Where is the elf who raised the population of Arlathan against those who called themselves gods? [ challenging, sharp, a hot poker against the infected wound of their anger. he steps closer, follows, looms, his voice low and murmuring. intimate. ]
Where is the clever trickster remembered in their stories two thousand years after he fell into slumber? He is not here, hiding from this challenge.
[ he sweeps to solas' front, takes his chin in his hand, tilts his head up. his eyes are hard and his gaze focused. ]
This is an advantage, no matter how we came by it. Take it. Fight their enemies, mellon-nin, they are lonely and broken and starved for a champion. Shartan is dead. Mythal cowered in the shadows. They hunger. Feed them.
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Where is the clever trickster remembered in their stories two thousand years after he fell into slumber? He is not here, hiding from this challenge.
[ he sweeps to solas' front, takes his chin in his hand, tilts his head up. his eyes are hard and his gaze focused. ]
This is an advantage, no matter how we came by it. Take it. Fight their enemies, mellon-nin, they are lonely and broken and starved for a champion. Shartan is dead. Mythal cowered in the shadows. They hunger. Feed them.