Why couldn’t they come to him in Minrathous? Couldn’t House Verax host half a dozen people and their griffons? Assuming that all of those eclectic personages even chose to answer the strongly worded invitation from the Professor. Quinn had lost his taste for travel – somewhere between the cold wind that cut right through him and the rocky hike down the mountain. At least the eluvian had been there, cutting several hundred miles off his journey to Nordbotten.
It seemed a wretched little town, in his estimation. The Anders eked out a living barely sufficient to feed and clothe themselves. And they had about as much use for a wealthy foreign businessman as he had for them, no doubt. He trudged past a stinking pig farm and into the town proper, Argos nipping playfully at the trailing edge of his cloak.
He found the Dusty Sty in short order and heaved open the door for the young griffon, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the low light within. Argos chirruped uncertainly and stuck close to Quinn’s legs, neither of them liking the eyes upon them now.
But it wasn’t all ambivalent locals. Two obvious foreigners spoke together at one of the tables near the bar. Quinn licked his dry lips and approached, surprised to see that they were both strangers. Only, that wasn’t entirely right. While he’d never been formally introduced, he knew [of Ignatious Icarius. A black sheep of sorts, functionally exiled from Tevene high society. And Quinn was ever-so-curious why.
It seemed they had been waiting long enough to have been served.
“Apologies for our tardiness, Lady. Lord Icarius.” He inclined his head, a brief nod, and took a seat at their table. “Quintilian Frey and Argos, at your service.” Reaching down to Argos, he encouraged the young griffon to place his scaly forepaws on his knee, elevating the creature’s head above the table to peer at the two others.
“Is this all of us?” He’d expected to meet with one of the mercenaries or one of the dwarves from the expedition, at least. Were Argos' nestmates alright?
@Jaya Zeudi
@Iggy Icarius
It seemed a wretched little town, in his estimation. The Anders eked out a living barely sufficient to feed and clothe themselves. And they had about as much use for a wealthy foreign businessman as he had for them, no doubt. He trudged past a stinking pig farm and into the town proper, Argos nipping playfully at the trailing edge of his cloak.
He found the Dusty Sty in short order and heaved open the door for the young griffon, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the low light within. Argos chirruped uncertainly and stuck close to Quinn’s legs, neither of them liking the eyes upon them now.
But it wasn’t all ambivalent locals. Two obvious foreigners spoke together at one of the tables near the bar. Quinn licked his dry lips and approached, surprised to see that they were both strangers. Only, that wasn’t entirely right. While he’d never been formally introduced, he knew [of Ignatious Icarius. A black sheep of sorts, functionally exiled from Tevene high society. And Quinn was ever-so-curious why.
It seemed they had been waiting long enough to have been served.
“Apologies for our tardiness, Lady. Lord Icarius.” He inclined his head, a brief nod, and took a seat at their table. “Quintilian Frey and Argos, at your service.” Reaching down to Argos, he encouraged the young griffon to place his scaly forepaws on his knee, elevating the creature’s head above the table to peer at the two others.
“Is this all of us?” He’d expected to meet with one of the mercenaries or one of the dwarves from the expedition, at least. Were Argos' nestmates alright?
@Jaya Zeudi
@Iggy Icarius
02-01-2025, 12:24 PM
