(no subject)
Yesterday Miss T---- and I had occasion to meet with another Gilnean, Mister D----. The events of that afternoon were *dot of ink* most curious; and I confess myself still bemused, even now. (Note to self: determine whether or not there is a Light-follower who might be relied upon for assistance with discretion.)
Mister D---- had run sadly afoul of some bounty hunter, and received for his pains three stab wounds. Miss T----, that most estimable woman, happened to be in the city and answered his request as written in the tome. Once I had won free of my prior commitment, I made my way there as I find Mister D---- to be a worthy young man. (His nightsaber has no sense of decorum, however.)
Once the mending was complete, I took the advantage of Mister D---- and pressed upon him the completed ring -- copying an old Blackwell design that his mother had worn -- which we had arranged to be made when last we met. And here begins the strangeness.
Having received the ring and expressed his thanks, he fell silent and stared most fixedly at it, until Miss T---- and I felt quite uneasy. Twas scarcely a response that I have had cause to become familiar with, I confess. And then all animation drained, leaving his face blank with no more spark than that of a beast, as though the ritual of Tal'doren had never existed. We cried aloud in alarm, and then he snarled most terribly at the very air itself. (Forgive me, I very nearly thought to snatch up arms.) But then the moment passed and Mister D---- was once more himself, questioning what had passed to leave us so pale as we were.
*dot of ink* Even written down with the words in black upon the page, I can still scarcely credit that the break occurred. I am at a loss, as tis nothing that might be solved through the summary application of a mace several times over.
Mister D---- had run sadly afoul of some bounty hunter, and received for his pains three stab wounds. Miss T----, that most estimable woman, happened to be in the city and answered his request as written in the tome. Once I had won free of my prior commitment, I made my way there as I find Mister D---- to be a worthy young man. (His nightsaber has no sense of decorum, however.)
Once the mending was complete, I took the advantage of Mister D---- and pressed upon him the completed ring -- copying an old Blackwell design that his mother had worn -- which we had arranged to be made when last we met. And here begins the strangeness.
Having received the ring and expressed his thanks, he fell silent and stared most fixedly at it, until Miss T---- and I felt quite uneasy. Twas scarcely a response that I have had cause to become familiar with, I confess. And then all animation drained, leaving his face blank with no more spark than that of a beast, as though the ritual of Tal'doren had never existed. We cried aloud in alarm, and then he snarled most terribly at the very air itself. (Forgive me, I very nearly thought to snatch up arms.) But then the moment passed and Mister D---- was once more himself, questioning what had passed to leave us so pale as we were.
*dot of ink* Even written down with the words in black upon the page, I can still scarcely credit that the break occurred. I am at a loss, as tis nothing that might be solved through the summary application of a mace several times over.