Pickled excuses
for Jigano
Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
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#1


Are
The pounding refused to subside, no amount of tea was going to fix that. No matter how bitter and mouth puckering it couldn't hope to more than take the edge of it. All the while leaving the tongue like a chewed on sole that had seen far too many miles. No, desperate times required desperate measures, and he could at least make good on a promise while self medicating.

"One, uh... Pint?" he said as he leaned on the bar and eyed the dimly lit, trying to see through another shower of sparks his brain decided would liven up the scene. "Make that two." he added as his eyes fell on the one he'd been looking for to and from ever since his little blunder at the spire. A deep sigh followed by a flat smile and a nod to the barkeep, hoping the payment could be done in re-solings.

Another sigh, one of relief as all he got back was a nod and a reassurance he couldn't hear through the murmur and the sound blood rushing through his ears. Making his way between tables and people he caught a fast whiff of what he'd bought and grimaced, nothing like the mead he remembered from home. Not that he'd ever had it more than once.

"Heill." he said as he slid down on a stool opposite the bard. Are's voice missing the welcoming warmth so often accompanying his regular greeting. He offered Jigano a stiff smile and pushed one of the tankards his way, a feeble excuse of a peace offering. "I am sorry. It was not my place to speak, and the disrespect, towards someone I owe so much, I am ashamed of." he apologized as delicately as his rugged dialect and limited words allowed him to.

"Would you find it in your heart to forgive a fool?"
Force and magic use OK.
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 29 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 (Level 2 Abandoned) - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 30
ISUMA - Mythical - Gryphon (venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 2,404
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#2
He had snatched a few hours of sleep and begged Vervain for a touch of her healing hands to his ravaged throat and lungs and injured shoulder before going to work on the books Safrin had given them. One last dive into the research before he took those brave enough to join him out into the new woods. Now, with evening upon him, he had found his way to the Rathskeller to listen to those who gathered there to speak in hushed or frantic or fearful or exuberant tones of what had happened the night before. He needed to take the pulse of the Hollowed Grounds and learn what people were thinking - and whether the tensions between Naturals and Outlanders still ran high enough to threaten bloody violence if someone set spark to tinder while he was away leading his scouts the next day.

After a few songs that few people had the attention to listen to he'd finally taken a break and sat down at a table near the fire, putting his harp gently in its case and sipping a mug of beer he didn't particularly enjoy. He caught sight of a dark head making its way determinedly towards him as he was listening surreptitiously to the table beside his, and hid a grimace. Are... wasn't someone he particularly wanted to deal with so soon after the man had let envenomed words fly in the heat of their delve into the Spire's secrets. As the man got closer Jigano could see the two mugs in his hands, however, and his determined path to the bard's table.

Looking morosely down at the mug he already had he nodded as Are settled himself and pushed another across the table. The apology was met with silence at first as Jigano considered the words and the humility that underlay them. He measured his words carefully before he spoke, pinning the cobbler with an icy blue gaze. "In other circumstance, I probably would," he said at last. "But I am no saint, Are son of Jorm. I saw you at Roana's heels, when she set her hounds to harrying Rory yesterday at noon before you all retreated. Did it not occur to you that your ranks consisted all of Outlanders, not a Natural supporter of her among you? Even though she sought to do something that would change the world those born here had known all their lives? How would you have felt if someone like her had shown up in your village on your world, defied the edicts of your gods, and aimed to trespass in their halls of worship when half and more of your townsfolk tried to resist a foreigner's insistence that she knew better than what you had grown up all your life knowing?"
Only simple tables without images or background colors when threading, please. It's much appreciated!
Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
Change author:
Posts: 301
MP:
#3


Are
Like every cutting remark and sulfurous tirade before, he took it in silence. Gritting his teeth and gripping the tankard hard enough to whiten his knuckles and dent the pewter. Are was back. In his memories he was cornered by the kings men and set upon once again. Hit over the head with a scripture neither him nor they could read, hounded at every turn and blamed for everything from failing crops to barren wombs. Foreign powers wrestling control of a life he once knew as his.

An icy dagger driven directly into the heart of his soul and twisted with cruel efficiency. Are wished he could scream, curse and throw things, he wished he could do anything to make the wounds go away for a moment, but he knew it was futile. Shaking as the skald ripped the crimson ribbons open again, the cobbler just sat there and took the verbal lashing. Every crack bringing memories to life again, roaring seas and icy depths, the very reason he was here.

He would have laughed, had he fully understood the irony of it all, but all he could do was hold his breath and focus on not fainting. His eyes burned both with blotches of black and searing hot tears welling up and rolling down his cheeks. Are swallowed what little remaining pride he had left, quietly cursing his lack of stoicism. Truly his fathers son he was, crying as anger claimed him. A deep, ragged breath of what felt like icy cold lakewater greedily swallowed by a drowning man. He finally met the eyes of the white haired bard, the gaze itself as sharp and piercing as the words he'd just unleashed.

"I... I would feel. Exactly like I did that day you found me." hesitant at first, but finally mustering the strength to push through the lump in his throat, he spoke with a voice he'd imagined would carry every ounce of his emotion. Yet it quivered like autumn leaves rustling in the wind, a mere hoarse whisper, barely enough to reach across the table. He swallowed again and drew another shaky breath. "I am many things, clever not being one of them. But I understand now, that what I did was wrong. Was hasty. Was exactly what has been done unto me. I am just like them, kristinn. I regret what I did, but I know my words mean nothing and can never undo it."
Force and magic use OK.
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 29 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 (Level 2 Abandoned) - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 30
ISUMA - Mythical - Gryphon (venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 2,404
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#4
He had not expected tears.

Not from the man who had, effectively, told him to ‘sit down and shut up’ less than a day earlier.

Still, the cobbler had chosen his side with those words, and the bard did not let him shy away from the consequences of his actions or hide behind a shield of humility and pity. Jigano could not know what was in Are’s past, but he knew something of the recent events surrounding the various attacks on the Spire and its guardian, and he had listened to Outlanders and Naturals both… and found Outlander impatience and recklessness to be deaf and heavy-handed.

Ascended impatience too, as it had turned out in the end.

But Are had leapt in feet-first and eyes-closed, and the lorekeeper was done trying to soothe hurt feelings and stubbed emotional toes.

He listened to the wobbly voice as Are began to speak. He did not know the word ‘kristinn,’ though he took some satisfaction in hearing that the cobbler was rethinking his actions in a new light. The intensity of his gaze did not waver, however, as the other man seemed determined to put his foot in his mouth yet again.

”On the contrary, your words mean a great deal,” Jigano said dryly. ”The words you spoke last night, for instance. And the words you will use going forward, whether you chose to apologize to those you have hurt, or choose instead to wallow silently in regret and shame.” At last the bard sat back, shaking his head as he lifted the mug Are had brought. ”Cleverness matters less than empathy,” he said at last, letting the words roll slowly from his tongue, the sharp bite faded from his voice. ”And ignorance is no excuse for hurting others. Especially if you know what it is to be hurt in just that way.” Gods knew he'd made that mistake often enough himself, and it was a bitter draught every time he realized it. He sipped the warm beer, hiding his grimace with practiced ease before he looked at Are again. ”So, Are son of Jorm… what is it that you wish to do now with this lesson you have learned?”
Only simple tables without images or background colors when threading, please. It's much appreciated!
Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
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Posts: 301
MP:
#5


Are
Chewing, always with the damn chewing, as soon as the mind got cranking he had bit the inside of his cheek ragged before he'd even realized it. A sharp sting and the warm, ferrous taste spread in his mouth again. At least it masked the bitter taste of his own shame. A grown man reduced to tears at the hands of a bard, and all with weapons Are had gladly provided through his usual hasty idiocy.

Still he listened, intently even. Savoring the every stab and cut at his mewling excuses like it was the nectar of gods. Never before had he thought he'd allow himself to be lectured like a boy again, by a skald nonetheless. However much it hurt to hear someone he thought of as a friend speak so harshly, what hurt more was the truth he spoke. All things he'd known for far too long to call his little stunt anything but pig-headed brashness for the sake of doing what felt right in the moment.

Silently, tears still rolling down his cheeks, he nodded. Allowing ample time for the question to settle, sink in and for an answer to take proper shape. No more blurting out whatever came to mind. That had gotten him in enough trouble already, on both sides the veil of time.

At last he couldn't stand it, neither the silence nor the taste of blood in his mouth. He raised the dented tankard and drained it without ceremony, and oh gods the taste. Slamming it back down he fought the reflex to retch and cough. By the fucking gods it was not at all like what little he'd had back home.

Shuddering and snapping back to the matter at hand, Are cleared his throat, hoping the teary eyed and now a bit pale mess he was wouldn't be too too pathetic. "I will not ask forgiveness, gods know I've not earned it. All ask for is understanding, and I leave a promise of being a better man." he said with an ounce of power back in his voice. "To you, to Rory, to all those I have cut with my ignorant flailing, I will do you justice. Most of all, I accept your anger and disappointment, whatever punishment anyone seem fit I shall bear with head held high."
Force and magic use OK.
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 29 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 (Level 2 Abandoned) - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 30
ISUMA - Mythical - Gryphon (venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 2,404
MP:
#6
That Are did not reply immediately was heartening. It showed sincerity, at least, and a willingness to listen. Jigano swirled his beer gently in his battered mug, contemplating the beverage - and the tentative optimism that, outside the barrier, perhaps someone had managed to grow a decent grape, or sorted out the trick of a good cider. Until then, the beer was only preferable to the water if the water wasn't boiled first. Usually he went for something harder, but he needed his wits about him, and an important day ahead of him that he dared not risk a hangover for.

Ah well.

When Are began to speak, the bard returned his attention to the humble cobbler, listening intently and not interrupting until he was certain the other man had finished. He tilted his head in a semblance of approval at hearing that his forgiveness would not be asked, and nodded slowly at the declaration of acceptance of punishment. He sipped his own beer with far less gusto than Are had downed his, considering how he felt about all that had transpired between them - and others.

"Understanding, I can give," he allowed. His temper was still fresh enough from the previous night's insults that he wasn't in the most forgiving mood yet, but the rough man's heartfelt sincerity was unexpectedly touching. "And perhaps forgiveness, in time. I do not think Rory will ask any punishment of you, nor more will I. What's done is done, but if you go forward with a bit more patience, and a willingness to see both sides, I will be satisfied."

He sipped his beer again, grimacing slightly this time, and cocked a sardonic brow at the man across the table from him. "And for the record? I have been in more battles than I care to remember, though back then I wielded spells more readily than my sword. But my blade is still sharp, and I have not forgotten all that I learned of command, Are son of Jorm. Just because the skalds of your land do not fight, does not mean that those of other realms cannot do so. Or that words cannot be weapons in their own right."
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Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
Change author:
Posts: 301
MP:
#7


Are
He was proud of his words, proud of making what he could of what he had. His father would have been proud, his mother too, even though she'd not let anyone but the gods know. The cobbler would even had gone so far as to say his otherwise icy and strong wife would allow herself to shine up, maybe even laugh, maybe even in public.

"In time." he repeated, mumbling, nodding, and even smiling a touch. He had come hoping to set it all right in a night, but knowing full well the world does not spin like that. What was offered seemed far more valuable though, and far more worthy of a smile than any simple forgiveness. Far more worthy of the skalds time. Time the cobbler had no right claiming, but did out of a desire to be the better man. Be the stronger man.

The stronger man that tear drenched shone up at the tides of the discussion turning for brighter shores. Are chuckled at the white haired peacock's posturing and the flashing of verbal steel, oh Jigano was truly a skald through and through alright. "Friend, I do not question if you fight, I know skalds do, even those of Midgård, especially those of Midgård." he said and returned Jigano's mocking tone, Are wiped his face with a dirty sleeve and leaning in closer towards the skald, voice dropping a tad. "I question how well you fight." Are said, cocking a brow and giving him a crooked smile. "Are you as strong as your words, skald?"
Force and magic use OK.
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 29 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 (Level 2 Abandoned) - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 30
ISUMA - Mythical - Gryphon (venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 2,404
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#8
He had no desire to see the other man cry, though Are's smile returned swiftly enough for Jigano to hide a snort into his beer. Was that all it took, then? So swiftly did the storm clouds of guilt and regret wash away for the cobbler! The lorekeeper had never been so carefree, he considered silently. Not, at least, since he'd left boyhood behind and begun walking darker roads. He might have hoped that Caido would provide quieter, if not easier, paths... but the gods who warred here had dashed that particular hope quite thoroughly.

And what price had their freedom been bought at?

He let slip his pride, just a little, in the thawing of his attitude towards the hapless cobbler, and allowed himself a moment's defense of the insult he had been given. He had hoped for respect, but instead...

As Are spoke the chill returned to his mien, and he gave a deceptively gentle shake of his head. "Do not mistake tolerance for friendship, son of Jorm," he said, his voice not as cold as it had been but holding a touch of that frost. "Especially when you so quickly fall back into old habits that cost you that friendship in the first place. If you know that skalds may also be warriors then that made your insult to me last night a personal one, rather than a slight against skalds and bards in general," he pointed out. "'You keep to stories and books, skald,' wasn't it? 'Let the warriors keep to theirs?'" Gently, he set his mug down, and gently he pushed it away, folding slender fingers on the tabletop with controlled precision.

"Perhaps you would not need to question how well I fight," he said, soft enough that Are would have to strain to hear him above the sounds of the bar around them, "if you had done what a baker and a farmer and a mere skald had the courage to do, and entered the Spire to rescue those within - those who, I would point out, weren't even our friends. And in the case of former captain Roana, was a woman who had made herself our enemy. And still we went in after them," he spoke in an even, almost conversational voice, but the hardness was back in his eyes. "Into poison and darkness and danger, to try and pull them out again. So you tell me, son of Jorm, which one of us is stronger?"
Only simple tables without images or background colors when threading, please. It's much appreciated!
Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
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Posts: 301
MP:
#9


Are
The cobbler grimaced at yet another crack of the whip, one well deserved. Testing the waters was associated with drowning after all, but this time, the man kept afloat.

It still brewed inside him, but kept under a wrap of boisterous slights and stubborn pride. Only betrayed by the creases at the edge of the smiling eyes. The heart wrenching words took what little pride he had left and held it under icy waters until it all but stopped kicking, drowning in a hole in the ice he'd cut with his very own axe. He felt right back at home again, reveling in the feeling of guilt eating away at his gut. Some true pain for mistakes he'd whipped himself over once every hour ever since.

A boiling point was drawing near. His mind simmering with the will to lash out, to again do something equally hasty and ill planned to what had put him there in front of the white haired bard. Thoughts that when let out would had him cut to ribbons and left for the dogs again. Instead the tankard became the victim of the building tension, slowly buckling under an iron grip tightening with every. Single. Ice. Cold. Steel. Sliver.

At last it broke, the tankard and the man with it. Buckling under the pressure. Caving in and left a caricature of its former self, broken, useless. Laughing.

Are laughed. Warm, friendly, thankful, and soft. Not the roaring triumphant laugh of a warrior victorious in battle, but of one mercifully left at the brink of death after the dust had settled.

"I tell you, friend." he said as the beaming smile subsided, Are sinking down in his seat as if left deflated by the reaming. "I tell you that there is no one left alive done me a greater service." he paused, breathed deeply, relaxing his clenched jaw and with a groan at his pounding head he sat up again. "To care enough to give me a beating I've not had since I came home with a cross to my mother, that is something." again he smiled, shaking his head and smiling at Jigano. "You are strong, all of you, far stronger than this cowardly oxen ever could dream of. Your words are all true..." another pause, another chuckle, another tear. "'cept one thing. Would anybody but a friend strike with such passion, would one just tolerant teach a fool?"
Force and magic use OK.
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 29 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 (Level 2 Abandoned) - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 30
ISUMA - Mythical - Gryphon (venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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Posts: 2,404
MP:
#10
Jigano watched Are's display of raw strength coolly, but it did not stop the calm, clipped words he spoke. Impressive as it was, it also revealed a lack of control in the grown man across from him - as though he needed further proof. Perhaps the cobbler only respected physical strength, the aptly named 'brute' force? If that was so, the bard would never pass that bar. He was swift and poised and precise in his actions, but he could not crush metal in his bare hands without the spells he had lost to the remaking this world had forced upon him.

Though he'd never bothered learning such spells before, in truth. He'd had more important things to worry about, and there were others who could hit things hard with swords when the need arose. It had been his job to tug the strands of fate and change their luck, to protect their minds, to make them hit harder and strike more true - and to befuddle the minds of their enemies. And, yes, though they had been his friends they had also disdained his lack of martial prowess.

And until the end they had underestimated him, thinking his lack of muscles meant a lack of power, an inability to defend himself...a weakness.

Well.

But Are's laughter broke through his grim reminiscence, a far cry from what the bard had expected of a man who seemed to react with either tears or anger to that which challenged him. Arching a brow, he listened as the cobbler spoke, tilting his head in cool curiosity as the man insisted on calling him friend. But at least he ceased his attempts to give fresh insult, or compound previous ones, and that he acknowledged Amalia and Rory's strengths was worth a nod of acceptance of the admission. He did not particularly enjoy listening to the man abase himself, though the final declaration had him stifling a sigh.

"I am a lorekeeper, and a Loreseeker. So, yes, it is my duty to teach those who come to me with questions - or seeking lessons," he added drily. "Perhaps we will be friends again one day, but it will be because of your actions, and your upholding your vow to be a better man, and not because of words alone." Perhaps strange for a skald to say, but Jigano had moved to action when it was warranted - as Are had seen at the Spire. He did not usually act rashly or impulsively - he was overly-cautious by nature, after the adventures he had survived thanks to a healthy paranoia and devotion to learning his enemies's secrets and minds - but though he hoarded knowledge, he also used it to guide his actions, when the time for decision came.
Only simple tables without images or background colors when threading, please. It's much appreciated!
Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
Change author:
Posts: 301
MP:
#11


Are
With the abating storm of emotion he saw clear through the settled dust. A childish display of kicking and screaming, crying and pleading. Shame. Yet liberating in some strange way. To throw oneself at life and find where the ice failed to carry was so far beyond the worrying cobbler that had gone into the waters.

The same waters he now barely kept his head above, his thick, pounding head. The liquid courage had blunted the pangs of pain, and maybe pushed him over an edge he seldomly approached, one he now in this new world had thrown himself off with reckless abandon. Gone was the worrying care of what he had and in it's stead a desire to do what he could never muster the courage to before.

"You are a far more patient man than I deserve, Jigano." he said and pointed at the cliff he'd thrown himself against, half joking and half in awe. Not sure what words he could carefully choose to more than add fuel to the fire, instead Are was content with chuckling at the tired expression his thrashing had been met with.

"Your words mean more than I could ever imagine, I feel. Know this, I will be a better man, one day. What this better man is I don't know, some vague image of a staunch warrior clad in truth. Maybe you know?" he rambled, words far more flowing than his usual harsh dialect would allow, consonants softened by a tankard of ale. He caught himself before making any more of a verbal mess, smiling again at how he again fell back to old habits. At least it was well meant this time.

"It does not matter. Not now." swallowing as if to push the words back down and sighing at the impasse he'd arrived at in his mind. "When the time comes, I will choose, and choose carefully. And I will know my choice before making it. Only then we'll see if I am a man of my word." he concluded his more carefully put together train of thought by laying his hands on the table, not content, but understanding what little he could.
Force and magic use OK.
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 29 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 10 (Level 2 Abandoned) - Strg: 30 - Dext: 30 - Endr: 30 - Luck: 30
ISUMA - Mythical - Gryphon (venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
Change author:
Posts: 2,404
MP:
#12
His weariness over all that had happened had kept him more in check than his patience, in truth, but gods least fortunate, he did not have the strength to deal with how quickly the cobbler seemed to jump from crocodile tears to sly insults to comradely jokes - or how deaf he seemed to be to the bard's insistence that a brief conversation on an early spring meadow between strangers did not constitute the sort of friendship the cobbler seemed to assume existed between them.

Are seemed to almost... crave? the humiliation of being shamed. It was an unsettling thought, and one that had the bard straightening and shaking his head with a faint frown at the way Are rambled on, making little in the way of sense. "You don't need to be a warrior," he said tiredly. "Just... be a good man. And perhaps a good cobbler, if that is where you skills and interests lie. That is all that matters." He pushed himself to his feet, seeing that Are intended to stay - and that the eavesdropping he had hoped to do on the local reaction to the fall of the barrier and the change in all their lives would continue to be impossible with his current company ensconced at his table.

Ah well.

"Good evening to you, son of Jorm... and, for what it is worth, good luck," the bard bid the cobbler, scooping the strap of his harp onto his shoulder and heading out into the night. There was much to do before the sun rose again, and last minute plans to lay before he and his friends braved the new woods to the north, and not enough hours between now and then.
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Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
Change author:
Posts: 301
MP:
#13


Are
"Good man, a good man... Man, a man... a good one." he mumbled to himself, perplexed at the strange mood the concoction of concussion, alcohol, and desperation had him in. His head met his hands as his world spun. Barely keeping himself planted on the chair he couldn't help but notice another seed germinating in the fertile ground. Tangling with the roots of earlier ideas.

On one hand cobbler, warm, kind and cautious. On the other, warrior. Steadfast, brash and unfearing. The two images where equally opposed forces in his mind. Swirling mists that refused to mix and intermingle, a fork in the path ahead.

A cobbler sighed again. longing for a day where he no longer had to strive. A day where he not felt like a hide refusing to take water and shape, a sole left curled and frayed at the ends. Just like...

Are sat up straight but quickly regretted his jerking motion. Grimacing and clutching his head. The pain couldn't drown out the noise of a third seed sprouting. The noise of a feeling that had had his gut in knots before. On that sour note he returned to the bar to drown it out as best he could.
Force and magic use OK.


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