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Red SchuhartThis looks like an interesting RP! How do I join?
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The Otter
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1.5 oz gin, 1.5 oz sweet vermouth, 2 to 4 dashes orange bitters
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with 12 equal payments of $19.99 and a properly filled out contract giving the GMs ownership over all of your creative output within the game
Fionn MacKerracher
"You have a knight," Fionn repeated at Fiadh's claim about having to be 'a lot stronger.' "I am your strength." Whether 'decentralized strength' really counted remained to be seen, but given the manner in which his own prowess had grown through the union, he seemed somewhat firmly set on the idea. At least as regarded the belief that she may have started taking steps down that path whether she meant to or not.
As for diplomacy, and his name coming up in response—
"Eh? Who?" He instead was entirely distracted by Arken's comment on summoning in yet another fae being to get them in. "That's not sarcasm, is it? Do we know anyone that could help like that?" He finally turned back to the Niyar hanging off of him with the final question. "I mostly remember you trying to keep me out of trouble with the others back home."
Esben Mathiassen
"Perhaps because she knows something of the trial that would inherently remove its challenge," Esben supplied in response to Miina's musing. He'd kept silent as the Grovemasters deliberated amongst themselves, his thoughts darting between the reactions that had been presented and the need to explain 'judicious' in terms more normal than what Éliane likely thought in.
Izayoi had been right that at least two of the Grovemasters had their minds set the second the party entered the room—likely the entire trio did, if he had to guess. One xenophobic and combative in a way to make a Skaeller border guard proud; one intent on maintaining the image of neutrality, all measured words and a calm face as he made his own wish to wash his hands of the group clear, and the third who had made her mind to at least actively listen and consider what was being said. Likely the only one that had any care for why Neve had chosen to seek the Kirins out again, rather than bristling at her choice in defiance of their edicts.
"Well. Maybe this will mark a turn towards some proactive defense of Drana Asnaeu's neutrality, then," he remarked, still eyeing the eldest of Brightlam's rulers. "I'm sure everybody here would hate to see your forests wither, your wildlife and spirits turned against the people, ja? Perhaps, Master Zacharias, you should pray for our success, in this trial and the rest to come? The prayer of the righteous avails much, after all. Maybe that way you won't have to rely on these demons and warmongers for help for long."
it's getting worse, now he's realizing he's getting groomed to be evelyn's fixer
Esben Mathiassen
...
Esben had to fight the urge to start staring at Éliane.
I said judicious. Did she think I said generous?
Esben Mathiassen
"Such vitriol," Esben muttered to himself, his eyes still placed on the one of the trio that had taken the most hostile tone with them. He'd already reached out, one hand laying lightly on Éliane's shoulder, unspoken counsel to hold her tongue for a few minutes more. Not that he was feeling terribly charitable towards the three Grovemasters—the distaste that they maintained for Skael and those that lived there wasn't any secret, driven in part by the gulf in technological advancement between the two nations.
Undoubtedly, at least one of the three had already gotten themselves convinced that the Blight could be blamed on the 'godless technologies' of the southerners, a tract that some from Brightlam had been known to take. More often after the contact with Valheim, and seeing that the invaders were similarly advanced as Skael, perhaps even more so. He didn't have particularly high hopes that anyone in such a position could really be swayed towards the viewpoints the group needed them to take, but so long as the Grovemasters didn't require unanimity in their decisions, that should prove fine. He was more focused on watching for any other reactions from the three, rather than just the expected isolationism and anti-technological diatribes.
Whether it was just due to his own uncharitable mood after spending the trip upriver with distinctly less sleep than he would prefer, the mutual disregard with which he and most of Skael held the Grovemasters in turn, or if there was anything deeper to it that hadn't become obvious yet, the second of them had certainly drawn his interest. Unfortunately for him, the other pairs of eyes he'd ask to keep their own watch on the man were either no longer travelling with them, had already spoken up, or would likely be expected to speak up before too long.
"That warmonger jab wasn't an invitation," he said quietly, leaning in closer to Éliane. "But I don't mind if you want to press his buttons a little. Just be judicious about it."
Fionn MacKerracher
As Fiadh immediately latched onto one of his arms, after listening to Tyaethe draw them back onto the actual topic of the day, Fionn started pulling at his beard thoughtfully. Heavy brow drawn down, frown still remaining on his face, thickly built, and stroking his facial hair in contemplation, one could be forgiven for imagining that he was trying to find a way to just break through the metaphorical wall that the problem presented them. Especially as it seemed unlikely that Fiadh, being from northern Velt, would have any clue who this particular Moonlit Queen was, or what to expect of her realm.
Unfortunately, not every problem was a door that could be kicked down or a window that could be smashed in—
"We still want to come from a position that demands some respect, don't we? The duke is a duke, and she didn't seem to have much concern, like..." His eyes slid over to the green fairy hanging off his side. "Fiadh, you could be a noble lady, couldn't you?"
He knew she was going to object. Fae hated to lie if they could avoid it, after all, so he had to fight back against any objections before they could come up.
"I mean, you live in a castle now, and since Tyaethe hasn't had to kick you out and we haven't had any other clergy knocking on our doors it seems like Mayon and Reon don't really have much of a problem with you making your residence there. You've got important folk in here who specifically asked for your counsel, and you have a knight. Sounds convincing, like."
—And yet perhaps that was what his mind was going to attempt, regardless.
it's important to yell at click sometimes
Fionn MacKerracher
"Really, though, you have so much trouble with it when Tyaethe doesn't have a single issue. Isn't that backwards?"
They had stepped into the room where the others had gathered just in time to catch the end of what Arken and Fiadh had to say, Fionn wisely pulling up the rear so that she didn't cut herself off in excitement on seeing him. At least to Renar's benefit, it kept Fionn from speculating that the illegitimate nobleman's unwillingness to acknowledge the reality of the situation was based in his desire to play the expedient, opportunistic matchmaker for his fellow knights—although the odds were good that Renar wouldn't have any problem admitting to such, anyways. He'd never been particularly shy about his various schemes and plans for advancement.
Fionn's attention immediately fell to the circle scribed upon the floor, which Fiadh had been as yet unable to pass, glancing over at the...
...Surprisingly blushing Gertrude. He frowned. "Didn't I tell you to behave yourself? Why would you pile in all of these sweets and not even let her get to them, anyways..." His frown deepened looking at the circle again. "I should be able to just smudge some of these lines and she'll be good to get out of it, right?"
It appeared that Renar's question had been missed entirely.
"Well at least take out the one riding it, I'm tired of dealing with him."
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