He had gleaned from seeing them together a few times that there was something between them, romantic or some other bond. It had bothered him more then, wondering what Kalt, warrior and scholar, saw in the assassin girl. He still didn’t know that Kalt shared her profession, but he noted her obvious fondness for the man – noted, too, how she spoke of his enjoyment of winter but not her own. He felt a little pulse of jealousy that she knew what the sea was like, born beside it instead of reading about it only in books, but he quickly muffled it. He had seen the stars – or at least, memories of them. And he would see the ocean one day as well, here on Caido, of that he was determined.
Did you city have no midwinter festivals? he asked, curious in spite of himself at hearing the snowy season described as ‘cruel’ in the city. Then again, for those who were poor and lacked shelter, winter could be the cruelest season of all.
His singing took on a gentler tone as she asked about the recalcitrant souls, as if to deliberately coax with honey rather than force. He nodded as she glanced back, assuming she was checking to make sure he was keeping up, but he was not so weak that their slow pace would tire him yet. Some of them become monsters, I was told. Perhaps even the monsters that hunt Long Night, though that is only a guess on my part. Sometimes he guessed right, and sometimes not. His hope that the poisonous plants beneath the Spire were the source of the blight had been proven wrong, but his assumption that the Voice was involved had been confirmed. Ludo had seemed to imply that his assumption about the monsters of Long Night was correct… but he had not outright agreed, either.
He nodded thoughtfully at hearing that she had gone to the Glade. It had been his favorite shrine as well before he had found the one in Ludo’s Woods. He listened as she recounted her unease with the soul guide, and why, and he paused when she turned to look at him, leaning on his staff and considering what she had said for long minutes before speaking. You should be wary, he agreed slowly. Gods are not toys to trifle with, though I think that sometimes gets forgotten here with how often they appear. They are powerful, and their ways of thinking are not ours. All of them can be cruel in their own ways. At least, the younger gods can. I think they are each a little closer to mortals than the Old Gods are, and more prone to our flaws as well as our strengths. He paused his thoughts if not his song, watching Ashetta carefully and weighing his words with careful precision. I will not make apologies or excuses for Ludo. It’s not my place, and they would not thank me for it. Suffice to say that being released from the barrier to be reunited with Mort has been good for them… as, I think, Safrin’s reunion with Vi has sharpened her edges. He grimaced, remembering his last prayer to that goddess, and how terribly it had gone.
He pushed himself upright again, letting his song die away, the fog swallowing it eagerly so that not even echoes lingered. The lantern continued to burn steadily, but it was joined again by a glimpse of moonlight high above as Jigano tapped his staff against the ground, coming to a decision at last. ”I would like to build a shrine for both Ludo and Mort, an altar of memories and a guidepost for the dead. But I cannot do it alone. You are familiar with Mort, where I am not, and would know better how to honor him. I would… I would welcome your assistance, if you would be willing.” The words were formal and no little bit stiff as the bard fought with his bias to ask for the former-assassin’s help, but he managed to get them past the troublesome pride that so often got in his way. ”Though I understand if you would rather not, given Ludo’s unpredictability.”
Did you city have no midwinter festivals? he asked, curious in spite of himself at hearing the snowy season described as ‘cruel’ in the city. Then again, for those who were poor and lacked shelter, winter could be the cruelest season of all.
His singing took on a gentler tone as she asked about the recalcitrant souls, as if to deliberately coax with honey rather than force. He nodded as she glanced back, assuming she was checking to make sure he was keeping up, but he was not so weak that their slow pace would tire him yet. Some of them become monsters, I was told. Perhaps even the monsters that hunt Long Night, though that is only a guess on my part. Sometimes he guessed right, and sometimes not. His hope that the poisonous plants beneath the Spire were the source of the blight had been proven wrong, but his assumption that the Voice was involved had been confirmed. Ludo had seemed to imply that his assumption about the monsters of Long Night was correct… but he had not outright agreed, either.
He nodded thoughtfully at hearing that she had gone to the Glade. It had been his favorite shrine as well before he had found the one in Ludo’s Woods. He listened as she recounted her unease with the soul guide, and why, and he paused when she turned to look at him, leaning on his staff and considering what she had said for long minutes before speaking. You should be wary, he agreed slowly. Gods are not toys to trifle with, though I think that sometimes gets forgotten here with how often they appear. They are powerful, and their ways of thinking are not ours. All of them can be cruel in their own ways. At least, the younger gods can. I think they are each a little closer to mortals than the Old Gods are, and more prone to our flaws as well as our strengths. He paused his thoughts if not his song, watching Ashetta carefully and weighing his words with careful precision. I will not make apologies or excuses for Ludo. It’s not my place, and they would not thank me for it. Suffice to say that being released from the barrier to be reunited with Mort has been good for them… as, I think, Safrin’s reunion with Vi has sharpened her edges. He grimaced, remembering his last prayer to that goddess, and how terribly it had gone.
He pushed himself upright again, letting his song die away, the fog swallowing it eagerly so that not even echoes lingered. The lantern continued to burn steadily, but it was joined again by a glimpse of moonlight high above as Jigano tapped his staff against the ground, coming to a decision at last. ”I would like to build a shrine for both Ludo and Mort, an altar of memories and a guidepost for the dead. But I cannot do it alone. You are familiar with Mort, where I am not, and would know better how to honor him. I would… I would welcome your assistance, if you would be willing.” The words were formal and no little bit stiff as the bard fought with his bias to ask for the former-assassin’s help, but he managed to get them past the troublesome pride that so often got in his way. ”Though I understand if you would rather not, given Ludo’s unpredictability.”
