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Drekar blinks at Rixtus and then gives the slightest hint of a smile.
"Maybe after we ge' ou' of this hellhole," he replies. Though the Dragonkin didn't need the help, he understood that the guard was widely disliked by most, not just him - he wouldn't deny others the chance at the man for his own goals.
He pats the gnome on the shoulder and then falls silent once more.
pets
His smile faded a bit as Rhiv described the reaction to his whittling, and he responded with an empathetic nod. "They can be brutal over seemingly nothing." He handed the carving back to Rhiv.
"Guards see what they want to see. It's… something I try to take advantage of." Franklyn knew Rhival'lur by reputation. The quiet man was thought a little odd by the guards, and they'd been extra cruel to him as a result. "But don't let them stop you."
"Aye. Mighty nice ayouse sayin' that, Frank…" No, it was way too early for nicknames. "…lyn. Ah try not to take it too personal – half of thems ain't too terrible. Relatively, ah'least."
Rhival'lur sighed, returning the whittled figurine to his pocket.
"Speakin' of," he added a bit grimly, "Ah'm s'posed to be onna shift t'night. Y'appen to know what th'time is?"
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Rhival'lur sighed, returning the whittled figurine to his pocket.
"Speakin' of," he added a bit grimly, "Ah'm s'posed to be onna shift t'night. Y'appen to know what th'time is?"
Franklyn smiled. "You're a decent guy, Rhival'lur."
His face fell again when Rhiv mentioned the night shift. It was notoriously more dangerous than the day shifts. "It's roughly half an hour before sunset. I checked a bit ago."
pets
His face fell again when Rhiv mentioned the night shift. It was notoriously more dangerous than the day shifts. "It's roughly half an hour before sunset. I checked a bit ago."
"Ah. Shite."
Rhival'lur blanched a bit at his own language.
"Sorry, lad. Jus' irks my anam is all."
He cracked his neck and his back, and he rolled his shoulders. A dull ache of dread settled in the pit of his stomach, echoing like the peals of the belltowers back home. And then another pang of guilty rage rippled through him at the memory.
"S'awful for the psyche, bein' 'ere. Least I'm not 'alf sleep like I am inna mornin's." He was grumbling to nobody in particular, freting over a few herb jars on a shelf. He'd organized them a few minutes ago, but his hands were fidgety now.
