WHO: Adrasteia, Erik, other folks. WHAT: It's an open log WHEN: Mid to late Guardian WHERE: Kirkwall, &c. NOTES: Erik curses. That's about it. Open starters in threads.
Well, it goes there now, and if Erik comes across a librarian or some such lamenting people putting books back in the wrong places, well. He won't stand up and declare himself their enemy or anything.
He presumes librarians are used to that kinda thing, even here.
"Yeah, she mentioned that," it's just real fucking weird, imagining an entire race of people who can't dream. Literally. How do their brains process their shit, he wonders? Be fascinating to see a dwarven brain in a CT scan, but he knows that's not about to happen. "What about where you're from? Prophetic dreams a thing there?"
Returned to the table to sweep up the last three, he pauses to think.
“They are. Gods occasionally use them as a means to impart guidance to a given -- ‘conduit.’” The word ‘cleric’ is so loaded here. He dwells on the nature of his chosen substitute for a beat with books in hand, slow 0with drink, but swift to change the subject once he’s deemed it satisfactory.
“Most of Riftwatch was unhappy to see me in the wilds,” he says. “It was kind of you to speak with me.”
"Huh," is all Erik has to say to that because he's not used to such an easy response that includes god of the multiple varieties. He's not even sure he's a theist, most days, but he believes that there's definitely more than one hand in the pot, all things considered.
People come from all over the fucking place.
He doesn't expect the next thing that Silas says, not even a little bit. Erik blinks, and then shakes his head, shrugging. "I could imagine bein' in your place, easy. Havin' someone to talk to would'a saved my sanity."
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no subject
He presumes librarians are used to that kinda thing, even here.
"Yeah, she mentioned that," it's just real fucking weird, imagining an entire race of people who can't dream. Literally. How do their brains process their shit, he wonders? Be fascinating to see a dwarven brain in a CT scan, but he knows that's not about to happen. "What about where you're from? Prophetic dreams a thing there?"
no subject
“They are. Gods occasionally use them as a means to impart guidance to a given -- ‘conduit.’” The word ‘cleric’ is so loaded here. He dwells on the nature of his chosen substitute for a beat with books in hand, slow 0with drink, but swift to change the subject once he’s deemed it satisfactory.
“Most of Riftwatch was unhappy to see me in the wilds,” he says. “It was kind of you to speak with me.”
no subject
People come from all over the fucking place.
He doesn't expect the next thing that Silas says, not even a little bit. Erik blinks, and then shakes his head, shrugging. "I could imagine bein' in your place, easy. Havin' someone to talk to would'a saved my sanity."