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  1. #11
    Senior Member

    EXP: 61,139, Level: 10
    Level completed: 65%, EXP required for next Level: 3,861
    Level completed: 65%,
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    Nevin's Avatar

    GP
    3,657

    Name
    Nevin Aimaparapoiitis
    Age
    22 / 37
    Race
    Human (Godling)
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    Nevin had, unlike Fenn, paid attention to what Sketch had ordered for them, though he hadn't thought the Snow Fae's reaction would be this violent. With a slight chuckle and a shake of his head he took the cinnamon drink and swapped it for his mug of water, and pushed the uneaten half of his bread over to the small man-boy. He pulled the stew over as he shook his head.

    "Take some of the bread, chew it,
    and swallow with the water. It will help calm down the burning in your mouth. Miss, can we get some milk as well?"
    He took the proffered rag as the waitress nodded, her eyes wide as she stared at the spreading sheen of frost. He shooed the woman off with a wave of his hand as he refocused his gaze on Sketch, shaking his head.

    "I didn't mention earlier, but Fenn isn't human. As you can no doubt tell now." A tilt of his head indicated the frost that coated a fair portion of the table now. This would also change things, he hoped, in terms of the morality that Sketch was preaching. Different races, and especially the Fae, had different views of morality because they didn't live the same lives.
    - "We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood; Fear the old blood."

    Nevin: Formal, thoughtful, nurturing, bearer of tropey tentacles.

    "More threads! More! Threads for the Crimson Thread King!"
    A member of the NevCrew:
    Nevin: Thread count: please, don't try.
    Erik: Thread count: five or six. Maybe seven...
    Huntsman: seven. Maybe eight. Shhhhhhh.
    Telli' thread count: zero. I just can't get into writing the little hellion.
    Ronnel: Not even approved yet.

  2. #12
    Member

    EXP: 5,071, Level: 3
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    Level completed: 2%,
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    The Crooked Knight's Avatar

    GP
    676

    Name
    Sketch
    Location
    Corone
    Sketch watched in smiling amusement as the small fae boy guzzled down Nevin's meal, a mirthful laugh escaping him as he stared at the scene. He'd noticed that the boy wasn't normal, but he never suspected that he was one of Mab's kin. Mab he thought, where did that name come from? He wasn't sure he knew any Mab, at least not one he could remember clearly. He knew stories about the powerful fae, they spawned more Grym than any other stories, that's why they were called "Faerie Tales."

    As far as Sketch remembered, Mab was tied heavily into the winter courts somehow, and was one of the gods in the Merlin sagas. He wasn't terribly sure if they were connected to a real being or if they were just a story, but Sketch thought he may ask the boy one day.

    "Sir Fenn, may I please apologize for my rude treatment earlier. It was impolite of me to lecture you as if you were a mere stripling, and for not realizing you're true nature sooner. My name is Sketch, and I'm known in a few small circles as the "Speaker of the Grym". I'm sorry about the mix up with the food, I'd thought you simply a cold child with perhaps some small magic over frost. Please accept my humble apologies." Sketch gave a deep bow, with the utmost sincerity, his hand over his chest as was his custom.

    "I'd never have suggested such fare if I thought it would offend you sir. Now knowing your history a bit more, I can see how you were able to sneak off with one of Nevin's potions without him noticing you. In some small way to make it up to you, may I order you some fresh honey, milk, and bread to replace the offending meal? I'll ask them to switch out the cutlery as well." Sketch smiled, seemingly unfazed by the turn of events, as if he didn't mind that the blonde boy was actually a powerful, timeless being of winter.

    He walked over to the bar and apologized for the inconvenience, and took out some coin to pay for the new meal. He then walked over and started to clean up the mess that was caused during the incident. He spoke to the group "The owner of the cafe is a somewhat fan of mine, he goes and listens to my stories at the inn I stay at. The hostess said that there's no harm done, and she'd be happy to give you some copper utensils Sir Fenn. She also said she'd bring over some more bread and milk for you Nevin." Sketch took the rag he'd cleaned the table with and tossed it in a bucket that was lying in the corner of the room.

  3. #13
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
    Level completed: 31%, EXP required for next Level: 6,234
    Level completed: 31%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,234


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,300

    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    Unabashedly, Fenn dunked the half-loaf of sweetbread into the water and stuffed it in its entirety into his mouth. Stupid dumb stew. Nevin was thanked with a grateful nod and a suffering squeak.

    Beanpole — Sketch now, Fenn supposed — never seemed to quiet. Even as the fae lay with his chin on the table miserably waiting for the awful, awful spice-taste to leave, the storyteller was chattering away. Thankfully, not in lectures. Apologies now. Eloquent ones. They somewhat more bearable, even if the sudden shift was a bit off-putting. “Sir Fenn”? Well, that was something new.

    One would think that the promise of real not-spicy food would appeal to Fenn. And it did! Of course it did. It just came alongside a twinge of unease. He knew just enough about his kin to know that milk, honey, and bread together were traditionally offerings to appease faerie wrath. It reminded him that there was a lot about his people — and himself — that he was distanced from. Much as he'd like to say he was an adult, was used to mimicking and being treated as a human or elven child. Not a spooky, dangerous fae.

    It reminded him that he needed to ask Banrion a bit more about what him being “Changeling” meant.

    Actually, there was a lot he needed to ask her.

    Fuck.

    APOLOGY ACCEPTED, Fenn reluctantly scrawled in the vast swath of ice that was already on the table -- partially scrubbed away, and slowly receding as he calmed. HONEY AND STUFF GOOD. COPPER TOO. YOU STORYTELLER? MANY STORIES? KNOW STORIES OF FAE? TELL. LIKE TO HEAR. CURIOUS. There was a nearly guilty lilt to Fenn’s writing -- how silly was it to inquire a bit about his own kind, even in such a roundabout sneaky way? Yet, it seemed right to ask. If he was to stick around this blabbermouth long enough to get a new meal, might as well steer the conversation in directions that he’d actually bother to listen to. IF HAVE FUNNY STORIES ABOUT NEVIN, ALSO TELL. RUMORS ARE VERY ENTERTAINING, he added.

    Fenn... may or may not have started an intentional one about Nevin being a pirate. Stonevale was a gossipy, gossipy town. Those were the best towns.
    Last edited by FennWenn; 02-05-2018 at 05:51 PM.

  4. #14
    Senior Member

    EXP: 61,139, Level: 10
    Level completed: 65%, EXP required for next Level: 3,861
    Level completed: 65%,
    EXP required for next Level: 3,861


    Nevin's Avatar

    GP
    3,657

    Name
    Nevin Aimaparapoiitis
    Age
    22 / 37
    Race
    Human (Godling)
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    "My beverage was water, Sketch. The milk I asked for was for him." The orator's panicked reaction and rushing off was a bit amusing, to be honest. He tried to act decisively and quickly, which was indeed a good trait to have, but sometimes he acted a bit too hastily. Ah well, at least he wasn't going on about morality lectures anymore.

    And it seemed like the knowledge of Fenn's true nature had drastically shifted how Sketch was handling the boy. Nevin wondered absently what stories the man had about the Fae that were making him act like this - did he know something that Nevin didn't? In truth that wasn't hard to achieve, as Nevin himself barely knew anything of the Fae. They were a topic he had not delved into in his research, so what he knew was what he had run into in dealing with Fenn.

    So he was sitting back to wait when he read Fenn's hasty scrawl in his frost, asking for stories. At first Nevin didn't mind - and then the blonde boy asked for funny stories about him and Nevin sat forward with a snort. He leveled a flat look at the blonde and then the storyteller.

    "I keep to myself. I'm sure there aren't that many rumors in town that you haven't already heard of, Fenn."
    - "We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood; Fear the old blood."

    Nevin: Formal, thoughtful, nurturing, bearer of tropey tentacles.

    "More threads! More! Threads for the Crimson Thread King!"
    A member of the NevCrew:
    Nevin: Thread count: please, don't try.
    Erik: Thread count: five or six. Maybe seven...
    Huntsman: seven. Maybe eight. Shhhhhhh.
    Telli' thread count: zero. I just can't get into writing the little hellion.
    Ronnel: Not even approved yet.

  5. #15
    Member

    EXP: 5,071, Level: 3
    Level completed: 2%, EXP required for next Level: 3,929
    Level completed: 2%,
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    The Crooked Knight's Avatar

    GP
    676

    Name
    Sketch
    Location
    Corone
    Sketch chuckled at the thought of all the rumors that circulated about the young alchemist. There were several rumors about his alleged marriage to a cat-girl, and had a young daughter. There was another rumor that he'd seduced the young lady who'd fought with both him and Sketch when the goblins invaded the town. He'd known several other young ladies that Sketch had never met, and the storyteller hoped that at least one had captured Nevin's heart. The young man had professed celibacy for the last 7 years, and Sketch hoped that if that was true, it would break soon. The young chemist was still in his prime, and Sketch wanted him to enjoy his youth while he still had it, there would be time to play the celibate hermit-scholar once he got older.

    Sketch turned his thoughts to the young fae, Sketch knew that if he really was one of Mab's brood, the boy may never grow out of his childish looks. The boy wanted stories, Sketch knew quite a few, but he was hesitant of telling any that may offend Fenn, having so recently only returned to his good graces. Sketch despised being on anyone's bad side, he liked making friends. He mulled over the epics of Queen Mab, the Sorceress God from the Merlinic stories, and of the stories of Titania's beauty, and discarded both. He didn't want to tell any stories that would either offend Fenn by bringing up someone who opposed his court, or misrepresenting someone as powerful as Mab.

    His eyes glittered as he thought of a story that would please everyone. He moved over to the barmaid that was playing hostess, and whispered into her ear. The young lady smiled, nodded her head, and ran to the center of the room. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a special treat today, Master Sketch,
    from the Whistling Pig, has agreed to tell a story for us tonight! So, I'll ask that everyone order their drinks now, and sit and listen!"


    After the room settled down, Sketch stood upon a wooden box that had been brought from the back and cleared his throat. The owner of the cafe, and aged old man with a crooked back and sparse grey hair, walked out and sat down on a stool, a grin wide on his face. "Ladies. Gentlemen. Anyone else who managed to sneak in, lend me a few minutes of your time as I tell you a story of Oberron, the Trickster King. His exploits are legendary, and his antics are revelrous,
    but none of the stories about him match the one where he earned the very ire of iron itself!"
    Sketch waited for the cheers to quiet down before he continued.

    "Long ago, in a time before man, the Earth was lonely. It's surface was covered by numerous oceans, in which swam infinite creatures, in it's forests lived many magical beings, and in it's skied flew thousands of birds. Yet, in it's heart, it truly loved none of them. The Earth desired something made from it's heart, that it could love as a mother loves it's children. One day, the Earth took it's own heart and molded it into a stone man. It labored for eons, molding each aspect of it until it was perfect. Once the statue was finished, it poured all of its love into the heart of the stone, and granted it life. The being created from the stone was called, a "dwarf."

    The dwarves were loved so much by the Earth, that it taught them the secrets of stone and metal, of fire and forge. It gave them great valleys of gold, and chasms of diamonds. The kingdoms of the dwarves were legendary and prosperous, eclipsing the greatest kingdoms that came from any other race. Their coffers grew so full and heavy, that they soon had more gold in their empire than the rest of the world put together.

    Eventually, the other races grew intensely jealous of the dwarves, yet none could stand against the might of their armies and war machines. The other races soon learned to ignore the stout folk and leave them in their dens under the Earth.

    One leader on the surface, a wyld fae named Oberron, had learned that the stout folk had been unbeatable in both war and trade. He decided that if he wanted to take their gold, he'd do what the fae do best, and outsmart them. Oberron used the illusory powers of his people to create a great mountain, encrusted with precious stones and metals, larger than a city. To every sense, the mountain seemed real, and he made sure that his people were ready to create other illusions in order to make his scheme work.

    Oberron, a king in his own right, ventured to the dwarf kingdom alone, and was greeted as a royal dignitary. He was welcomed by the dwarf king, and ate and drank the most opulent foods and ales. He engaged in merriment and drunken revelry with the dwarves, encouraging the dwarves to drink deeply, even for the dwarves.
    Once the king was good and liquored, he walked up to the king and spoke to him.

    "My dear king, let me ask you something...Your people are the strongest miners in the world correct? There's no stone the dwarves can't cut. I have a challenge for you, we have a great mountain in our kingdom, as large a city. The mountain holds precious stones and metals enough to make your riches seem like a paupers wallet.

    My game is this... I'll wager our mountain and all that it contains versus all the gold in your kingdom. You and your miners have three chances to remove a pebble from our mountain. One small pebble is all that it takes for you're kingdom to gain such riches as it's never seen before."

    Now, the dwarves were still trusting of the other races, young as they were. The king eagerly agreed to the challenge, thinking that his men could easily pass the test of the fae. He gathered his greatest miners, chemists and engineers and they created a plan to attempt to break the mountain and claim it's treasure.

    On the day of the contest, the dwarf king strode out on the the playing field, and greeted Oberron with a chuckle. He moved to his team, and they began their attempt to take part of the mountain.

    He first had his strongest miner, wielding a large, heavy pickax attempt to break it with one large powerful spring, but the magics of the fae, subtle and concealed, made the illusion appear undamaged, and the they broke the ax. To the onlookers, it appeared as though it had broken upon the mountain, and not a scratch showed on the rock.

    The second time, the king sent his best chemist, to use explosives to blow the mountain to bits. The dwarf mixed his chemicals, and lit his wicks. The long trail from a safe distance slowly burned towards the bomb, and when it finally hit the charge, it created a giant explosion, so intense the earth itself shook. Yet, again, the magics of the fae went unnoticed, and the mountain stood pristine.

    The king raged, growing red in the face. He finally ordered his engineers forward. They brought out a gaint drill, its engine creating such billowing smoke that it blocked out the sun. It's giant treads moved forward, and this time, the magics of the fae couldn't hold out against it's great mass. The spinning drill broke through the massive illusion, shattering it into pieces.

    The king stood there, completely confused at what had happened. Oberron, cocky and confident walked over to the dwarves, laughing. "It looks like I win the bet, my stout chums. You tried valiantly, but not a single pebbles fell off the mountain, for indeed, it had no pebbles to begin with. Your three chances are gone friends, and your gold belongs to me."

    In a sweep of his arms, Oberron summoned up the dwarves gold into a giant pile, laughing all the while. The dwarf king stood and let his rage boil. When he could no longer take the anger any longer, he let out a shout so loud, that it dwarfed the sound of earthquakes, thunderstorms and volcanoes. The Earth heard the scream and grew angry at the Fae's trick. The Earth turned all of the gold into a base metal, yet to be seen. The metal seemed to seethe with the anger of the Earth. The metal bit and burned the fae. and Oberron raged at being cheated out of his gold. And to this day, Iron has never forgiven the fae."


    Sketch gave a grand bow, and allowed the crowd to clap for him as he stepped down. "Sir Fenn, I hope that story was informative."

  6. #16
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
    Level completed: 31%, EXP required for next Level: 6,234
    Level completed: 31%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,234


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,300

    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    Even as he clapped, a little tiny part of him was disappointed. It wasn’t that the story wasn’t good — it was a very good by Fenn’s standards. Sneakery! Wiles! Deceit! All recipes for fascination. He'd make a mental note of this story, as he did all entertaining things. But if there was one thing he could discern about it, it probably wasn’t a truth truth, but a storysake truth. Of course, he shouldn’t have expected anything else, come to think of it. The veracity of a storyteller was… limited. They were entertainers by nature, not strict historians.

    INFORMATIVE EH. DID LIKE. STRONG VOICE, GOOD STORY, Fenn scrawled on the table — and glanced up as his arm bumped into a plate. What was this? A jar of honey, several glasses of milk, and a platter of bread arrived. Oh! During the performance, his food had arrived. The gleeful, greedy fae took a moment to shove several pieces of bread first into the honey jar, and then into his mouth.

    As he did so, he kept writing. There was no such thing as talking when your mouth was full when one was voiceless.

    HAVE TALES TO TELL MYSELF, the boy-puck wrote, chest swelling with pride. STOLE FROM DRAGON. BESTED KELPIE. ESCAPED CREATURES OF OTHER WORLDS. LOOT OF SPOOKY PLACES. VERY CUNNING, CLEVER. Most people would not agree with that last statement. YOU MAKE TALES YOURSELF, NEVIN, SKETCH?

    Briefly, Fenn wondered why beanpole was called Sketch if he was a taleteller and not an artist. This question, too, was jotted down.
    Last edited by FennWenn; 02-05-2018 at 05:53 PM.

  7. #17
    Senior Member

    EXP: 61,139, Level: 10
    Level completed: 65%, EXP required for next Level: 3,861
    Level completed: 65%,
    EXP required for next Level: 3,861


    Nevin's Avatar

    GP
    3,657

    Name
    Nevin Aimaparapoiitis
    Age
    22 / 37
    Race
    Human (Godling)
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    Sketch's story was interesting to say the least. Not very useful for an Alchemist who was interested in knowing what medicines would affect someone in some way, but maybe it would help the youngling out. Nevin frowned. He would need to see if he could track down anything more about Darcy Clements - she'd had a history of researching the strange and unusual, and Nevin hoped that she had had some information about Fae in general, even if she hadn't finished her book on the Snow Fae before vanishing.

    Nevin tilted his head as he considered what Fenn had scrawled in his frost. So far, the child had not lied to to him about anything, so he was willing to believe the Fae's list of deeds, even if that belief was tampered with several grains of salt. Instead of replying immediately, he sat back and drummed his fingers on the table as he thought.

    Turth be told, he had been involved in quite a few things at this point, even though he hadn't expected to be. Fighting the Goblins and their totem beast, delving into the mines, being captured by the Bounty Hunters - he needed to ask Stare if she knew anything new about those bastards, he intended on crushing the pricks as much as he could - and most recently the battle against the beast in the Church of Crimson. Sketch would know of... The mines? And fighting the Goblins, though not of the abomination he had fought as Elthas rescued the captives.

    "There's been a fair bit of things, yes. Mostly wrong place, wrong time in my circumstances. I'm not suited for combat, so I am searching for a trainer. I have a lead, but nothing solid yet. Sketch?" In the end, Nevin was a private man.
    Last edited by Nevin; 11-06-2017 at 09:50 PM.
    - "We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood; Fear the old blood."

    Nevin: Formal, thoughtful, nurturing, bearer of tropey tentacles.

    "More threads! More! Threads for the Crimson Thread King!"
    A member of the NevCrew:
    Nevin: Thread count: please, don't try.
    Erik: Thread count: five or six. Maybe seven...
    Huntsman: seven. Maybe eight. Shhhhhhh.
    Telli' thread count: zero. I just can't get into writing the little hellion.
    Ronnel: Not even approved yet.

  8. #18
    Member

    EXP: 5,071, Level: 3
    Level completed: 2%, EXP required for next Level: 3,929
    Level completed: 2%,
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    The Crooked Knight's Avatar

    GP
    676

    Name
    Sketch
    Location
    Corone
    "Well, Sir Fenn, Sketch is the only name I can remember, I came out of the woods and I walked naked into a town near by. The family that helped me gave me their spare cloths to help warm me up, and their grandchild said I looked like their scarecrow, whose name was "Sketch". The name mostly just followed me around, and eventually I ended up think of myself as such." Sketch replied to the last question that the frost fae asked. "As for tales, there are a few, the pair of us, Nevin and myself, helped fend off a goblin attack on Stonevale's mine, and I found a new ending to the story of "Little Red Ridinghood"and I got the ability to call her if I need to. One time, we also went down to a mine and gathered up some material to make weapons, but that's not terribly exciting."

    "As far as stories about Nevin, he seems to get himself involved in some of the most awkward situations that end up causing a large amount of misunderstandings with young ladies, but it's not my place to talk about that." Sketch flashed Nevin a mischievous grin, knowing how often the chemist had to explain himself. His friend always got some good humored ribbing about his luck, or lack thereof.

    "The stories you have, Sir Fenn, seem much more interesting than our own, and I'd love to here about them at some point, though I think maybe when we have a better medium for you to write with than frost on a table. No offense of course." Sketch liked the fae, he seemed to be a pleasant sort of person, and he hoped that the stories of the winter-court's supposed cruelty was exaggerated. If Fenn was any sort of example, they seemed to be more pranksters than monsters. They seemed very close to some of his more developed Grym, now that he thought about it.

    Sketch hoped that the next time Fenn had an adventure along the lines that he described, that Sketch would be tagging along, after all, the story teller liked adventures, and being there first hand allowed him to add the porper details to make them the best stories they could be.

  9. #19
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
    Level completed: 31%, EXP required for next Level: 6,234
    Level completed: 31%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,234


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,300

    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    The bread offered to Fenn very quickly vanished from the plate. So did the milk from his glass. Soon enough, he was scooping tasty golden honey straight from the jar with his fingers, trying not to freeze it too much as he went along. It was better when it wasn’t gummy and hard.

    Nom.

    He thought a bit about the two’s replies. Nevin had a way of answering questions as if he were… directing attention away from the asking, almost. As if he were hiding something. It reeked of secrets. Fenn gave him a stare after his short-clipped reply. It was the sort of look he gave to doors whose locks resisted his fine-tuned picking. Secrets were their own kind of treasure, and the puck had a ceaseless(ly careless) knack for digging them up.

    Meanwhile, Sketch’s knowledge had no barriers hiding it. Just ask him anything and the taleteller would happily hand over his answer. Mmm, which was better? Knowledge freely given, or that which required effort to pry out? One was pleasantly lazy, one was fun.

    With a honey-free hand (licked clean), Fenn wrote a little more down. YOU VERY SCARECROW-ISH. FROST BAD FOR LONG TALK YES. HAVE TO WRITE FAST. HARD TO GET FULL MESSAGE ACROSS. He sighed, sufferingly, and wrote the next bit with a fair amount more care. I can write like this, but it’s slow. Don’t like slow. SURELY NEV HAVE MORE TALE TO TELL THAN WHAT HE HAS SAID? IS NEV SECRETLY A GOOD STORYTELLER TO OR ONLY GOOD AT POTIONS? WANT TO KNOW, YOU NOT TELL MUCH. DO PEOPLE ASK FOR ODD THINGS LIKE LOVE POTIONS OR THINGS THAT MAKE THEM SEE COLORS?

    Come on. He had to have something to say.
    Last edited by FennWenn; 02-05-2018 at 05:56 PM.

  10. #20
    Senior Member

    EXP: 61,139, Level: 10
    Level completed: 65%, EXP required for next Level: 3,861
    Level completed: 65%,
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    Nevin's Avatar

    GP
    3,657

    Name
    Nevin Aimaparapoiitis
    Age
    22 / 37
    Race
    Human (Godling)
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Corone
    Nevin sipped quietly on his water as Sketch spoke. So his tall, gangly friend had taken his name from a scarecrow? There was something that seemed... fitting about that. Scarecrows were meant to warn birds away from fields, and Sketch's tales almost always had some kind of cautionary bent to them, something to invoke fear or unease - at least the ones he told to summon the Grym did. Cautionary tales from an ancient warning symbol? Hm.

    He watched as Fenn slowed down in his writing for a few moments. That was.... A rather good point. Hmm. The Fae needed something he could communicate with that didn't make him come across as childish. Nevin could already see a problem with most paper - it would freeze in the boy's touch, rendering it useless for writing. Perhaps some kind of alchemical treatment? Make something that could be inscribed upon, and utilize the cold to allow the graphite to be washed off? That was an experiment he'd have to run later, either in the colder months or with Fenn's help. It was always a shame to see a cunning mind dismissed because of surface level communication problems.

    But. His own stories? Nevin sat back and drummed his fingers on the table, dark eyes focused upon Fenn. It made sense he supposed, that it was the thief, someone who sought out secrets and things hidden, that would hound him. Sketch obviously thought his... Woman troubles... Were the extent of his misadventures that the other man hadn't experienced first hand. But there was a squirming, wriggling mess of eldritch things that was dead that put lie to that fact. So Nevin merely took another sip of his water and smiled politely at the small Fae.

    "Unlike Sketch, I am a rather poor teller of tales. I find actions tend to speak louder than words."
    - "We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood; Fear the old blood."

    Nevin: Formal, thoughtful, nurturing, bearer of tropey tentacles.

    "More threads! More! Threads for the Crimson Thread King!"
    A member of the NevCrew:
    Nevin: Thread count: please, don't try.
    Erik: Thread count: five or six. Maybe seven...
    Huntsman: seven. Maybe eight. Shhhhhhh.
    Telli' thread count: zero. I just can't get into writing the little hellion.
    Ronnel: Not even approved yet.

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