacharias, the staunch conservative, with a seeming penchant for isolationism and superiority to match the stereotypes of Skael's leaders; and Alambert, the one that supposedly 'could be turned.'

The prospects were bleak, but not impossible.

With somewhat vacant eyes, he followed along behind Éliane towards the beach. Evidently, in the process of removing them all to the safe shore, Leviathan's waters had managed to knock pieces loose of her cannon. Perhaps her other firearms, he hadn't listened closely enough to determine just what was missing. He just barely took note of Rudolf slipping away into the forest, and with a wave and a nod, set Eos to follow along behind him. Small insurance that the swordsman wouldn't get himself killed, and if anything truly catastrophic should happen, the fairy would be able to fly back and warn the group extremely quickly.

Combing the beach with Éliane, and leaving Eos to watch over Rudolf, with Selene floating behind him ready to step in or fly off for anything else he might need, did not require much of his mental bandwidth, leaving him free to think over other things.

The first being that he would need to have a talk with both Éliane and Galahad at some point. Likely with Izayoi's backing, as she had learned her lessons about not letting her temper dictate how she conducted herself, and he didn't hold much hope that either would be likely to listen to him much without the backup. Talks with everybody about not volunteering information where it wasn't necessary, though some of that was due as much to what Neve had shared with her masters as anything the rest of the group had actually said.

More than that, however, he needed to come up with a plan for dealing with the Grovemasters themselves. No doubt they would all be on high alert and under heavy guard, though that was nothing he was terribly unfamiliar with. Getting close to them was not his primary worry. What to do once he had was. Eliminating them all, tying up the loose threads, and rendering Drana Asnaeu little more than a protectorate was an option, but an unsavory one. Best to keep only for a complete emergency scenario, as the likelihood of reprisal and rebellion would increase exponentially if he should have to make that move.

The name Cid, however, had gotten some purchase with them. Not only with Isolde, though she was the one who found the most opportunity to gain from it in her personal goals. The most conservative member of the trio had the greatest reaction to it, while it had provided enough for Alambert at least to call them into their chambers, rather than continuing to deliberate openly. The primal elementals were obviously of importance as well, given that they were sent to undertake a trial with Leviathan—no doubt part of Isolde's doing, but the point remained. Should he manage to get one of them away, to commune with the eidolons, then perhaps—

"Eh?"

"You weren't supposed to say that!"

Evidently Rudolf and Eos had returned, with the corpse of a bear in tow. The sun's position in the sky had notably changed, and as he looked behind, he noticed the line of tracks that he and his countrywoman had left behind them as they combed the beach. "That's why I sent her, yes. Glad to know I made the right choice." Eos fluttered over to Selene, as the pair began to go over just what the green one had witnessed following behind Rudolf. He clicked his tongue, a brief bout of annoyance coming over him as he was pulled out of his thoughts, digging his toes into the sand...and striking metal.

He bent down, lifting out what looked like some sort of worm on its shaft out of the sand, where it had been barely buried. "Hmm. This isn't what you were looking for, is it, Éliane?" he asked the pink-haired woman, holding it up where she could see, revealing the hand crank attached to it. "I haven't missed too much while we've been walking about, have I?"

The Elder Scrolls VI: Sentinel

Keirthanil

---

Keirthanil retained his pleasant disposition even as the Argonian...smiled at him.

He had no real clue what its gender was. He knew from studies and observations that certain members of female portion of the species had pseudo-breasts, a rare biological skeuomorphic adaptation to help them fit in with the other intelligent, bipedal races of Tamriel, as dictated by the Hist. This one lacked such projections, but that didn't necessarily mean that it wasn't female; the Altmer had long learned to assume male and correct himself if necessary, as he had already done.

At least the voice seemed more likely to be masculine, a point of obvious familiarity he could rely on to facilitate his intentional hiding of his disgust at the lizard's expression.

"Guards, like most men, hold distaste for anything they don't understand. It's unsurprising that an Argonian reading a book would alarm them—I doubt they'd even look long enough to see what you're reading." Much as they'd devoted even more focus to his species than his occupation...it was the height of foolishness, but in some ways it was a useful foolishness. "Are you a conjurer, then? I expect that the majority of what you focus on selling is armamancy scrolls, then. I can't imagine the guards would be inclined to let you sell any atronachs, assuming they could read enough to see what your work was about."

He looked down at the table, perusing over some of the half-finished scrolls that the Argonian had arrayed before him. Taking a break from writing, most likely. Something to suit the short-sighted nature of how he'd described his business, anyways; appreciation for the arcane could be fostered through his own skill and his offerings, not reliance on a good library and hopeful curiosity on the part of the locals. That he would blame slow business on the lack of a library, and spend time at his front reading rather than working...

"May I see some of your finished scrolls?"

He did not expect anything of particularly great quality; the unfinished scrolls already had what seemed glaring errors to his eyes, so he expected that the finished scrolls, while functional, likely contained similar problems. If the conjurer's skill was as he expected, then there would likely be an even faster, easier way to achieve his goals in this conversation.

Ah, if only I'd managed to take some of those old Psijic tomes with me...telepathy could be useful here. No matter, though, I'm sure the Telvanni girl can handle herself.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Fionn MacKerracher

---

He had been as sure that he had the right idea as Fiadh seemed sure that he had the wrong idea. Tyaethe, Gertrude, and some of the others no doubt shared the sentiment or one similar—he was certain the former would have some choice words for him later, and the latter just as quickly pulled back away from him. Unsurprisingly, he was right; their Moonlit Queen clapped her hands, her delight likely only tempered by the fact that she hadn't been able to watch the proceedings.

That tale alone was enough to sell his talents in combat, most likely. It seemed just as likely that they would need to focus in on other things, as this diminutive fairy wasn't likely to focus on the same things any of them were.

He raised his hand, adjusting the lay of his hauberk over his shoulders. As he did, he pulled a small twig out from between the links, likely broken off of the construct that they'd fought not long before. "You get lonely, don't you?" he mused out loud, turning the twig around in his fingers. He thought for a moment, before his grip tightened for a moment—

"Aletou."

—and the twig grew, lengthening in his grasp before splitting off at the end into a small bouquet of the same white blossoms that had bloomed all over the remnants of the tree-snake they had felled. He cut the flow of mana off quickly, rather than letting it continue to grow until it would try to root itself again.

Then he stepped forward, leaning down and holding out the flowering twig to the Moonlit Queen. "It's not much, like, but I'm good at entertaining little girls," he said brightly. "Why, not long ago a local princess declared me her Stalwart Ball Knight, and of course..." He held up his left hand, freed of its gauntlet and showing the mark that Fiadh had left in his palm. He was, of course, entirely straight-faced...though he didn't know whether or not Gerard or Renar would manage to maintain such after the reminder of what Maletha had dubbed him. "She likes me too, at least. You're both kinda little right now, I assume that's on purpose."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Esben Mathiassen

---

As he'd expected, Isolde did not care what arguments were brought up. Perhaps not self-righteous, but entirely bought into her own interpretation of things nonetheless. She was unwilling to consider any alternative, nor even to acknowledge that the Kirins did not, could not have the information she demanded. Esben's eyes scanned over the group of Templars behind her once again, his impassive gaze held for a moment longer on those that started to shy away from the eye contact.

Shame was certainly a powerful tool, even in the face of such demagoguery. It could never sway the entirety of those arrayed against them, but only a few would make enough of a difference.

As Miina slipped in behind Galahad and Izayoi, Esben himself fell back behind the pair in the moment before the battle resumed. A blade swung his way narrowly missed, impeding a thrust that was sent at the same time. An arrow was loosed, the shaft cutting through the air near his leg before it buried itself in the dirt. Some of the templars jockeyed for position as they surged forward to meet the front line of the Kirins.

No mere luck behind any of that—appearances were important, certainly, and those that his words had found some purchase with understood that clearly. They couldn't openly help, but they could hinder what coordination the Templars were supposed to have.

He slipped further away, coming in towards the back of the group, nearer to Ciradyl and Éliane. His sword hung at his hip, replaced with the journal that he had flipped open in one hand and was quickly scanning down the page. Sure enough, the fairies had decided that using his blood as the ink was what was needed to finalize the pact. A somewhat open-ended contract, though he didn't expect anything particularly ironclad from the supernatural beings; moreover, that benefited him as much as it might them.

He didn't recognize the language that they'd written the terms of the summoning in, but as the aether in the blood began to glow faintly under his focus, it was clear he didn't need to. He glanced up towards where Galahad landed heavily in the midst of the Templars, the arcane words spilling from his tongue almost unconsciously. A flash of red hair rushed up to the Grovemaster cloaked in white, Templars in the lead reeling back as they realized, suddenly, that the blades that were raised against them suddenly carried an actual threat.

Purple and green lights glowed at his sides, but the pair would have to go without any greetings for now. "Selene, give us your wind, now!" he commanded, and the purple fairy, as if expecting as much, lifted her hands in silent reply. Where the Templars were surprised by the sudden threat, they may be alarmed to find that the Kirins were no longer quite so slow facing them, a hazy purple nimbus in the area the only sign that they might recognize to mean that their targets had aid as well.

The same tingling feeling he'd felt down his spine as Eos and Selene completed the pact had returned, but this time he could feel the static coursing through his entire body. The closest he'd come to any such sensation was directly handling an active materia...it was curious to think that, for the fairies, he was proving a similar sort of magical battery.

He raised his arm with the journal, pointed at the suddenly-accosted Isolde. Though their shields were down, the Templars still had an effective White Mage with them, who needed to be kept off balance until they could chip away every last defence. "Eos," he started, eyes firmly focused on the Grovemaster, "You know how to heal, ja? Let's do the reverse to her."

The small, green-glowing family nodded, one arm atop Esben's, the other pointed out at Isolde as well. "On it!" she replied, and muttered a word that he didn't know; from the book he held outstretched, a sickly green bolt flew across the battle, striking the Grovemaster. "That should keep her hurting for a little bit!" the sprite replied cheerfully, regardless of whatever poisoned aether she'd sent hurtling across the ruins. Esben turned back to Éliane behind him, nodding to the middle of the fight.

"If you've got anything that can stun the lot of them without hurting any of our own too much, keep it ready. We may yet have to run from this."

Fate/Illuminate Histoire

Lancer and Archer

@Fish of Oblivion

---

Lancer glanced down at the offered cigarette once, the slightest twitch of his eyes downwards, before they rose to meet the other servant's gaze once again. The reek coming off of the man from it was patently offensive to his sense of smell, though in life he had dealt with worse. As distasteful as it was, he could stand firm, assuming the wind didn't shift and blow it directly at him.

The other man didn't wait long, inhaling the smoke from his own before providing his own answer to the offer and the other question that had accompanied it. Unperturbed—or at least making an effort to appear as such. But not comfortable enough with the silence or the stare to simply wait it out himself.

"You would be correct, though I wonder at your readiness to answer for me."

"Pardon me, one can never be too sure where they stand." The man came back with a response quickly, maintaining the unruffled impression he seemed to be trying to put forth to Lancer. "In any case, it cheers me to be the first to have the chance to talk to you, rather than a certain other."

His words were at once measured and a little provocative; politely spoken, but with the implication that he knew something Lancer didn't and wanted him to interrogate that.

"I respect that your time here may not entirely be your own, so I'll cut to the heart of the matter." After wavering a little at the silence, the pleasant smile- or at least whatever approximated such a thing amongst the man's features- slipped back across his face. "What have you gleaned of this Holy Grail War so far?"

Fast to respond after the silence had dragged on, and fast to start angling towards something. "So that is what this is," Lancer rumbled in reply, a flat monotone in contrast to the other's measured pitch and rhythm. The faintest quiver at the corners of the shorter man's lips was noted, the urbane smile resumed the moment it passed.

Lancer was familiar with the hunt, both of men and of animals, and of all the forms it could take. It wasn't difficult to determine what the other was angling towards, when he had made it so obvious. Traps like that were put out with the intent that the unwise would fall into them, and those who thought they knew would spring them intentionally under the assumption that they could make their own way out.

"I have gleaned that you have good eyes."

Rather than try and turn it around, it was simplest to step right over it. He turned, looking down the path and the road that the other servant had come from, visibly unconcerned with the proximity they were in, before he turned back once more. The man who was alone, at a time when a majority of servants would be remaining closer to their masters.

There was one inside the church now, as Beatrice had told him. Others he had witnessed coming and going already.

"You seem comfortably familiar with this place already."

This time, the man extended Lancer the courtesy of letting him answer for himself, maintaining that dubiously amiable smile as he spoke. If he was conscious of the fact that his fellow Servant was all but telling him he wasn't interested in his games, he didn't let it show; though there was a sudden glint in his eyes as Lancer queried his vision.

"I have been told as much." he chuckled, plucking his cigarette from his mouth for a moment and raising a hand in some oblique gesture. "One of the... tricks of the trade, shall we say?"

"Truth be told, I'm no more familiar with these surroundings than yourself. I would wager we're here under the same circumstances in more ways than one." He continued, letting the arm with his cigarette hang at his side as he furnished Lancer with a meaningful look. "Men like us learn quickly, long centuries melting away into experience as we hit our stride. But not all are so adaptable. I know of certain parties in this war for whom a millennia of continuous failure couldn't elicit so much as a moment of self-reflection."

"Mmm."

Lancer couldn't give too much away by explaining just what he'd meant, though the man's reaction was answer enough. Tricks of the trade indeed. No doubt, in life, he had been a proper hunter of some sort. Or perhaps on the other side of that same coin, maintaining the hunting lands and the animals upon them, and turning the hunt back on any poachers.

If so, his ability to spot a man hidden was no surprise, and could only be amplified with this service after death.

He stood silent for a moment after the noncommittal grunt, before he pointed at one of the glass windows on the church. "You're right. That would need a mirror."

The man quirked a brow at Lancer's comment, the smile flattening out as he returned his cigarette to his mouth, taking a long pull of it as he seemed to appraise the man. Perhaps the Servant's intuition was correct, and the hunter was reassessing how to approach difficult prey, sorting between the right psychological tools to accomplish the task at hand.

Or perhaps he was simply frustrated by Lancer's refusal to play along and needed a moment to collect himself.

"Rather." He exhaled, a deep plume of smoke drifting up into the night air. His tone was as measured and polite as before, but the smile, likely affected though it was, remained absent from his features. "After all, no amount of knowledge, talent or aspirations can save one from a lack of sense."

"Well, perhaps it's too early to speculate on such things." But a short, sharp chuckle heralded the return of the smile as something seemed to click into place. "And besides, there's no sense in wasting time contemplating on behalf of those unable to. No, I'm much more interested in hearing your thoughts on the matter.

"What brings you to this day and age? Duty alone cannot compel one to return from beyond, after all- even if the purported prize is hardly what was advertised."

"I have no clue what they found to drag me back. I didn't think I would be exciting enough to consider."

A moment passed in ponderous, heavy silence. Lancer felt the man's eyes stare into him, even as the smile lingered.

"I see." The side of his mouth twitched a little as he finally spoke, the glint in his eye dulling. "Not to sound a broken record, but perhaps it's not worth contemplating on the motives of those who don't seem to give much thought to them themselves."

Lancer's stare continued to fall on the shorter man, unwavering. "You speak much of motive and intention, for one who is to be a servant," he said slowly, as though pondering a very difficult concept. "It seems you struggle with such thoughts. If you are lost in them, I doubt I can aid you much."

"Clearly." This time the reply came fast and terse, the man's polite tone finally wavering even as his expression remained nominally amiable.

"Perhaps this was a little too much too soon. I apologize. All the same, give it some thought." Smile flattening out into a neutral line, he took the cigarette from his mouth andincinerated what remained of it with a flash of black flame. As the remaining particulate from the stub dispersed into the wind, he cast his gaze past Lancer towards the Church. "One can never be too sure of where they stand in times like these."

It had taken surprisingly little to break the man's facade, Lancer felt. For someone who was playing such an obvious-seeming game, he was very unsuited to having it thrown back in his face. Of course, given the small talent he'd just shown, it was obvious as well that he'd been some level of a magus in life—though if Lancer had to guess, not nearly enough so to earn himself a place as Caster.

Nor would he expect one such time have so transparent a ploy, even to his own eyes.

The man before him, with his thin-set lips and discomfited stare, not only had his own designs, but had no qualms pursuing them whether he had leave to or not. Atop that, he sought to drag others into them, leaving tidbits of information as bait, trying to appeal to whatever motives he could to sweeten the deal, whether base or lofty.

A talker. Not so much a fighter—certainly not as a first choice. Yet, unless he was exceedingly foolhardy, not an Assassin. Others, perhaps, were still quite open—until he could see the man's armament, at least, assuming his Noble Phantasm was some form of weapon.

"You value your own company," he said at last, breaking the momentary silence. "And that of those who think like you. Hunters often behave as such—it only makes sense. I would not feel confident if I were in the wilderness with a party I found myself constantly at odds with. Yet it seems you forget that your fellow hunters are not your prey, to me."

One foot slid slightly backwards. Hands half-raised, relaxed, yet ready. "I do not appreciate your overestimation of your own intellect, or your overvaluing of your own wants and choices in this. Unless one comes to exist between our masters, there will be no accord between us. I suggest you run back to whoever they are and keep that in mind."

Lancer's words brought no immediate change to the man's stance or expression, his expression still neutral as he looked over the church. But as he slowly craned his neck to look to him, there was an unmistakable shift in the air. The glint in his eyes had been one of appraisal, but now they seemed to size him up far more keenly, not merely curious but actively searching for anything that could be used to his advantage. The warm summer breeze seemed momentarily absent, as did the ambient sounds of the Sako evening in the distance.

"Take from my words what you will, it makes no difference to me." It didn't seem as if he was ready to answer Lancer's words and stance with violence, though now his tone was as cold and clear as the air around them had become. "You and your Master can conduct yourselves however you like, as shall mine and I. But do not make the mistake of believing everyone is willing to be so even-handed over this sham of a Grail."

A smile returned to the man's face. This one, however, much like the air about him, was rather devoid of warmth.

"For some, even the most uncertain promise is cause enough to bring out the long knives. Centuries of vain hope resting perniciously upon something that's as likely to set this town aflame as it is to alleviate them. When faced with a beast like that..."

The object of his gaze shifted once more, this time past Lancer and back down the direction he'd arrived from. Raising a hand to his temple, some exchange seemed to take place beyond the other man's ability to perceive-

"Well, I've kept you long enough. Make whatever arrangements suit your tastes, but it seems I'm needed elsewhere." And the world seemed to resume regular course as the chill abated, the sounds of the summer evening rushing back in as the man chuckled, taking his hand from his head and starting back down the way. "Take care, lest the hunter become the hunted."

The facade shattered entirely, the even-keeled demeanour gone in an instant. But the man's words, tone, and expressions were not the only things that Lancer had to watch—the movement of his hand, wrist, elbow, arm; the way the cloth of his sleeve bunched and bent against the muscle beneath it; the uncanny stillness that came over him as the rug was pulled, eyes on Lancer without a hint of emotion or ego, but only cold observation.

And when he turned, watching his back, his shoulders, the peculiarities of his walk. Every detail being committed to memory. Here was a man who was no stranger to a fight, certainly, but one who would never fight so close if he could avoid it. One who would always prefer the hunt over the struggle, and yet one who likely knew that subterfuge and deception were as effective within a melee as without. A stalker, but not an Assassin, indeed.

He was sure of it.

Too controlled, too level to be a battle-rager. Not the sort to be a Caster. That left him with two options, in his mind.

"If you take a shot at me," he said softly, a low rumble that he knew the other's ears would pick up with no trouble, "You had better make sure it does not miss. I will not afford you the courtesy of a second."

"Oh, rest your dog's heart, you've nothing to fear there." The man seemed to pause for a moment as he went; but as that moment passed, he simply kept walking, raising a hand to bid Lancer farewell. Perhaps it was for the best that he couldn't see the man's expression. His choice of words was as careful as ever, but this time, there was no certainty with which you could use to catch hold of them.

"Don't forget to say hello to the Einzberns for me." And with one final jibe of some peculiar intent, he was gone, the outline of his body collapsing into fractals and his form into black smoke that was quickly swallowed by the night as he made towards his new destination.

Lancer watched the man disappear, standing resolute for a couple moments more before he turned and made his own way away from the church grounds. He'd yet to catch any semblance of a call from Beatrice, but he wasn't about to leave her wandering alone after that conversation. It did leave him wondering one thing, however; shortly after his summoning, his master had made a point to bring him somewhat up-to-date on the nature of the prior grail wars. The origins of the one that this seemed to be trying to recreate, the families involved.

He wasn't sure if the other servant thought the mention of the Einzberns would be a surprise or not.

His long strides carrying him through the graveyard, he came to Beatrice's side once more, slowing down so as not to entirely outpace her. "Did you learn anything useful?" he asked, with a half-nod back towards the church. "Or was it as much of a distraction as I expected?"

---

Arthur Howell

@Octo

---

As she imperiously points at me with the chopsticks—at least she'd started holding them properly—I turn away, half-heartedly lifting another morsel to my mouth. "I was trying not to point that out," I mumble in response to her completing my earlier thought without any shame, thankful that, thanks to the design of the inn, we had quite a bit more privacy than in any normal place.

Probably for the best that she doesn't know I'm thinking that. She might not call me so brave if she did.

At least, somehow she seems the type that would be more likely to laugh at me knowing I got embarrassed by something she didn't.

"A-anyways, your hips are still wider, so it's not like that was the only thing. And don't point with your chopsticks, that's rude." Trying to save a little bit of face, but still not making eye contact again, I lift up my left hand, pointing back at the bedroom. "Find something you like. Once you're changed we can walk back to town."

The Elder Scrolls VI: Sentinel

Keirthanil

---

"I don't know that anyone would ever accuse a Dunmer of having an active heart, yes," Keirthanil replied drily, waving Rela off as he continued along towards the Argonian. "Keep your ears open, and find me some tools. A good alembic, at the very least." He sauntered nonchalantly up towards where the supposed-mage sat, a studiously disinterested eye picking up what details he could of the book or the papers strewn about at a glance.

The lizard was in for a possibly terrible day; more than anything else, he was the simplest target, whether skilled or not. Edging out the other alchemists would take time and materials, regardless of any shows of comparative skill that could be arranged. The enchanter, regardless of their ability, would be harder to deal with given that they had an evidently profitable partnership with the smith next to them. Breaking up a business relationship like that was not the easiest task.

Likely, even, for the small group of Blades to sustain a loss if they weren't careful about it, and their business wasn't the sort that could afford such losses up front in the hopes of long-term gain.

"Slow day? Sometimes it seems that these Redguards are as bad as Nords when it comes to appreciating any clever craft that they can't eat, drink, or swing around." He glanced down at the desk, much more openly this time. "Do they at least have a decent library here? I find the utility of Camilonwe's works is rather limited without a wider breadth against which to cross-reference—beyond, even, what he himself suggested."

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

He's gonna have to try and be real convincing if he says he had no clue about damn Nazgûl showing up too.