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Fall 42nd 518AV
Hunter's guild
Hunter's guild
Stan had many admirable qualities about him. A childhood friend of his father's, the Long Stan had seen Raeyn turn from a sweet ginger kid to the drunk man that now sat across the table from him. And Long as he was, the hunter had one quality that Raeyn deeply adore about him. And that precise quality was, that Stan was a mighty great fellow to get drunk with.
He had taken to the old man like a fish to water. Not minding to hear the same stories over and over again, becoming more fiction than fact with each time around. They made for some truly great stories after all. Tales of beasts he had slain, men he had competed with and always won the competitions like a god not a man. Vast was that imagination. And vaster still when spiced by a taint of ale at the tip of his tongue when he spoke of them. Leaning his cheek against his knuckle, with a smirk on his face, Raeyn listened graciously, nodding along sometimes just to make it seem like he was diligently committing each little detail to memory - which he most certainly did not. It wasn't the stories nor the alcohol he came here for however. It was the company. Ever since Sasha has popped into his life out of seemingly nowhere, Raeyn had found a greater need to be around people, to devote his time to something other than solitude, leaving his studies to for the first time take a backdrop in the canvas of his life.
It was all so very new to him. But in the guild of hunters Raeyn was among his people. Not mages, nor alchemists, nor pompous students, but this simple bunch of misfits he had come to call family.
The Inarta had no aunties or uncles to speak of. Long Stan had always been the closest thing to that as the designated best friend of his father Orim. But with no blood ties to speak of they had the liberty to forge their own ties of friendship in the woods on a hunt, by the light of campfires and the frosty mists of the Unforgiving. There was an undeniable beauty in that.
As Stan rose from his seat, to get them another round of drinks, Raeyn's eyes trailed his footsteps. A dreamy haze of euphoria framed his vision. A slight blurring of drunkenness that manifested as a scarlet fire in his cheeks. Many times had they jokes that Raeyn must have had some sort of an allergy to alcohol for every time he as much as touched a mug of ale, the redness soon flared up. Sometimes even a sneeze or two would accompany it. But the Inarta drank himself silly none the less.
It was a little thud of wood against wood that startled him. And as he lowered his gaze Raeyn would come to find a curiously familiar object on the table in front of him. A nostalgia which took a moment or two before hitting him like a brick to the head.
At the sight of it, the Inarta's hear stopped. It's been a decade since he had seen it. A little pipe made of dark wood, gracing marks and scratches a'plenty and bite marks around the polished handle. The inside was blackened by burnt weed that never got completely cleared out. A thin rim of brass decorated the perimeter.
"You must be kidding me." he whispered beneath his breath. A black flame of dread flared up in his chest as Raeyn swivelled around on his chair and came face to face with a blast from them past if he'd ever seen one. Eyes wide open, lips hanging ajar. Unable to muster a word.
The the ground beneath him could open and swallow Raeyn whole, for that he prayed for in that exact moment. Death itself was more pleasant what what was about to unfold.
"You coming out for a smoke or what?" came the voice of the figure that towered over him. A voice Raeyn had never hoped to hear again.
*Boxcode by Allassanachassanya
He had taken to the old man like a fish to water. Not minding to hear the same stories over and over again, becoming more fiction than fact with each time around. They made for some truly great stories after all. Tales of beasts he had slain, men he had competed with and always won the competitions like a god not a man. Vast was that imagination. And vaster still when spiced by a taint of ale at the tip of his tongue when he spoke of them. Leaning his cheek against his knuckle, with a smirk on his face, Raeyn listened graciously, nodding along sometimes just to make it seem like he was diligently committing each little detail to memory - which he most certainly did not. It wasn't the stories nor the alcohol he came here for however. It was the company. Ever since Sasha has popped into his life out of seemingly nowhere, Raeyn had found a greater need to be around people, to devote his time to something other than solitude, leaving his studies to for the first time take a backdrop in the canvas of his life.
It was all so very new to him. But in the guild of hunters Raeyn was among his people. Not mages, nor alchemists, nor pompous students, but this simple bunch of misfits he had come to call family.
The Inarta had no aunties or uncles to speak of. Long Stan had always been the closest thing to that as the designated best friend of his father Orim. But with no blood ties to speak of they had the liberty to forge their own ties of friendship in the woods on a hunt, by the light of campfires and the frosty mists of the Unforgiving. There was an undeniable beauty in that.
As Stan rose from his seat, to get them another round of drinks, Raeyn's eyes trailed his footsteps. A dreamy haze of euphoria framed his vision. A slight blurring of drunkenness that manifested as a scarlet fire in his cheeks. Many times had they jokes that Raeyn must have had some sort of an allergy to alcohol for every time he as much as touched a mug of ale, the redness soon flared up. Sometimes even a sneeze or two would accompany it. But the Inarta drank himself silly none the less.
It was a little thud of wood against wood that startled him. And as he lowered his gaze Raeyn would come to find a curiously familiar object on the table in front of him. A nostalgia which took a moment or two before hitting him like a brick to the head.
At the sight of it, the Inarta's hear stopped. It's been a decade since he had seen it. A little pipe made of dark wood, gracing marks and scratches a'plenty and bite marks around the polished handle. The inside was blackened by burnt weed that never got completely cleared out. A thin rim of brass decorated the perimeter.
"You must be kidding me." he whispered beneath his breath. A black flame of dread flared up in his chest as Raeyn swivelled around on his chair and came face to face with a blast from them past if he'd ever seen one. Eyes wide open, lips hanging ajar. Unable to muster a word.
The the ground beneath him could open and swallow Raeyn whole, for that he prayed for in that exact moment. Death itself was more pleasant what what was about to unfold.
"You coming out for a smoke or what?" came the voice of the figure that towered over him. A voice Raeyn had never hoped to hear again.
*Boxcode by Allassanachassanya
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