Interlude
It had been quite a while since the duskwight had returned to the Mizzenmast. Gods know how many things had happened prior, and his path had taken him all manner of ways that weren’t back to his room. He still couldn’t believe it. Had that all really occurred? Xavarian's mind still raced and danced with all the recollection, the musing, what had gone on during that meeting with Avis in the Shroud, and it whirled right past him going down the hall to his room, him opening the door, him stepping in to prepare for the next night…
He almost didn’t see the letters. Almost. But when he did, the Aether around him flared up with his smiles, near literally – though only in small warmths and less in embers.. this time. He delayed removing the scepter strapped to his arm, even longer still, (the removal was nothing he was looking forward to at this point, it would certainly be a pain he couldn’t ignore then ) and knelt to pick up the pages. A thought crossed him then of how long they may have been sitting here, but his worry was stemmed off by the contents.
What lovely contents! The duskwight, upon looking them over just a bit, took the letters to curl up with on the bed, (attempts were made to handlessly kick off his boots, but it seems he needed to unstrap them first ; alas), and he beamed at the words like he were a child receiving exactly what he’d always wanted. Riddles. Or at least a puzzle! And to such an important place, what a lovely way to put it all, a small history, the hook had him in an instant. He was entirely endeared to them, to her, though he couldn’t help but consider the amusing irony; how she had beaten him to his own idea. “By the hells..~†He mutters, running a sparking hand through an equally sparking mess of hair. Solving the puzzle wouldn't be hard. But the navigation. This would likely take him days, days to find, if he was lucky. He’d need a lot of time to set out for this endeavor.
A pang of regret seared through him then, that he was only here to prepare for something else entirely, that he couldn’t set out now. But soon enough, he would. Afterwards, he would. Reading the letters a final time to renew his grin, he carefully placed them away in his tome, before he hauled himself up from the comfort of blankets. The duskwight then tiptoed around the dirt he’d tracked in before he’d shorn to stocking feet, and thus begins to pack for the next night’s endeavor.
Mor Dhona, for the Scholar's Celebration.
