The death of a friend is a grievous wound. Guilt will only cause that wound to fester.
In the monasteries beyond the northen border of my country the monks distill a strong beverage. I received a variant as a reward for my part in Hope's monster slaying quest. 'Tis no fine wine, but you are welcome to a glass or two after your task is done.
That would be pleasant indeed, and I believe I'll want something stronger than wine, in any case. If you're willing to share, I would be very pleased. I'll try to be pleasant company, as well.
[After quite some time, having memorized Adam's diagram for how the phone works and trying much of it out himself, he decides to take pity on Dorian. Or maybe just show off that he knew without Dorian's help. Or - look, he's not really thinking hard about it.
Either way, Dorian receives a series of attachments via text - steady and readable photos of Adam's notes for Rainier about how the communicators work. There's no notes of Rainier's own to go with them]
[A day and a half later, after spending a number of hours playing with his phone and discovering that actually Rainier seems to have information he doesn't (unbelievable), he sends back a thank you. In the form of a carefully taken selfie at an excellent angle with good lighting and a little duckface.
[Fortunately what Henry cannot remember, he manages to piece together.]
The technique interests me. We have no shortage of slain dragons back home: green, red, silver, gold, black. Surely they cannot all turn orange.
[The latter subject he does not mention, but within a week he will leave a bundle of tied paper in the library addressed to Dorian. In his exquisite medieval handwriting, Henry has written out the courtly version of Tristan and Iseult to the best of his recollection. The accompanying note reads: 'I have cloudy memory of mention of a love enchantment. Little wonder that this legend apparently came to mind.']
One would think so. Perhaps it's something in the tanning process - I'm afraid I know little about that. But it was excellent armor, I must admit.
[And, of course, he reads the tale with great interest. Dorian has curiosity about a great many things, and somewhere deep down lies a romantic spirit as well.]
You say that as if you believe I am the sort of man who might normally say yes. Let me disabuse you of that notion immediately. Think of what it would do to my hair.
text; dec 28th
Have you felt anything strange lately?
I went round the newest temple and since then something has seemed different.
Wondering if it's only been me.
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I've found myself annoyed over the oddest things. Just yesterday I threw a book against the wall - very unlike me.
What differences have you noticed?
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I've noticed the same in myself. I feel as though I'm like to snap at the simplest things.
Could it be something in the air? Or the water?
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I expect it's magic. I wasn't certain at first, but wasn't it decided that the next supposed god would be called Rage? It can't be a coincidence.
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If it gets much worse, I'm worried what might happen.
I feel like I may explode as it is. As if I've been shaken but without any cause.
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I've been trying to avoid people as best I can. Books are bad enough, I'd rather not take my temper out on any of you.
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I may be sparse for as long as this lasts. In case it worsens.
If there's any emergency, you know how to contact me.
And Dorian?
Please be careful. We're still on unfamiliar ground.
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This place is unbearable sometimes.
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I only hope it ends before too long.
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text;
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Are you unaffected?
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I am. A blessing, certes.
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But I'm glad to hear that, ser Henry. At least you are safe.
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In the monasteries beyond the northen border of my country the monks distill a strong beverage. I received a variant as a reward for my part in Hope's monster slaying quest. 'Tis no fine wine, but you are welcome to a glass or two after your task is done.
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[He leaves his apartment number.]
Take up my offer at any time.
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Text w/ attachment
Either way, Dorian receives a series of attachments via text - steady and readable photos of Adam's notes for Rainier about how the communicators work. There's no notes of Rainier's own to go with them]
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You did this, Rainier. This is your fault.]
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backdated to the Delight's bar thread;
oh trisyna andf iselut
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Dragon armor? I can't say I understand the rest. But it is orange, it might not suit your coloring.
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The technique interests me. We have no shortage of slain dragons back home: green, red, silver, gold, black. Surely they cannot all turn orange.
[The latter subject he does not mention, but within a week he will leave a bundle of tied paper in the library addressed to Dorian. In his exquisite medieval handwriting, Henry has written out the courtly version of Tristan and Iseult to the best of his recollection. The accompanying note reads: 'I have cloudy memory of mention of a love enchantment. Little wonder that this legend apparently came to mind.']
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[And, of course, he reads the tale with great interest. Dorian has curiosity about a great many things, and somewhere deep down lies a romantic spirit as well.]
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[text] backdated to Delight's bar thread
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care for a run?
[She's teasing. Probably.]
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