Rolled 13, 12, 8, 7, 11, 9 = 60 (6d20)
>>6079557>>6079501>>6079483>>6079430“You kept the eyes, even if they’re getting in the way of your divination,” you note, addressing the allegorical owlbear in the room. “Yet you knew I was no longer… That I’d become human.”
“Yes,” he acknowledges.
The ‘how’ seems obvious to you—he, like Clanirae, must ben in contact with the Celestial Gods. But the why…
“Have you given up on prophecy, then?” you ask, trying not to sound like some sort of spy. “There have been no more… Interesting visions?”
Nenaias shakes his head, then stops himself, and shrugs.
“Not for me, anyway,” he says with a grimace. “The gift of prophecy, and it WAS a gift… it wasn’t one I was prepared for. I fear that the… The circumstances by which I attained it, the path that lead me to remove my eyes… This may have tainted my perception of what was to come. I was biased towards negativity… Towards the worst outcomes. I failed to see the light, for all the dark”
To your startlement, the elven sage lowers himself to one knee, and bows his head.
“…Is he proposing to you?” Pearce whispers, staring.
“Humbling himself,” you whisper back annoyedly. “Be serious!”
“I was,” Pearce protests. “You have to admit—”
“Thank you,” Nenaias interrupts your aside. “With the new eyes you gave me, I have seen a new path forward… One without the pain of the past poisoning my future.”
You nod, uncertainly, and wave for him to stand back up. This seventy, eighty, maybe hundred-year-old elf, held in such high regard by a culture you aren’t sure you even truly belong to anymore, it makes you feel faintly embarrassed somehow.
“So you have high hopes for these talks, then?” You can’t conceal your hopeful tone. “You… Or other sages, perhaps, those still performing rites of prophecy… They saw something good, coming of all this?”
Nenaias beatific expression dissipates a little at that inquiry, uncertainty and unease creeping in at the edges.
“I can’t say,” he says.
“Oh, come off it,” Pearce blurts out, tapping his staff-his swordcane, as you know—in impatience. “You just said the Magus here gave you a new lease on life. The least you can do is be straight-forward.”
“Some secrets are sacred,” the (former?) minasien says apologetically. “Magus Mious van Hotuzmann, you understand, don’t you?”
You wince a little, knowing that your moonberry bushes are still planted not far from here, cultivated and propagated by the Attuned hands of Man in earthly soil, all against the wishes of the divine.
“I do,” you admit. “But, even so…”
Rolling Sociability + Sense MotiveArt by our own OlympusQM, of Olympus Incarnation Quest 