Roleplay from Torxanib Godric Tórrarin ka Habb[/size] [/color][/size](11 hours, 19 minutes ago)[/color][/size]message to all nobles of Greater Xavax[/size][/color][/size]
Engaged in a positively droll conversation with a nobleman regarding his designs for a flying machine, Godric cannot help but let his gaze wander. He spies first Arbiter Aramon, wearing some sort of maroon silk drape over his enormous form. He notices a thing young noblewoman in green, tight curls upon her head. Godric runs his hand along his head, feeling the scar from his wound. He normally kept a neat top of hair but the surgeons had to shave him bald to monitor the fracture. His mind wanders once more awash with young nobles of young houses carousing at likely their first great feast. With an unintentional but undeniable pomp the newest guest enters.
Godric speaks to Tor for strength. His head swims with mantras and prayers for strength and valour. He recalls the wisdom of the paragons, including his father. It is all for naught. Unable to control himself Godric bursts out laughing at the leather-panther. He howls out, tears rolling freely. He turns back to the nobleman, red in the face, attempting to pass off his laughter as a joke heard. He aggressively shakes the poor man as his guffawing continues unabated. He is not laughing so much to be heard over the music yet and his wild eyes eventually convince the man to laugh along, realizing what manic has overcome Godric. The laughter slows, a few snorts and false starts, and Warbornsson wipes away the tears.
"Thank you. Torrenhal owes you a debt for joining my fauxpas. Tell me more of your flying machine."[/color]
