(Still, Flayn seems to be handling it well enough so he doesn't press it anymore. He helps himself to some drink, something warm and spiced. Even in Almyra, it can get cold in the winter, especially at night, even if it isn't the same type of cold one might experience in Fodlan.)
Hopefully, everyone will get to hear about it. (How nice Fodlan is. How nice it can be. He looks down at his drink and smiles to himself, ) And I hope you'll see our good points too.
(This is, after all, his homeland. Before there was Fodlan, there was Almyra, and this is the land he feels closest to. For all of the troubles and hardships he's had, he still loves it.
Nearby, there's a collective gasp as a mage lights a fire for the wood. There's a round of applause and cheering and from some of the other tables and smaller crowds, mothers and fathers begin to guide their younger children over. They keep walking closer and closer to the flames. There's a melody in the air, as the people begin to sing a repetitive song, clapping along as they take turns helping the children leap over the fire. Some children cry and their mothers lift them up into their arms, carrying them as they hop. Back and forth, back and forth, gradually, the older children come over and begin to jump on their own. Those that can't jump over the flames yet begin to dance around the fire and the words to the songs become more clear as they sing together, louder and louder.
He leans close to Flayn and speaks along with the song,)
"Give me your beautiful color, and take my sickly pallor. May your warmth be mine; your light is mine."
(He slips his hand into Flayn's and rises, inviting her to come over towards the fire,)
no subject
Even so, there are better ways to ask.
(Still, Flayn seems to be handling it well enough so he doesn't press it anymore. He helps himself to some drink, something warm and spiced. Even in Almyra, it can get cold in the winter, especially at night, even if it isn't the same type of cold one might experience in Fodlan.)
Hopefully, everyone will get to hear about it. (How nice Fodlan is. How nice it can be. He looks down at his drink and smiles to himself, ) And I hope you'll see our good points too.
(This is, after all, his homeland. Before there was Fodlan, there was Almyra, and this is the land he feels closest to. For all of the troubles and hardships he's had, he still loves it.
Nearby, there's a collective gasp as a mage lights a fire for the wood. There's a round of applause and cheering and from some of the other tables and smaller crowds, mothers and fathers begin to guide their younger children over. They keep walking closer and closer to the flames. There's a melody in the air, as the people begin to sing a repetitive song, clapping along as they take turns helping the children leap over the fire. Some children cry and their mothers lift them up into their arms, carrying them as they hop. Back and forth, back and forth, gradually, the older children come over and begin to jump on their own. Those that can't jump over the flames yet begin to dance around the fire and the words to the songs become more clear as they sing together, louder and louder.
He leans close to Flayn and speaks along with the song,)
"Give me your beautiful color, and take my sickly pallor.
May your warmth be mine; your light is mine."
(He slips his hand into Flayn's and rises, inviting her to come over towards the fire,)
Let's go. It's our last chance.