Private Tales Stuff Like This Happens to Everyone

[Scabhair]

A chuckle escaped her before she could stop herself.

“Amol-Kalit,” she corrected gently, then leaned forward to use the scarred surface of the table as a makeshift map. “Is all the way over there.” She pointed to the deep groove left behind by a knife game. “And Bakatlan is at its very western edge,” rather the circle of condensation left behind by her mug.

“You could wander the desert your whole life and never reach the city.” Though wandering in the desert for too long tended to cut one’s life remarkably short. “No place like the sands to earn a bloody coin, if you don’t mind the long hours and the heat. And if by chance your current employer somehow declares peace, you need only crest the nearest dune and you’ll find yourself embroiled in some new civil war.”

 

[Corvus]

His mind swirled with vision of clashing armies and banners snapping in the desert winds. He'd never actually been in a desert, but he knew they were bone dry and scorching hot. No place for Scalf, unfortunately, and he'd likely need to trim his everything before he set foot there.

But rich? He could stand to get close to rich. He'd settle for closer.

"After the Steppes." He said with a nod. "Go outside my comfort zone in preparation for going further out of it." He seemed deadset on this course of action.

"I appreciate the information, Ryeine Silver-Eyes."

 

[Scabhair]

She made a noise of amusement in the back of her throat and finished the dregs of her ale. “Is that customary for your people? To give titles to strangers you’ve just met?”

By the twinkle in those silver eyes it was easy to judge her entertained rather than insulted.

 

[Corvus]

He shrugs, as if to say it was commonplace enough. "Most of us don't have last names - the population is small. It took me awhile to realize that last names weren't somehow just people talking about married couples." He smiled, and it was hard to tell if it was a joke or truth; perhaps a bit of both.

"In my younger days, I was Corvus the Laughing Blade. It was an... ironic moniker. I was known for being incredibly grim and serious when the blade came out, which was at odds with how most of my kinsmen saw fighting." He smiled, though it was a tight, thin-lipped thing.

"But, after my wife and daughter passed, they began calling me Corvus the Heavy-Hearted." He shrugged, "It is an easy way to identify people before you actually meet them, depending on the situation you're in, I suppose." He smiled briefly, again, and drained his ale.

"I could call you Ryeine the Crimson Haired, if you'd prefer. Or perhaps Ryeine the Scholarly.... yes, I believe the last one would be the most accurate."

 

[Scabhair]

She pursed her lips to keep the amusement at bay. “I’ve heard worse.”

Racial slurs aplenty. Humans were very inventive like that. Every time she returned to Elbion they had a new word for her – it never got boring, at least. She’d hate to be hated tritely.

Her mouth quirked up as she studied the whorls in the wood, retracing her travels from memory. “You don’t know me, Corvus the Presumptuous.”

 

[Corvus]

It took him a moment to puzzle out what presumptuous even meant, but he was able to figure it out. He hoped. "I may not, no. But you come across as well read, and I suppose that's the same thing where nicknames are concerned."

He smiled, unable to ignore the amusement in her eyes.

 

[Scabhair]

“I doubt they’d let me be a proper scholar,” she replied at length and lifted her gaze from the table to find his eyes again. Dust motes swirled in the dim light as it began to filter through the dirty windows. Morning, then.

She stood and counted out the coin for both their drinks. “Come on, northerner. I’d wager you’ve not yet seen a sight as awesome as a four-masted Allirian merchant bearing into port.”

 

[Corvus]

“I never thought I’d see hair as vibrant as yours either.” He reminds, “So that’d be a fools wager to take.”

His lips curled upward, and he gave a nod of acknowledgement for her paying for their drinks. Standing, he motioned to Scalf to follow along and the shaggy, white canine padded after him, tongue hanging low as it panted. Opening the door, he held it for the orc and wolf, taking a whiff of the salt-tinged air again.

“Seen quite a lot in my travels I hadn’t expected to ever see. After awhile you just stop being surprised.”