loren
Sighing, Loren raised ran a hand through his hair. There were basically no simple questions about his past, as Jigano would probably find out quite quickly over the course of their conversation. ”They’re all dead or gone, so I can only go off what I remember and what Beatrix told me. And considering I got into a huge fight with them right before I...left, I doubt it. They saw it as a betrayal of everything the family stood for. And seeing as Edy told everyone I was in a sex cave, and everyone believed it, no, I don’t think they looked for me too hard. I don't know that anyone did.” Well, Remi had, but that was a whole other can of worms. Giving the other man a tired look, the summoner shrugged. ”If at first you don’t succeed and all that...but no. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. And I needed to make what amends I could.” Once he’d regained his sanity, there had never been a question of whether or not he would return. The only question was how, and he’d screwed that up royally.
Survivor was as good a word as any for what the summoner was. Indeed, it seemed to be all he was good at, staying alive while everyone around him left or died. ”Yes.” It was completely true. However, it wasn’t the whole truth. ”I am basically all my family has left.” Children and adoptees barely counted. ”So it is up to me to survive, and carry the family name, and to maybe, just maybe pass down a better legacy to the next generation than was handed to me.” His tone grew softer and darker as he kept speaking, until he was almost whispering.
The infirmary beds were nicer than the cot he usually slept on, and he fidgeted uncomfortably at the unexpected luxury. Still, it was nothing compared to the discomfort he felt at the conversation. ”No need to thank me. And it will pass. I know it might not seem that way all the time, or right now, but you are on the mend.” Loren wasn’t a doctor, but he was a healer, and he knew recovery was a long and hard process. But there was no doubt the blighted were getting better. At least the white-haired man didn’t need reassurance that he wasn’t to blame, that he was a good person. Or maybe the bard had needed that, just not from the Launceleyn.
Asking about a former profession might’ve been a safe topic for most people, but as with everything else with the Launceleyns, it was quite, quite fraught. ”I came from Northaven, yes, and Northwind before that. And in Northaven I was a farmer for approximately five years before I became the librarian there.” However, he paused, staring down at the ground briefly. ”I was also supposed to be a spy for the crown. My father was, and he trained all of us, his children, to do the same. But...I was weak and stupid, and no one ever really asked me to do anything, at least not until we were exposed as Launceleyns.” He’d learned, though, watching his father. Even without illusion magic, there were tricks and techniques he’d picked up. ”Were you always a bard?” Loren felt he’d more than earned a question after all the talking he’d been doing.
Survivor was as good a word as any for what the summoner was. Indeed, it seemed to be all he was good at, staying alive while everyone around him left or died. ”Yes.” It was completely true. However, it wasn’t the whole truth. ”I am basically all my family has left.” Children and adoptees barely counted. ”So it is up to me to survive, and carry the family name, and to maybe, just maybe pass down a better legacy to the next generation than was handed to me.” His tone grew softer and darker as he kept speaking, until he was almost whispering.
The infirmary beds were nicer than the cot he usually slept on, and he fidgeted uncomfortably at the unexpected luxury. Still, it was nothing compared to the discomfort he felt at the conversation. ”No need to thank me. And it will pass. I know it might not seem that way all the time, or right now, but you are on the mend.” Loren wasn’t a doctor, but he was a healer, and he knew recovery was a long and hard process. But there was no doubt the blighted were getting better. At least the white-haired man didn’t need reassurance that he wasn’t to blame, that he was a good person. Or maybe the bard had needed that, just not from the Launceleyn.
Asking about a former profession might’ve been a safe topic for most people, but as with everything else with the Launceleyns, it was quite, quite fraught. ”I came from Northaven, yes, and Northwind before that. And in Northaven I was a farmer for approximately five years before I became the librarian there.” However, he paused, staring down at the ground briefly. ”I was also supposed to be a spy for the crown. My father was, and he trained all of us, his children, to do the same. But...I was weak and stupid, and no one ever really asked me to do anything, at least not until we were exposed as Launceleyns.” He’d learned, though, watching his father. Even without illusion magic, there were tricks and techniques he’d picked up. ”Were you always a bard?” Loren felt he’d more than earned a question after all the talking he’d been doing.
Never judge a book by its cover.
