Ceidon bit his tongue, fighting off the urge to lash out at the greedy curator. Materializing Duffy Bracken, particularly this quickly after his death, was disrespectful. Do a great deed for Althanas, end up as tourists toy. That was not how Ceidon wanted to be remembered.
"Wizard?" Ceidon replied sharply, turning his attention to Shinsou. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm a librarian. Well, librarian, historian, scholar of the arcane. Of course I can tell you about Bracken. Ugh, where to start." Ceidon took a deep breath, and then began his lecture.
"You'll have to forgive me. Duffy Bracken's story is rather new, and scholars of Althanas aren't particularly good at recording recent history. What I do know is that Bracken was a bard from Scara Brae, which is why it's odd that his followers would build a temple for him here in Radasanth." He trailed off. "Regardless, he was apparently a member of the Ixian Knights. I have no idea how, but one day the Ixians accidentally released Oblivion on the world."
Ceidon became distracted when he saw a belt with two dagger holsters in a display case. He walked over, "This is interesting. It appears at least some of this his historically accurate." When he realized Shinsou had followed him, he continued, "Oblivion was not place, but rather a person. Some type of demigod that was locked away early in Althanas history." Ceidon was well versed on the war of the Tap, Xemzund and the Forgotten, but chose not to reveal this knowledge. "To defeat him and prevent him from taking over Scara Brae, Duffy Bracken sacrificed himself. Oblivion was successfully defeated and Bracken was elevated to a Thayne." He tapped the glass. "At least, I think. Something about this entire enterprise is..." Ceidon trailed off.
"Hey curator," Ceidon said, forgetting about his lecture. "You said you had authentic weapons?"
Last edited by Ceidon; 02-09-17 at 04:38 PM.
Though Rayleigh was startled by the sudden question, as she had not expected anyone to address her, she moved gracefully into the easy comfort she kept around most strangers. "Not at all," she whispered back, shaking her head at the taller man. "I have the afternoon off, and I thought that it looked interesting." As the pair moved past the curator, and among the museum's first displays, her smile grew sheepish. "Though maybe it is a little silly," she continued to her new companion, "considering I haven't the faintest idea who this Duffy Kracken is." When her gaze crawled across one of the posters, one corner peeling pitifully from the wall, she nearly snorted. "Duffy Bracken," she corrected herself. "You know what I meant." Whether he did or not, the mousy brunette continued to pick her way deeper into the room.
Fortunately, as she drew closer to another pair of individuals, Ray overheard someone speaking about Bracken. A finger rose to signal pause to the brown haired man she had been conversing with, and she mouthed the word "eavesdropping." Then, as she tried to look busy studying a bust of the hero, she listened in. Only after the speaker had moved to question the curator did she muse aloud, "all this for a bard, huh?"
Althy's Judging Admin
To try or not to try. To take a risk or play it safe.
Your arguments have reminded me how precious the right to choose is.
And because I've never been one to play it safe, I choose to try.
Leopold smiled awkwardly. Whilst he was by all means still angry, he was no longer angry. The sort of angry that made you regret opening your mouth at dinner parties, or the sort you only used when someone wakes you up before dawn on a Sunday when you’ve a particularly nasty hangover (which, in the Winchester Household, was every Sunday).
“It’s a bit strange, I’ll admit.”
He gestured for the woman to proceed, and they followed the ramshackle tour as it wove through the dusty innards of an abhorrent epitaph. As they walked, he weighed up wherever or not to tell her, or anyone for that matter that he knew the ‘bard’ all too well. The prospect of awkward, probing questions alone made him weak at the knees.
“Did you know him?” she asked, as though she read his mind.
“Er,” he erred.
The mention of daggers drew his attentions to the front of the line, and he smirked. What harm could enlightening a few misinformed hangers on do?
“We crossed paths.”
“Oh!” She smirked. “Do tell?”
He folded his arms across his chest, listening to the man in the hat ask about real weapons, and trying not to shout at anybody again.
“Well. I say crossed paths; we sort of spent five centuries constantly walking into one another.” He shrugged. “Brothers, ey, can’t live with them or without them!”
He did not turn to look at his newfound friend, choosing instead to glare, very intently at the display case in which there were innumerable cheap knock offs. The daggers he immediately dismissed as fakes…but, now the curator mentioned it…where had Tooth and Nail gone after Duffy’s death?