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Tea, Tots, and Twilight

Lirriel's picture

Rhiswyn sipped tea and looked around the cheerful garden. Multiple cats lounged on tree branches and under bushes. A variety of birds, some not native to Elwynn, filled the air with their songs. Puppies of various wild species—was that a corehound?—played with two small boys. “I’ve rarely seen such a restful place that’s so very busy.”

Across the table, Lirriel laughed lightly as she fed her baby. “It can get a little crazy sometimes, but in a nice way, and my nephew’s just old enough now to be a good helper.” She smiled fondly to the older boy, playing with her dark-haired son. “But you didn’t drop by to admire my late summer blooms and the children.”


Firie's picture

            It was an indulgence.

            Czene allowed himself the time, sitting at his desk, doing nothing.  A personal response, perhaps, but a minor one, and he felt that he could allow it.  After his work today, it would no longer be his desk, or his office.  The work was worth it, and the office only existed to assist with the work.  It would continue doing so.  He took only a few moments to appreciate that before turning to the letter.


Firie's picture

            She always felt awkward in full dresses.  Not uncomfortable.  They suited her well enough, and were tailored to a smooth fit, easy to wear and move in.  Just awkward, like they weren’t what she should be doing.  She was a fighter, after all.  Burnt and scarred, not pampered and pretty.  It felt like… wearing the wrong uniform.

            But it was the uniform for the job.  Straighten.  Take a deep breath.  Knock.

The Proxy

Firie's picture

                Czene smiled.  He bowed, with practiced ease, and shook the dwarf's hand, and welcomed her to the Cathedral.  He was familiar with her reputation, and completely sincere when he said that the church would be greatly aided by someone with her skills.  When he excused himself to return to his work, his stride was smooth, and his breath calm, measured by silent counts of five in his head.

An informed response

Firie's picture

            Even in private, Czene didn’t grit his teeth.  It wasn’t as subtle as many people thought, and it was easy to see the jaw muscles flex and the reflexive narrowing of the eyes that accompanied it.  Even in frustration, it was a bad habit to get into, too easy to fool yourself into thinking that you were getting away with it.

Business Meeting

Firie's picture

A careful brush of his hands was all Czene required to ensure that everything was in order.

Rumors and responses

Firie's picture

Czene allowed himself the slightest of frowns. 

Measured Response

Firie's picture

As much as he wanted to scowl at the report on his desk, Czene did not permit himself to. To allow a simple paper, even one with news such as this, to cause him visible lack of composure would be remarkably petty. He certainly had more self-control than that.


The Price of Faith

Firie's picture

                The quill never moved.


[Paxton] Epilogue

Firie's picture

It had not been a dream.