loren
Despite all his careful planning, Loren had forgotten to put down carpeting in the Temple for LongNight. Given that he was the sole person in charge of fortifying the building, he supposed it wasn’t that surprising that something slipped through the cracks. At least he’d remembered before Wessex had a chance to notice the mistake, and had owned up to it when she had visited. However, he figured if he didn’t correct it quickly, it would definitely be a problem. Thankfully, Jigano had sent a note asking to meet with the Launceleyn, providing the perfect opportunity to revisit the Temple, not that he really needed one.
He’d scrounged up every spare carpet he could find. Some were from the Manor, in dusty supply closets or taken directly from the floors; some were from the market, which he’d haggled or bartered for, some were just from helpful citizens, who’d seen the burden he’d carried and added to it. Actually, saying he was carrying it was a stretch. Instead, he’d summoned a horse and hitched it to a sled, and was walking alongside as it made its slow way towards the spot he’d agreed to meet the bard.
It was the middle of the day, and even in Deepfrost, people were bustling around. However, apart from those who’d donated a carpet to the cause, most folks gave the summoner a wide berth. He couldn’t blame them—though the sight of people scurrying out of his path was quite annoying—given how he looked. He was dressed all in black, and it clung to his gaunt frame like a second skin. His hood was up, so all that was visible of him was the too pale skin of his face, the pink of his lips, and the icy blue of his eyes. Astra was by his side, another indication who he was, but instead of frolicking like she used to in the snow, she simply watched him with worried eyes. Mostly, he ignored it all, focusing on getting to the Temple and getting this latest round of preparation done.
The white-haired man was unmistakable, as was Isuma. ”Jigano. Long time no see.” Loren nodded to both in greeting—though his voice was mostly a carefully neutral tone—then pulled his sled as close to the Temple doors as he could manage before dismissing the horse. The faster they got this done, the faster the Launceleyn could move on to his other tasks. One of which had to do with the pouch that might be familiar to the bard that currently sat on the summoner's waist: he didn't want to leave the Spark Bird feather unattended, even in its pouch, especially with so many people at the Manor.
He’d scrounged up every spare carpet he could find. Some were from the Manor, in dusty supply closets or taken directly from the floors; some were from the market, which he’d haggled or bartered for, some were just from helpful citizens, who’d seen the burden he’d carried and added to it. Actually, saying he was carrying it was a stretch. Instead, he’d summoned a horse and hitched it to a sled, and was walking alongside as it made its slow way towards the spot he’d agreed to meet the bard.
It was the middle of the day, and even in Deepfrost, people were bustling around. However, apart from those who’d donated a carpet to the cause, most folks gave the summoner a wide berth. He couldn’t blame them—though the sight of people scurrying out of his path was quite annoying—given how he looked. He was dressed all in black, and it clung to his gaunt frame like a second skin. His hood was up, so all that was visible of him was the too pale skin of his face, the pink of his lips, and the icy blue of his eyes. Astra was by his side, another indication who he was, but instead of frolicking like she used to in the snow, she simply watched him with worried eyes. Mostly, he ignored it all, focusing on getting to the Temple and getting this latest round of preparation done.
The white-haired man was unmistakable, as was Isuma. ”Jigano. Long time no see.” Loren nodded to both in greeting—though his voice was mostly a carefully neutral tone—then pulled his sled as close to the Temple doors as he could manage before dismissing the horse. The faster they got this done, the faster the Launceleyn could move on to his other tasks. One of which had to do with the pouch that might be familiar to the bard that currently sat on the summoner's waist: he didn't want to leave the Spark Bird feather unattended, even in its pouch, especially with so many people at the Manor.
Never judge a book by its cover.
