TIMESTAMP: Ash 2 122 -
NOTES: -
NOTES: -
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Something that Florian loved, and had sparse time to do, was read. He had somewhat wandered into a small library set on the edge of a large park in an area that blurred the lines between Adira's Promenade and The Commons. What set this library apart in particular was that it likened itself to a sort of academic-religious library, with a vast amount of the small space dedicated to stories and tomes about the Dragon Gods, Mistlords, and the Rensou Annai alike. It was mostly empty as far as Florian could tell, aside from a couple librarians and an eager assistant.
It was here that the demigod had planted himself for the past two hours, at least, reading a book of ancient stories, proverbs, and anecdotes about Fate. There was some theories purported to be concrete information about Vicis. A Dragon Goddess of ancient origin. The Observer of Fate, the Weaver of Destinies, fate was described in some stories like an endlessly woven tapestry, with Vicis at the loom. She was described not as a meddler, but as a goddess who favored the free will of mortals.
Florian had come to realize her as his distant, forever-watching other mother, the dragon who could only watch and wait for him to come visit. She also seemed to be the mother of the red dragonflight, but Florian had limited experience with dragons. They did not seem to be frequent visitors of Zaichaer, and he did not try to seek them out. He read stories of her and her twin brother, Velar, and their influence on the Hytori.
How his mother had garnered the attention of a goddess born with time itself was a mystery he was still far from solving. Her death had revealed as many things as it obscured, and now, a year and two days later, he was no closer to understanding her. She had portrayed herself as so surely normal his entire life that the revelations that passed to him over the year were overwhelming. He did not feel hurt that she lied, or that she hid things. She must have had a reason to do such a thing, even if he did not understand it yet.
He was dressed in hakama, and a close-fitting black shirt, ears dangling with tiny aetherites, reclining in a comfortable chair with one leg over the arm. Occasionally the assistant would place another book onto a small pile on the side table next to the chair. His clearly prosthetic arm held the book, while his other, scarred with gold, turned the pages.
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Something that Florian loved, and had sparse time to do, was read. He had somewhat wandered into a small library set on the edge of a large park in an area that blurred the lines between Adira's Promenade and The Commons. What set this library apart in particular was that it likened itself to a sort of academic-religious library, with a vast amount of the small space dedicated to stories and tomes about the Dragon Gods, Mistlords, and the Rensou Annai alike. It was mostly empty as far as Florian could tell, aside from a couple librarians and an eager assistant.
It was here that the demigod had planted himself for the past two hours, at least, reading a book of ancient stories, proverbs, and anecdotes about Fate. There was some theories purported to be concrete information about Vicis. A Dragon Goddess of ancient origin. The Observer of Fate, the Weaver of Destinies, fate was described in some stories like an endlessly woven tapestry, with Vicis at the loom. She was described not as a meddler, but as a goddess who favored the free will of mortals.
Florian had come to realize her as his distant, forever-watching other mother, the dragon who could only watch and wait for him to come visit. She also seemed to be the mother of the red dragonflight, but Florian had limited experience with dragons. They did not seem to be frequent visitors of Zaichaer, and he did not try to seek them out. He read stories of her and her twin brother, Velar, and their influence on the Hytori.
How his mother had garnered the attention of a goddess born with time itself was a mystery he was still far from solving. Her death had revealed as many things as it obscured, and now, a year and two days later, he was no closer to understanding her. She had portrayed herself as so surely normal his entire life that the revelations that passed to him over the year were overwhelming. He did not feel hurt that she lied, or that she hid things. She must have had a reason to do such a thing, even if he did not understand it yet.
He was dressed in hakama, and a close-fitting black shirt, ears dangling with tiny aetherites, reclining in a comfortable chair with one leg over the arm. Occasionally the assistant would place another book onto a small pile on the side table next to the chair. His clearly prosthetic arm held the book, while his other, scarred with gold, turned the pages.
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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"