Caelin Skyholme
His comment had been intended as a compliment of Kevrilâs obvious skill in the ways of forest life, but apparently it had not been interpreted in that way, and Caelin flinched openly at the edge his new traveling companionâs tone had taken on. He supposed it must seem awfully inconsiderate of him, to offer so little of his background, but the truth of the matter was that he knew no more than he had told. Entire swaths of his life were completely blank to him, and what precious tidbits he did have were fought for and won in arduous, soul-searching meditation, often conducted for days at a time without food or sleep.
The hunter pulled back a strand of hair, and Caelin blinked with almost comical surprise. âHuh. Well, what do you know? Could have fooled me, though that really isnât saying much.â He tried to defuse the situation with a gently self-deprecating remark upon his own social graces. Frankly, he wasnât exactly sure what the problem was. He supposed that the combination of physical traits made Kevril a half-blood, but he didnât really think it was a problem.
Perhaps it was something other elves had given him a hard time for at some stage? He didnât seem to live with the rest, though he spoke as if they were at least aware of each other. There was obviously much more to the story, but though he was more than passingly curious about it, Caelin decided to exercise his better judgment and avoid more prying questions. Since he wasnât really sure which questions counted as âprying,â it might make more sense to stay away from any but the most innocuous.
Finally. I knew there was good sense in there somewhere. Maferath seemed to be more amused by his slightly-awkward social predicament than anything, and as always, the dragon was of little assistance. For some reason, it was always this way with people: Caelin would do or say something incredibly foolish, usually by accident, and then people stopped talking to him. A shame, considering how much he liked it.
Sometimes, he wondered why he didnât quite seem to fit into the social dynamics of the world, whether human or otherwise. He sensed, somehow, that it had not always been so, but he didnât really understand how he knew it.
Luna Nightswift
Luna followed the trajectory of Yasryneâs gaze and grinned. She was slightly off, but not too bad, perhaps. What was more, she seemed to be gaining (or regaining, as the case may be) some vigor, and there was a hint of something sardonic or at least sassy in her tone that the mercenary woman immediately picked up on.
The robe came off a moment later, and the former seawoman snickered at first, then threw back her head in a full-throated laugh.
âYouâve got quite a flair for the dramatic, donât you?â she asked, her tone suffused with humor. An adventure, indeed. She could already tell this was going to be more fun than sheâd initially thought, perhaps even a tale for the tavern-floor one day.
The archblade crossed her arms, tilting her head to the side and regarding the gate with mock solemnity. Granted, she really wasnât taking it lightly, it was just largely impossible for her to maintain gravitas about much of anything for long. Her spirit was one of dark humor and sly smiles, a cutting wit matched only by a honed sword or two. Much better to go through life laughing than weeping, her father had always said, and indeed he was laughing when they cut him down aboard his own vessel, a final act of defiance for a world that was never kind.
âSo⊠how do we go in?â She wasnât all that knowledgeable about magic, really only knowing enough to avoid falling into bespelled traps and the like.
Claenereth Dwinâanea
Claenereth again felt the pinpricks working their way down her spine. It was difficult, getting used to being watched, and yet it seemed like she had never been otherwise since the moment she departed her verdant forest home. Were elves truly so unusual? Or was it merely the strange tidings she carried? Perhaps it was a bit of both.
She was not the kind to flatter herself and assume she was interesting. But⊠a message from a goddess, on the other hand, could be very intriguing, perhaps to just about anyone. It didnât really explain the people on the way in, so she left that alone in contriving her explanation, silently staring back at the glittering grey irises beneath the shadowed cowl. Subconsciously, she straightened out her spine, forcing her hands to remain still, though they itched to be doing something- anything, really- to relieve her discomfort.
At last, Kitherine spoke, and she listened without interruption, sensing that there was some qualification coming. She wondered if Helkara was really so bent on seeing the destruction come to fruition that she would force him to not interfere with it, or if the darker goddessâs intention had always been to let Narisaa go.
At the mention of his name, her dark green eyes shifted to him, an unconscious smile appearing with a small twitch of her lips when she observed the change in his demeanor. She had never been as sullen as he had behaved before, but that same sort of odd excitement had filled her to her bones, rippling over her skin in waves, when she had first been tasked with this.
Of course, the foreboding and fear of failure had followed quickly, but he did not seem one for such doubt.
Turning back to Kitherine, she replied. âIf he would be willing to go, then I thank you both.â So saying, she dipped her head low, holding it there for a few seconds before straightening again. âYou mentioned others⊠I was unaware that there would be any.â Just that: an implied question, rather than a doubt of his accuracy. If he claimed its truth, she had little reason to think him dishonest, as he had been remarkably frank thus far.