Ancient Belgarath, the Eternal Man, the First Disciple of Aldur, grandfather of the Rivan King and general all around personage of some import...is sitting peaceably on one of the lower hanging branches of a tree that doesn't really have any low hanging branches, drinking a beer. His feet are dangling about twenty feet above the ground, and after a
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For someone with such outward calm he is horribly high strung most of the time and it's relaxing, here - he doesn't have to worry about backstabbing, either literal or figurative, so he can just ... chill, basically.
So he's chillin' the hell out of the nexus.
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Belgarath leans forward a little - precariously far forward - to see who it is passing underneath the tree. It's a large tree, formidably sized, so squinting down to see who is there is not always as easy as it could be.
"Ah," he says, his voice carrying, "Yasushi, wasn't it?"
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"It certainly was," he pauses long enough to shift his stance a little, "doing well?"
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"For everything a place, and everything in its right place." Belgarath waves his mug. "And it is, much to my surprise. Yourself?"
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