RP:Thunder Buddies!

From HollowWiki

 Summary: As a terrible storm rolls over Rynvale island, Cynarith and Uriphiel bond over a familiar trauma.

Date of Writing: April 4th, 2024. 










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Thunder Buddies!


 Hazelbend Chateau , Library



  • Cynarith couldn’t sleep because advice received from a certain avian man who happens to be unrealistically attractive keeps replaying in her mind, turning the stone over as if to erode it down to a grain of sand. Even if she could sleep without her mind racing, the thunderstorm that is raging over the island is enough cause for her insomnia on its own. This listlessness with Elimdor society life this season has her questioning everything she has accomplished so far. What is she working towards anymore and what is it all for? After slipping on a powder blue sheer robe to place over her matching silk gown, she ventures out of her quarters, barefoot and that pastel hair a little crimped in a tousled way from the updo it had been in during the conservatory ball. Everyone had such a wonderful time and that thought brings a smile to her face until a loud clap of thunder makes her jump with surprise along with a soft gasp. She had wandered aimlessly, maybe passed by Uriphiel’s quarters for no reason whatsoever, but eventually she came upon the library where the fire was left from the gentlemens’ company. Before she goes perusing through the many books, she pours herself a glass of whatever wine was left out and it just so happens to be strawberry flavored? Odd, but she will give it a try and after a sip, she shrugs to herself while saying, “not bad.” Not a stitch of jewelry adorn her- except for that out of place anklet as it glitters in the soft glow of the fireplace when she crosses in front of it. “Hmm,” Cynarith hums to herself because she can pick up the scent of that unique tobacco Sir Dorrel adores and she wonders how well Uriphiel got on with him. ‘Well, it’s not hard to get along with Uriphiel at all. Everyone seems to fancy him,’ she thinks to herself as she lets her mind wander a little more on the man’s positive attributes. Another sip of the new wine and it’s starting to grow on her. Then she forces herself to focus on more serious matters at hand because she didn’t get a chance to meet up with Uriphiel once the party ended to ask if their plan worked and what the next step will be. After spotting a book she was half-arsed looking for, she sets the wine down nearby and begins climbing the elephant ladder to reach it. Blinding light flickers outside the large arched windows and glass dome roof along with a CRACK that vibrates along the walls ever so slightly which startles Cynarith again, causing her to drop the book in order to cling to the ladder for support. Luckily, she doesn’t fall, but she gives herself a moment to catch her breath and smooth her nerves.


  • [Uriphiel] The crack of thunder. The vigorous vibration of the walls. These are the catalysts that rouse Uriphiel’s consciousness from the comfort of his slumber. The night had been long, full of entertaining conversation and delicious drink, seeing the avian eventually retire with a soft glow filtering throughout his body - a sensation he’d not experienced in years. And while he had gone to bed in a state of inebriation, the resounding echo of thunder sobered him up almost immediately. His eyelids flutter open and he is met by the most disorienting shade of black that blankets his room, illumination coming sporadically with the blinding flashes of lightning that reach out across the night sky like electric spiderwebs. Each rumble of thunder causes a foreboding twinge in his chest, and his breath is held as he awaits the next flash of light, the scarred patch of flesh between golden wings burning in anticipation; A reminder of the trauma endured in his youth. He could see that day clearly in his mind’s eye: The blinding bolt of light. The searing pain as he plummeted down to the horrific cries of those gathered in the stands. Those powerful arms that came out of nowhere, effectively saving his life. It was the defining moment that changed his trajectory for the better, even if it did come with a life-long, debilitating fear. The silk covers are pushed aside as the avian swings his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet meeting the ice-cold stone of the marble floor below. He would sit for a moment and try to calm himself, but despite being surrounded by the comforts of luxury, Uriphiel found no solace in this elegant room while the terrifying forces of nature raged on outside. When he was able to will himself to get up, Uriphiel reached over to the nearby chair and retrieved the navy-blue silk housecoat that was left as a gift and slipped it on, crossing the short distance from the bedside to the windows with trepidation. He gently pulled aside the heavy curtains that hung over the fashionably crafted glass doors to the balcony and peered out into the torrential night where forked streaks of lightning brightened the sky, allowing one to catch fleeting glimpses of the landscape before the encroaching darkness reclaimed its territory. Another rumble of thunder. Another searing flash. It dawned upon Uriphiel; That for every bit of strength and valor that he once possessed as a noble knight, he was still naught but a lowly mortal when faced with the boundless fury of Mother Nature. With one final glance out into the dark beyond, Uriphiel decides that sleep will be elusive for the next little while, and so cautiously walks to the door and leaves his room. It was eerily quiet in the estate, he thought. A very different picture at this hour than when the halls were full of servants moving from one room to the next to keep the home in peak shape. The avian traversed the halls as quietly as he could, relying mostly on memory and the timed bursts of light to navigate his way through the darkness without bumping into anything. It wouldn’t be long before he found a bit of light at the end of the tunnel, literally, as he entered the library to see the remains of the earlier fire and a familiar face. “Lady Cynarith?”


  • Cynarith had finally come down from that ladder to pick up her chosen book and was reaching for her glass just as she heard Uriphiel's voice. It startles her, as it should. She is not used to not having the house all to herself at night, but concern knits her brow, "Sir Phandarion. Is everything alright with your quarters?" She made sure that area of her home was fit for a king, sparing no luxury, so that the guests who occupy it would be comfortable beyond measure. The familiar scent is already a hint traveling in the air between them and she takes a moment to raise the wine glass for a small pull of the drink as she inhales the sweet scent instead. Thunder rolls once more and her grip on the binding of the book in her hand tightens while she blinks slowly, obviously uneasy about the storm as well. "Anything you need for your living area can be accommodated? All you must do is ask, Sir Phandarion," the offer hangs in the air while she meanders closer to the fireplace and settles into the large leather couch. Her left leg crosses over the other and even though her long gown reaches the floor, it lifts just enough to expose her anklet adorned ankle. "While you're here," Cynarith begins while setting her drink down on the end table next to her, "we didn't get a chance to connect after the conservatory ball wrapped up. Was Sir Dorrel any help?" Idly, those delicate fingertips flip through weathered pages of the book and the wonderful old book smell offsets that of peppermints mixed with balsam. The way a storm makes her feel tense, it might be nice to be reminded of home and put her at ease, but she has already shared so much with Uriphiel and she is certain it has to do with that one attribute for some reason. A more plausible reason she is quick to be so honest with him is because she knows he will get what he wants in two weeks time and then be out of her life forever. So it does not matter what he knows of her true self… Why does that realization make her sad? Poppycock, she pushes such infantile emotions aside with a centering deep breath to refocus on the important task at hand. "I do hope he isn't making you jump through rings of fire for this Tulpa. He can get a little spirited when he knows someone really wants something from him," Cynarith's soft grin gives away the fact that she admires that about Sir Dorrel.


  • Uriphiel wastes no time dismissing the woman’s concerns regarding the comfort of her guest. “No, don’t be silly. The quarters are well prepared. Comfort beyond my wildest dreams, I assure you. I just… I couldn’t sleep. I suppose there is a lot on my mind regarding the coming weeks and I am still trying to process everything.” There was a subtle twitch in those long, slender ears of his; To strangers, nothing more than a peculiar tic, but to those of more intimate knowledge, it was a sign that the former Shar was perhaps not speaking truthfully. “What of yourself? Why are you in the study at such a late hour? Do you often feel the need for a nightcap?” he asked, motioning toward her glass of wine. The avian casually made his way over to where she sat, his bare footfalls heavy enough to cause the floor beneath him to groan in protest. Just before he reached the chair, another crash of thunder shook the estate, causing Uriphiel’s shoulder to flinch involuntarily, and his muscles to tense reflexively in fear of the vociferous rumblings. Uriphiel steadied his breath, soon taking a seat opposite Cynarith, letting the smell of aged leather fill his nostrils as the cool embrace of the chair welcomed him into its folds. “Sir Dorrel was an interesting man. Very intelligent. Quite witty. Can out drink a young man in his prime, I’d wager. We were having a lovely conversation until the wine hit me.” Uriphiel considered telling her the full events of the evening; About the things spoken to her detriment. Yet, he decided against it. She did not need to feel anger so late into the evening, especially since most of the ball was an exceptionally pleasant experience. Besides, she already knew what sort of ignorant fool Levis happened to be, and with all hope, she would kick him to the curb sooner than later. The next words to leave his lips were words that he’d wrestled with over the course of the night. Sir Dorrel needed something, and seeing as he’d been denied before, Uriphiel wasn’t all that certain that merely asking would do any good. He would hate to have her go against her own moral code. At the same time, he would feel truly awful lying to her, or having to look for some way to deceive the woman to get the answers he sought. She brought him back from the brink of obscurity, the least he could do was be honest with her. Gilded irises were focused upon the floor at first, but with a little courage, they found their partners of turquoise hue and began a gentle dance. “Things regarding the Tulpa went well, I think. He is willing to help, but he does want something in return. He has told me that he has a bit of a fixation toward gambling. And that he enjoys gambling on races… involving horses. That.. you may have a knack for picking winners, and that if I want his help, then I am supposed to convince you to help him in turn.” Uriphiel casts his glance toward the fire, worried about whatever answer lies in wait.


  • Cynarith does notice the ear twitching and even though she has never seen such a thing it strikes her as odd for a man usually so composed. Matter-of-fact, he seems more akin to the day back in the drawing room when he was ragged and throwing up into an expensive vase. "That I understand. I wish my unease was only due to that," yet she is glad to hear he is comfortable otherwise. Her gaze follows his own to her drink of strawberry wine and then back to him, "not usually, no. Thunderstorms make me tense. It is due to the fact that I know it makes my horses uneasy and there is nothing I can do about it," she recites the lie, which is actually a solid reason to be thrown off by lightning and thunder. The taste of the lie to Uriphiel becomes bitter in her mouth and she softly sighs in a defeated manner. "I am sorry. I am just so used to sticking with that story that I have a tough time remembering that you know the worst about me already. The real reason I loathe thunderstorms is caused by my days as a young dragon whelp and got separated from my siblings during a storm. After nearly getting struck while flying I had to wait out the storm alone and it felt as if it would never end because I had no idea where I was or where my family had gone off to. I was just a lost child and felt like I was going to be lost to them forever, but my mother's bloodline rage kicked in and just as I got brave enough to venture out of my hiding spot when the rain cleared- she found me. It was the first time I saw her so fierce," Cynarith realizes she stopped flipping through the book and the familiar scent is quite soothing in times like these. "So, I come here during night time thunderstorms, where all of my siblings' favorite collections are because I like to keep them on hand for potential visits, and I find one of my father's favorite limerick books. He used to annoy my mother with these awful jokes, but I could tell she secretly loved it," a tightness begins to form in her chest because it has been eons since she talked about her mother like this to anyone, but his next words bring her out of that path to sorrow quickly. The serious way he is holding her gaze makes her hold her breath without realizing it until she finally exhales with a quiet yet thoughtful, "hm." Her left foot starts to bounce ever so slightly as she picks up her glass again to drink deeply. Agitation causes her jaw to clench and then she sits the glass back down after an elongated silence. "Very well. We didn't come this far for my unusual stances to get in the way," she did previously admit she is using a man to gain social status, why wouldn't she help Uriphiel in this quest?


  • [Uriphiel] The subtle tension that rested upon Lady Cynarith's face was as plain as day to the avian, evidence of her displeasure further compounded when he took note of the bouncing foot - an action he felt had been born from irritation upon hearing his request. A wave of guilt engulfed his conscience, knowing full well that his request flew in the face of her convictions. He felt awful. Ashamed. And when he spoke, his eyes fell to the floor and his voice conveyed a sense of regret. “I’m sorry…” he said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “I feel as though I ask too much of you. You take me off the streets, invite me into your home, provide for me the most exotic fineries - and still, I continue to request more than I should. I will find a way to repay you, when this is all said and done. Anything you want. I will find a way to make it happen - you have my word.” The tremendous boom of thunder cracks again, and it is much louder than before, followed by the brightest flash of lightning he’d seen all evening - an announcement that the fearsome tempest was now overhead. Uriphiel seemed visibly shaken, quickly rising to his feet to reach for that very bottle of wine Cynarith discovered not long ago. He grabbed a glass, permeating the air with the aroma of fermented strawberry as he poured himself a drink, wasting no time in consuming the liquid in its entirety. Seeking comfort in the warmth of another’s company, Uriphiel joins Lady Cynarith on the leather couch, keeping a respectable distance away as he sinks into the plush cushions, the burden of his fears temporarily eased by her presence. “I must thank you for your honesty,” he began, referencing the revelation of her phobia. While he did not have the means to repay her with anything of a more monetary value, he felt as though he might put her at ease by revealing a little bit about himself in return. “Truly. I think it is only fair that I too share something candid. I share your aversion to these terrible storms. Perhaps more than I should for a man of my position. In my youth, long, long ago, when the city of Bardriel still floated majestically in the firmament above, my school was involved in a celebratory exhibition that sought to honor the brave soldiers of the Royal Avian Empire. In the morning hours, it seemed as though the day would be like any other during that week - with crystal blue skies and plenty of sunshine. However, the storm clouds slowly rolled in while we all had our guard down. I was in the midst of a performance when I felt the most intense pain I’d ever experienced. As it turns out, I’d been struck, right between my shoulders by a bolt of lightning - from which I still bear a scar. I don’t remember too much after the initial strike because the intensity caused me to lose consciousness. When I briefly came to, I was in freefall, and I just waited for death. As you can see, by the fact that I sit here with you now, I did not die. And that is all thanks to the greatest warrior of our city, Durelan Khar - whose namesake I’ve borrowed. He changed my life for the better that day. Although, despite this positive outcome, whenever the clouds bellow, and the lightning strikes, it instills me with some sort of primal fear.” During his intimate confession, Uriphiel appeared to fidget with a crudely made, crystal-beaded bracelet on his left wrist, that held a single rune nestled between two sapphire-adorned wing charms. No longer wanting to hold any more attention upon himself, the avian leans forward and pours himself another half-glass of wine, asking, “Your mother sounds quite lovely. I mean not to dredge up painful memories, but I can’t help but to wonder - what happened to her?”


  • Cynarith shakes her head slowly and holds out her hand as if to stop him, "please, Sir Phandarion. It is not you who should feel sorry and believe me-" she holds his gaze in a way that conveys she truly means what she says, "I am not cross with you. It is exactly the scheme Sir Dorrel has been itching for and he has finally got it. If you don't mind, I will go on acting as if we never had this conversation while in Sir Dorrel's presence." The offer to have anything she wants from him sounds tempting and the prospect is considered for a pause as she swallows hard, "all I want in return is justice for your people. Only promise me that and ma-" the sentence is cut off at the frightening thunder which causes her to flinch and gasp softly before clasping her own hand over her mouth briefly. When he pours himself more wine, she picks up her own and takes another deep sip. What she doesn't expect is his form joining her on the couch and even though it is comforting, she resists the urge to scoot closer. Instead she shifts so her legs are bent along the seat between them and she can face towards him. "It's strange being so honest about my life before Elimdor, but with you it comes up easily. Maybe I figure that once you get the Tulpa you will be gone from my life, taking all of my dirty secrets with you, to fight an honorable battle and I will still be here planning balls or whatever other silly thing." Her gaze had been occupied with the half drunk glass of wine in her hand that is currently hugged to her chest, but then she cannot help it as she becomes captivated by every detail of his encounter with lightning and her gaze finds his face once more. Her turquoise hues go soft and her brow pinches in empathy to the pain he must have felt in that moment. Her free hand raises as if it wished to rest on his arm for comfort, but she remembers how he looked at her earlier in the day when she did that and pretends she was simply adjusting the skirt of her gown to cover her anklet. With her temple resting on the cool back of the leather couch, she allows his modulated timbre to soothe her until the conclusion of his tale. "Durelan," the name said softly in recognition and newfound respect. Of course she catches the charm bracelet and doesn't think it through as she asks, "that is a lovely keepsake. Is it a gift from your love back home?" Casually, she takes another sip from her glass as if she could somehow swallow such an embarrassingly shallow question, but then his own query hits her unexpectedly. "The scent you carry already does that, Sir Phandarion… peppermint and balsam tree remind me of family time for Yule… Yes, Nildran The Redeemer, a highly decorated warrior, peace broker between territories of old, but best of all, my mom," her head lifts from resting against the back of the couch as she finishes off her drink before holding his gaze. "As I said, she was fierce, but her kids would never even know it. The five of her children were always her first priority along with my father Xiembantointh. She contracted a rare disease that manifests in some dragons, but it happens so infrequently that I doubt it even has a name. I guess we all have our doom or fears no matter how powerful we try to seem." Tucking some hair behind a tapered ear, he may notice she isn't even wearing earrings- so why the ugly anklet? "Actually, it was her portrait we snuck behind in the drawing room. The lady with dark hair in full armor with her helmet under her arm. That was her. I believe I have a framed painting somewhere in the manor of a red dragon that always reminds me of her true form," but then Cynarith isn't prepared to discuss her own true dragon form and tries to distract the conversation by glancing down to the limerick book still on her lap, "what does every woman have that she can use to get her way and it starts with the letter V?" A devious little smirk shapes her lips along with the slight narrowing of her gaze as she waits for his guess.


  • Uriphiel is relieved to hear that she does not hold him responsible for the discontent she feels, knowing now that it is Sir Dorrel who has earned her ire for his devious ploy. He settled back into the sofa to relax - that is to say, as much as one can, given the circumstances - and took a sip of wine, allowing himself to enjoy the sweet, fruity flavour. He listened intently to Lady Cynarith’s words as she spoke, the vulnerability and willingness to be so open deepening the newfound admiration he was starting to feel toward her. She tried so hard to be a picture of unwavering strength. A determined, calculating entrepreneur donning an impenetrable armor that sought to keep everyone around her from getting too close, so that they wouldn’t see the array of personal insecurities that Uriphiel found far too relatable. Aureate irises held her in his gaze, and for but a moment, he saw Cynarith in a different light. When she shifted the conversation to one of a playful nature, Uriphiel snapped out of his mindful observations and allowed himself to chuckle softly, appreciating her attempt at easing the tension. He did so enjoy a good riddle, and so took a minute to think it through before giving a thoughtful answer. “You know, a woman's wits can be as sharp as any sword," he replied, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "And the answer, I suspect, is 'voice'. A woman's voice, when wielded skillfully, can sway even the most stubborn of minds." Finally, an honest smile graced his lips, lifting his glass toward the woman in toast before he took a sip. “I am sorry to hear of her illness, lady Cynarith. She must have been a remarkable woman. Fierce and compassionate. Devoted to her family above all else. I’m sure her spirit lives on within you.” Dropping his gaze to the bracelet on his wrist, Uriphiel smiles softly as he reminisces of its origin. “No, not a love. A gift from a dear friend from my life before this version of Lithrydel. Someone who accompanied me during my days as a knight. The rune here, it is blessed, used to protect one against the power of lightning; Both natural and magical. Sometimes, on nights like this, I forget that I wear it. But when I remember, I touch it, and it helps put my mind at ease.” It was then that Uriphiel recalled something from earlier in the evening, and he looked upon Lady Cynarith’s legs, focused on where her own piece of jewelry hid. “And what of yours? You did say that you would share at a more convenient time. Is this a more convenient time?”


  • Cynarith might not even realize it at this moment, but it is quite exhausting to keep these walls up and ensure no one can see the cracks. She allows herself to become comfortable in this setting with Uriphiel and something she will look back on fondly in days to come. Her gaze narrows further as she fake pouts, "you've heard that one before. Very well," the game is afoot as she flips through the book to find another salacious joke to surprise him with. She nearly lifted her glass to him as well, but it is bad luck to toast an empty glass, so she simply holds onto it. "Thank you, Sir Phandarion," Cynarith accepts with a single nod. "She really was or else I don't think my father would have gone into a two hundred year hibernation if she wasn't so… herself," for lack of a better word. "He had buried his depression for so long before that, but I could see how it completely destroyed him." The book is almost all but forgotten as echoes of the request her mother made before she completely lost her mind to the disease and Cynarith gets a far off look in her eyes. His elaboration on the bracelet derails that line of thinking and she shifts in her seat to get a closer look, bringing with her the subtle scent of sweet marjoram which is best known for its calming qualities. "It is a rather charming piece, Ur-Sir Phandarion," Cynarith compliments easily as her gaze travels back up to rest within his own and he can watch as her expression falls due to his next probe. It is a sadness laced with a hint of fear and thunder rolls poetically with this moment, for it might change everything, "oh…" That honeyed timbre becomes small and delicate as she nods, "for that I may need some more wine, if I may?" The stemmed glass is extended his way if there is anything left for her to have in that bottle he's been hogging. After a deep sip she admits, "mine was also a gift. I was a young adult at the ripe old age of one hundred and dating a beguiling sorcerer. He gifted me this anklet, knowing my obsession with shiny and pretty things," she lifts the fabric enough and observes the anklet truly for the first time in ages. The once brilliant rubies have dulled a little and the gold showing signs of wear, but now he may see some scarring around the object upon her otherwise perfect skin. "Back when I didn't care who knew I was a dragon, he thought the shade of my scales would be worth more because they look akin to rose gold, but I am not a gold dragon. So he gave me this cursed anklet so I could never shift into a dragon again and held me for ransom until my father paid what he thought was owed." There is a silence that follows that feels like forever before she continues, "I guess they didn't think it through, I mean, how did they think that would go against a white dragon?" There it is. Not only will Uriphiel now know she is half white dragon, but he probably knows that white dragons are evil by nature. "They got what they wanted from him, but he followed them to the cave system they hid out in and-" she swallows hard and looks away. "Just… the things I never knew my father could be capable of and more were on display for me. I have never been able to look at him the same and this anklet will never come off. Not out of fear of what breaking the curse might do to me, but what might happen to those around me if I ever succumb to the things I had seen white dragons do," the delicateness in her voice reached a pinnacle and her voice cracks a little as a tear rolls down her cheek along with the slight trembling of her dimpled chin. Now she doesn't dare see what type of judgment is waiting in Uriphiel's eyes and it feels like her ribcage was dipped in lead.


  • Uriphiel Uriphiel was so lost in the conversation at this point that the next roll of thunder went fairly unnoticed. “Of course,” he says, bringing the wine bottle to her waiting hand and emptying what remained of its contents into the glass. He did not anticipate that what bit of levity they shared between them was about to be shattered like the abrupt fracture of stone through a delicate windowpane. When she told her tale, and those words sunk in, Uriphiel’s heart broke at that moment. He stares at Cynarith, brow knit with unspeakable empathy as he absorbs the heaviness of her words. The revelation of her heritage as a half-white dragon didn't change his perception of her; if anything, it only deepened his understanding of the complexities of her past and the woman she had become. He remained silent for what seemed like an eternity, his gaze never wavering for even a second. He looks on not in judgment, but with compassion and sympathy; he wants her to know that she needs not feel shame. His voice is tender and supportive when he is able to finally vocalize his thoughts. “I… I am so sorry, Cynarith. What you experienced, I could not fathom the… emotions, the… inner turmoil you faced throughout that ordeal. But.. if I may offer another perspective - What your father did, what actions he took, as vile as you may perceive them to be, they were actions borne out of love. Vengeance, as misguided as it was, sprang from an unspoken devotion to his child. A love so profound, so fierce, that it clouded his judgment. I think… at that moment.. he did what he thought best to protect you, heedless of the scars that he would leave upon your soul.” Uriphiel paused, considering his next words with the utmost care. “You are not defined by the actions of others, Lady Cynraith. You have, deep within, the power to shape your own destiny, to rise above the darkness that endeavors to hinder you. You are more than your father’s legacy. Never forget, you carry your mother’s blood as well- a woman of whom you spoke of great things. A woman of unparalleled kindness and strength, a warrior for the good of the land.” With a solemn nod, the avian allowed his words to settle, hoping to soothe the guilt-ridden torrent in Cynarith’s mind.


  • Cynarith uses the back of her hand to wipe the tear from her own cheek quickly before setting her glass down on the end table behind her because she suddenly feels raw- like she is more exposed than back in the drawing room. His timbre, like soothing velvet in its resonance, when he finally speaks and she cannot help it as her turquoise hues seek out his gold. She did not know what to find held within his gaze, but it was not this! He doesn't recoil, sneer, shift uncomfortably or make up a reason to leave. A weak thought sets in as she wonders, just for a hiccup of a second, how comforting it would be to be encircled under one of those feathery wings. To just curl up and forget the world for a moment under that canopy of gold, but she considers his words instead of fantasizing. "There is no question his actions were driven by love, but it was like he finally had a reason to give into that hidden side of him. I know you have never met my father, but he is quite the congenial man and most call his joy infectious. That day I realized he always actively chooses to be good with every fiber of his being, second by second. Ever since then I started to wonder if it wears on him more than he realizes." Slowly, her gaze drops back to the anklet and she concludes flatly, "in the end… this anklet, once a mere ornament dancing around my ankle, has evolved into a shackle of enlightenment, binding me to the harsh truths I've learned about trust, love, and the intricate dance of intimate connections. It's a constant whisper of my naiveté, a ghostly caress reminding me that with each step- I carry the weight of my innocence lost and the wisdom gained in its wake." It underscores her journey from innocence to a more nuanced understanding of the world and her place within it which clarifies the reasoning behind plastering herself behind so many walls. Walls he has practically danced over just out of happenstance, but some are a little harder to leap over still. She shifts and plants her feet firmly on the floor to stand, bringing herself a little closer to the warmth of the fire as she wraps her own arms around her waist. "Thank you for your kind words, Sir Phandarion," she practically whispers over her shoulder with her back to him, but when lightning flashes with another loud boom, she tenses up and her shoulders raise as her fists grip the silk fabric of her night gown.


  • Uriphiel watches with concern as Cynarith gets up off of the couch and moves to stand by the flickering fire. He wrestled the urge to follow, to offer comfort and solace, instead choosing to remain seated as he provided more words of reassurance. “Even if you believe that he harbours a nature of darkness within his heart, how many years has the man spent keeping it at bay, Lady Cynarith? It speaks volumes of his character, to be able to nurture that seed of virtue, to allow it to bloom from the smothering soils of shadow. Even if the weight of keeping such a thing locked away for all those years was unbearable, he still managed to do so - and for noble reasons. We are all capable of evil. I… too, have grappled with choices that some might consider wicked, depending on one’s perspective. And yet, I try to remain on the path of righteousness, knowing full well that I can be capable of atrocities if I do not hold myself accountable for my actions. In my many centuries in this world, I have seen some truly malevolent things. Evil so wretched that even men of the cloth lose their faith. What your father did, it doesn’t necessarily reflect his desire, but instead, the necessity of the circumstances. I think you’re letting these actions cloud your judgment, leading you down a road of misplaced fear. Whether you choose to confront it or not, deep down, your heritage is saurian in nature, and this is something you can not, no, should not deny. I do hope that one day you realize this.” There’s not much else Uriphiel feels that he can say to sway the woman’s mind, so he sets down his own glass of wine and rises to his feet, thinking it best that he go get some sleep while the rumbling from outside is beginning to wane. “Of course, Lady Cynarith. This conversation, as sorrowful a turn it has taken, has been enlightening. I think it is time that I retire to my chambers, because tomorrow is a new day and I’d like to wake with renewed spirit. I implore that you do the same when you are able.” Uriphiel begins to make his exit when he is seized by a sudden impulse, prompting him to stop and look down at his wrist. He turns toward Cynarith, reaching for the woman’s hand and slips the bracelet from his wrist to hers with one fluid motion. “I’d like you to hold onto this. This bracelet shall serve two purposes from this night forward. First, I think you should use it as a reminder that in the worst storms, both literally and figuratively, you have nothing to fear. You are stronger and more resilient than you realize. And second, consider this my promise. That when this is all over, when my quest is finally complete, I will come back to see you. A promise to not forget you, or the things that you’ve done for me.” Uriphiel nods, a soft smile of sincerity gracing his lips as he bid Lady Cynarith goodnight. “Rest well, lady Cynarith,” he said, before resuming his journey back to his quarters.


  • Cynarith lets the flickering flame hold her gaze in a near trance while listening to Uriphiel as her hands drop from around her waist to fold in front of her. She understands her father is great and doesn't hold him accountable for what she saw. It is the fact that this evil sleeps within her and knows she is not nearly as strong as her father. Cynarith is selfish and her motivations are driven by greed. He never even faltered when his wife, the love of his life, died and even though she wanted to say all of these things to Uriphiel, it would be too much. Deep down her desires are ugly and she doesn't deserve such kindness. When he eclipses the fire and stands before her, her misty eyes look up at him through her lashes. Bewilderment shifts her features as she starts to blush and then quickly blinking the threatening tears away when he takes her hand to slip that bracelet on her wrist. He will find her hands are slender, soft and warm in the delicate returned touch. With a knit brow, she understands how special this gesture is and her eyes slowly start to water anew along with the promise he makes. With a soft inhale, her lush lips part as if to say something, but all thought fails her and she settles for a subtle nod in agreement. Her rare genuine smile matches his own and reaches her eyes for the first time in ages which brightens her fair features all the more. "You as well, Uriphi- I mean, Sir Phandarion." After he leaves the library, she caresses her fingertips over the bracelet loose on her wrist with a new appreciation.

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