Truly, you needn't fuss so much, he's already quieted--
[Estinien turns around and...doesn't see the specter at all. Hide, hair, nor scale. Was all that it took to exorcise it to be in Aymeric's vicinity? Would it return should he leave?]
Hm.
[Not that he's fussed that the Ghost of Vengenance Past has parted with this world yet again, but surely there's something else...
He turns back around to face forward and stops short, eyes going wide and staring in absolute dumbfounded shock.
Ahead of them, to the side of the street, are three Elezen: a man, a woman, and a young boy no more than six summers. All three are fair haired, the boy and woman with hair as pale as Estinien's, the man a slightly darker ash blond. All three are dressed in simple, practical clothing--not tatters, but carefully mended and cared for.
All faces that he had forgotten in fire.
Oh, he'd remembered the broad strokes, but the details had all burned away over the years--his parents first, then his beloved brother. There were no paintings or drawings to recall them, no writings to preserve their words.
His mouth opens as if to speak, but there's nothing he can even possibly say. And, equally, there's nothing they say--there's recognition in their eyes, and tears, and love, but no words.]
no subject
[Estinien turns around and...doesn't see the specter at all. Hide, hair, nor scale. Was all that it took to exorcise it to be in Aymeric's vicinity? Would it return should he leave?]
Hm.
[Not that he's fussed that the Ghost of Vengenance Past has parted with this world yet again, but surely there's something else...
He turns back around to face forward and stops short, eyes going wide and staring in absolute dumbfounded shock.
Ahead of them, to the side of the street, are three Elezen: a man, a woman, and a young boy no more than six summers. All three are fair haired, the boy and woman with hair as pale as Estinien's, the man a slightly darker ash blond. All three are dressed in simple, practical clothing--not tatters, but carefully mended and cared for.
All faces that he had forgotten in fire.
Oh, he'd remembered the broad strokes, but the details had all burned away over the years--his parents first, then his beloved brother. There were no paintings or drawings to recall them, no writings to preserve their words.
His mouth opens as if to speak, but there's nothing he can even possibly say. And, equally, there's nothing they say--there's recognition in their eyes, and tears, and love, but no words.]