They say blood makes you related but
loyalty makes you family
The man welcomed Loren into the paint-filled sanctuary, and the Launceleyn gave the artist a cautious smile before the summoner made his way to the couch. Sitting without a care for his own clothes (Loren had never cared much for his appearance, and now less than ever) the librarian glanced at the wine, but did not take any. ”Thank you. And I’m good.” Alcohol and the summoner was not a good combination at the moment. Or ever.
As the woman entered directly after him, Loren twisted in his seat to get a good look at her. She had the build and the grace of a fighter, and was relatively tall (though not nearly as tall as most of the women in the Hollowed Grounds seemed to be), but thankfully was unfamiliar to him. Indeed, strangers were generally easier to deal with. At the mention of the wedding, however, Loren threw the other man a startled glance. ”Are you Bastien?” There was only one wedding the Launceleyn knew of, and it was between Rexanna and, yes, a man named Bastien. If this was indeed that man, then the summoner would gladly help in whatever way he could. Indeed, his own errand was almost completely forgotten.
However, when the other man asked for the librarian’s name, he hesitated for just an instant, almost imperceptibly. ”I’m Loren.” Hopefully neither of them would notice—or ask him for his last name—since being related to Zariah did not endear the summoner to anyone. At the artist’s direction, the Launceleyn glanced over at the plain decorations, then at the brush. Although the other man had assured them that they could do wonderful things, Loren knew he was not much of an artist and did not trust his hands; though they were well used to fine tasks and writing and all manner of arcane arts, actual art was another thing entirely. So the Launceleyn stepped close and used his very limited telekinesis to lift the brush and begin painting patterns in gold and ivory. Hopefully they wouldn’t be too terrible, being created directly from his thoughts as they were.
As the woman entered directly after him, Loren twisted in his seat to get a good look at her. She had the build and the grace of a fighter, and was relatively tall (though not nearly as tall as most of the women in the Hollowed Grounds seemed to be), but thankfully was unfamiliar to him. Indeed, strangers were generally easier to deal with. At the mention of the wedding, however, Loren threw the other man a startled glance. ”Are you Bastien?” There was only one wedding the Launceleyn knew of, and it was between Rexanna and, yes, a man named Bastien. If this was indeed that man, then the summoner would gladly help in whatever way he could. Indeed, his own errand was almost completely forgotten.
However, when the other man asked for the librarian’s name, he hesitated for just an instant, almost imperceptibly. ”I’m Loren.” Hopefully neither of them would notice—or ask him for his last name—since being related to Zariah did not endear the summoner to anyone. At the artist’s direction, the Launceleyn glanced over at the plain decorations, then at the brush. Although the other man had assured them that they could do wonderful things, Loren knew he was not much of an artist and did not trust his hands; though they were well used to fine tasks and writing and all manner of arcane arts, actual art was another thing entirely. So the Launceleyn stepped close and used his very limited telekinesis to lift the brush and begin painting patterns in gold and ivory. Hopefully they wouldn’t be too terrible, being created directly from his thoughts as they were.
LOREN
