pretty // S H I N Y // things. }{ {open.}

[Silvarn]

Silvarn slipped into the tavern after someone, quickly melding into the throng of people seated at tables. He brushed a hand across his face, wisps of Twilight flowing from his fingertips. His features were now muted, less prominent, truly just another face in the crowd.

Scorcahr blipped in and out of Silvarn's conscious, giving his master various tidbits on the tavern patrons. The sea of thoughts made Scorcahr's travels from the relative safety of Silvarn's mind difficult. When he finally briefly brushed against the druid's conscious, he whined for rest.

Silvarn gave no answer, so Scorcahr took it as permission and faded from Silvarn's mind. While Scorcahr recuperated, Silvarn never removed his intense grey eyes from the druid, watching him with every resemblance to a prowling feline, sans only the twitching tail.

[Brophy]

Sipping his beer the young shaman continued staring down the patrons of the bar. There over near the door he met gazes with an oddly familiar man. Hurriedly Brophy glanced away, something about the man bothered him to his core but he couldn't quite place it. Giving way to his instincts Brophy left his chair and made his way up into his room.

Still feeling the unease he felt downstairs he got to his knees and began to pray and meditate to the Great Spirits. This was the calm before a storm he could tell; a storm of what he didn't know, but through his meditation he was preparing for it. Only a few seconds into his prayers Brophy realized his terrible mistake. He had left Zantiki downstairs.