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Timothy Osrick- bits and pieces

Bits of writing for off-screen or otherwise not-roleplayed things, may add in art later.

These first two bits are from immediately after the event with the ghost.

Tim turned the mirror over again in his hand, restlessly, and ran a nail over it, closing his eyes briefly as the tip of the claw like nail bumped of the ornamentation and etching. He slipped it back into his pocket and stood stiffly as he saw his brother approaching, feet crunching over the snow. They were at the dome in Crystalsong Forest. It had taken some work to locate him, a series of letters to a few of the more amenable Kirin Tor individuals he'd known, and some had been returned with curt responses refusing to aid a potential traitor. The odd, cheerful clerk, Mirriam, had finally given him some assistance, and arranged a meeting. 
The cold was biting and constant, and he felt a deep pit of anxiety as his brother approached. He stared at him, silently for several moments, and Tim stared back, inclining his head silently.

Francis was taller than him, and broader, his skin a chalky bloodless pale, and his hair a faded white. Tim examined his eyes briefly, which shone the same cold blue as the Ebons, rather than the sickly yellow of the Forsaken and other undead, and scratched at his beard idly, stating absently.

"Yes. An enchanted ring. You should consider the same." He gestured at Tim. His eyes still had a lingering fel-green shine to them from the fel corruption, along with the remaining marks and signs; the clawed fingernails, the last few remaining scales on his arms and hands, and the small fangs and blackened hair.
"What happened to you, brother?" It was emotionless, almost, or attempting to feign concern but not entirely succeeding.
"I was- captured. By the Legion, a nathrezim and a doomguard. They force-fed me fel blood. Injected it. Um. I have- recovered. Mostly. There's lingering marks. But I can cast again. That wasn't tainted. And the physical signs are fading. I meant to seek you out and tell you about it all after- well, I'll get to- all of that, but-"
"I hear you are a traitor to the Kirin Tor, brother." Again, the tone and expression were neutral, calm, as if pointing out the weather. Tim grimaced, and shook his head sharply, raising a hand.

"No. No, I'm not. We were framed, implicated for the deaths of Kirin Tor individuals. It was when I was captured. The Nathrezim, it manipulated me into creating collars, enchanted with invisibility, to hide an army of demons. And- dragons, storm drakes. When I escaped, we attacked the caves where they were holding their captives. There was a bomb, though, and some...horrible flesh creation that I'd seen the dreadlord working on whilst I was captive. People died and it was all set up to appear to be down to us. Um. Other groups were also framed in similar fashions. We are- attempting to investigate and find the true traitors, or prove the innocence of the others."
"I see." 
The voice was leaden and neutral. There was a long pause, and Tim looked to Francis uncertainly. The undead made no motion for some time, the cold wind ruffling his hair and robes, before speaking abruptly again. "You came here to tell me of this?"
Tim shook his head, and looked away. Watching his brother unnerved him. He didn't move at all; none of the normal twitching, fidgeting or glancing around of a living creature, not even the faint motion of breathing or blinking. He had attempted a look of concern, but it looked strangely unconvincing and stiff, and the eyes continued to stare steadily beneath the faintly furrowed pale brow.
"I.....spoke to mother. To- Elizabeth. Her spirit, her- ghost. She had escaped. The house, that is. She'd- helped a friend of mine. And he'd told her everything he knew about me, and she was- looking for me."
Francis made a tiny motion, a tilt of the head, and his eyes seemed to bore into Tim a little, piercingly.
"Tell me everything."

Tim nodded, hesitating, and began to recount what'd happened; Brigs, the mirror. His absence and presumed death, and sudden reappearance. He struggled slightly, as he explained the meeting with the spirit; of how they'd all appeared as twisted reflections of their own self-perception, of her screaming and weeping, and the two, contradictory voices. He hesitated again, but repeated her warning, that the house was not yet done and over with, that he would have to return there, and that she said it would be his death.

Francis listened silently and impassively, staring straight at Tim as he spoke without word or motion. When he hesitated or halted for a reaction, the silence dragged on undisturbed apart from the howling wind. Finally, he described the gnomes' devices; how she had fled across the water and been about to flee, but at the last moment returned and been sent into the Light.

And then he waited, and looked to Francis. He made no move or sound for several minutes, and Tim was opening his mouth to speak when he suddenly drew from his hip a long, elegant silver sword. He stared down at it and then, to Tim.

"You should depart, brother. And do not return until there is evidence of your innocence."

Tim stared, his stomach wrneching slightly in shock, and took a small step back, and stammered a little, struggling to reply back, mouth suddenly dry.

"You- don't believe- look, we were -screwed over-, I never would've knowingly harmed the Kirin Tor."
"Knowingly. What did you assume those enchanted collars would do? For what purpose were they crafted?"
"No, I- didn't know he was a demon, he- was pretending to be a person, a captive. They were going to help us- escape. To get the Vrykul and dragons and escape."
"And you believed in the first person you happened to befriend in Legion captivity?"
Tim frowned, staring at the ground, and frowned, replying after a moment.
"I came here to tell you about mother. Not- that."
"Yes." There was a brief pause, and the undead mage added more quietly. "It is good that she is at peace. However."

He took a half step towards Tim, blade still drawn, and halted close in front of him, looking down.
"The facts remain as they are. I awoke, an undead risen by a nathrezim. I waited. I was given orders. In time your group found me, and isolated me, until the mind control lessened. You spun your story; told me that our brother Markus was dead, and father, both by your hand or due to your associates. You claim father was possessed and committed great acts of cruelty. That he murdered our mother. That this justified your actions, that you killed him to save our sister, who you claim to have hidden away some where for her safety. And will not tell me where."
"I- told you, I do not know where-"
"Irrelevant. You can scry. You have things of hers. I do not. I have no way of knowing if this is the truth or a lie." Tim stared up, grimacing. His tone was cold but thunderous, leaden.

"And now, I was left to hear from my peers before yourself, that my little brother is accused of treason, of working -with a nathrezim-. And by your own admission, you did. Unknowing, you claim. And above all, you return to me with the marks of fel use clear upon you."

"I- told you, already- they made me." Tim protested, with grimace at how childish and petulant he sounded to himself. Francis nodded, staring impassively.
"As you say."
His tone was neutral as ever, but cold mistrust echoed faintly in it. He sheathed his sword abruptly, and turned away, walking back to the Kirin Tor encampment.

"Still. You are my brother. I will afford you the benefit of the doubt for the meantime. I am glad you are alive, Timothy. I am glad our mother is at rest, if any of that was true. However. Do not contact me again until your name is clear and you have evidence of your innocence, and Merissa's safety. It would be...unwise."
Tim blinked slightly, and nodded, grimacing faintly and looking up to him "I will. I will find you again when- when it's all settled. When they find us innocent. I promise."

"Find Merissa. Make sure she is safe, and tell her the way of things. And be careful. There are only the three of us left, now, and only two living. Do not come to me with further tidings of death and ghosts."

He turned, stepping away through the thin snow and back to the camp, and Tim called after him briefly, considering.

"Hold- could you- do me one favor, then."


Tim paused before the abbey, loosening his cloak and removing it, folding it over one arm and heading towards the large doors, glancing around as he did quietly. The pleasant summer warmth of the early afternoon was a striking contrast from the constant biting cold of Northrend. In the fields, acolytes tended the kitchen gardens.

To one side, a small group was sat in a circle in the grass, led in quiet discussion by an one-eyed, heavily-scarred elderly priest with a shaven head and trimmed grey beard. It was calm, and quiet, the sunlight golden, casting an amber glow over the pale stonework.

He made his way inside, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness inside. Robed figures milled about, heading from library, to the main hall, to kitchens or gardens. A few shot him strange looks, or exchanged quiet muttered words with their companions, hurrying on away. He peering around, frowning, and swore a little under his breath, searching around.

"Language. This is holy place. You look lost."

The voice was deep and rumbling, tone dry and faintly amused, directly behind him. Tim halted, and turned. It was the one-eyed priest, his students filtering into the abbey from behind him, some pausing and peering at Tim as they passed. He was extremely tall, with the build of a muscular man gone slightly to seed with age. His one good eye was dark and deep-set, the other a milky sightless pale, the eyelid twisted and mangled in a mass of scarring that extended far up over his shaven head.

"You are all to read Thaldime's Meditations upon the nature of the Light, chapters one through five, and prepare a statement for our next lesson on how you feel this impacts on our understanding of the Three Virtues." He called after the departing students in a booming voice. Some groaned, others nodded eagerly, and all filtered off towards the library. The entry hall was suddenly fairly empty, and Tim looked back to the old priest, who gave a soft snort, and began to hobble slowly towards a corridor.

"You enter a church of Light with glowing Fel eyes and- those are- claws, if I'm not mistaken, lad. Either you have important business here, or you like to live eventfully. In here."

He turned, opening a doorway, and hobbled inside. It was a small office, stacked with bookshelves heaving with tomes. A large writing desk took up the centre of the room, and a set of plated, armoured robes were displayed proudly in a corner, a large, ornamented warhammer mounted on the wall behind them. The priest made his way to the desk and sat, stiffly, with a groan, gesturing to another chair.

"No need to stand on cerimony. Have a seat. You look upset. Talk."

Tim inclined his head, and went to sit opposite. The priest observed him, his one eye dark and keen. He interlaced his fingers on the table in front of him, and Tim realised with a start that all his fingers on the right hand had been severed at the top knuckle. He cleared his throat, and looked up to him.

"My name is Timothy Osrick. I am an apprectice, of the Kirin Tor. My sister, Merissa Osrick, was studying here. Some- months ago now, I sent a letter asking that she be considered for progression considering her- aptitude and experience, and she was sent on to a monastry to study in seclusion."
The priest nodded slightly, observing Tim thoughtfully.

"I recall her. Smart lass, gold hair with a bit of a curl to it. Good student." He paused, tilting his head and eyeing Tim as if reappraising him suddenly. "You are her brother? She talked a great deal about you. You are- not what I expected from the stories."

Tim smiled very faintly and inclined his head. "She- ah, she was always prone to overstatement about me. I try to live up to it. So- you can tell me where she is?"

The priest sighed, and leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking faintly. "Why did you recommend she move forwards to study in seclusion, firstly. And why do you wish to intrude into it now?"

"There were threats against our family. A nathrezim, one who possessed our father, killed our mother, and rose our brother from death as an undead servant. We - myself and the group I work with- were hunting it. And I feared it would come after her, so I wanted her- hidden away, where I couldn't find her, either."

"Why hidden from yourself?"
"I- feared the Nathrezim would use me to find her, rip her location from my mind if I knew it."
The priest sighed, and smoothed his beard with one hand, frowning faintly.
"Now you seek her. Why?"
"The dreadlord is dead. That threat has passed. And- I need to tell her many things. That my brother, the- undead one, Francis, for one, we thought him slain and gone. That the dreadlord- existed at all, and its hand in the distrucion of our family. And most- recently. We found the spirit of our- mother. Her ghost was- wandering, tormented. We managed to- get it to pass on peacefully."

The priest was watching him very closely. Tim looked away, blinking, and grimaced, frustrated with himself, his voice catching and faltering at the last. The priest spoke, quietly, voice a low rumble.

"This was very recently, wasn't it, lad?"

He nodded silently, and swore quietly, bring up a sleeve and rubbing at his eyes in irritation at himself as he found them growing wet with tears. The priest sighed, and leant frowards again, rummaging in his desk draws. He produced a small punnet of strawberries, and placed them down in front of Tim, who tilted his head in mild confusion and peered at him.

"From the gardens. Have one. I have to give you bad news and they may prove helpful."

Tim blinked, and reached for one, the priest picking one up also and turning it over carefully in his stumped fingers. Tim bit into his- it was very ripe, on the edge of turning, and extremely sweet and juicy. The priest nodded slightly in satisfaction, and sighed, hobbling to the window, idly twirling the fruit between fingers.

"I cannot tell you where your sister is studying. The intrusion of family matters, troubles, news, deaths, births, weddings, funerals....demonic activities. These are- precisely the matters which one is meant to set aside when dedicating oneself to the Light. I emerged myself from my studies to find myself an uncle and an orphan at once; I cannot say I am without criticism of the system, but it has its purposes. Your sister is meant to have nothing to distract her from studying the Light, no purpose but the pursuit of knowledge and refinement of understanding. This is why we set aside material things; why we pursue an ascetic life. To strip away all attachments and remain, revealed starkly for who we are before the Light as individuals, our core, our centres."

He paused, scratching idly at the scarring around his ruined eye.

"Furthermore, whilst I believe you, myself, others may be less than swayed or charmed by a brother who first insists his little sister is in danger from demons; then reappears fel-tainted enquiring to her whereabouts."

Tim stared down at his hands in his lap, and slowly nodded, with a small grimace. The priest watched him, arching an eyebrow, and looked back outside, sticking the strawberry into his mouth whole and chewing thoughtully before replying.

"Light's breath that's bloody sweet- anyway. I cannot help you, sadly. Likewise I cannot point out that the record room has a listing of all monastries- not a great many, I note. I certainly cannot point out that the monastries are in various, wildly different-looking geographical locations, either, nor that as a mage, I expect you can scry. Doing so would be highly remiss of me, after all. I certainly couldn't point out that as centres of learning rather than military institutions, they tend to have fairly minimal security, and it would be outright forbidden that I mentioned that novices are quite well known for slipping out from the monastries to town on occaision, and tend to make all manner of ingenious escape routes to do so- you know, loose bricks as footholds on walls, on."

Tim looked up to him, blinking, and slowly nodded. There was a flicker of faint amusement to the priest's eye, and he hobbled past Tim again, patting him lightly on the shoulder with one broad, large hand.

"Have another strawberry. I'm sorry I couldn't help you at all, lad. For what it's worth, I think your heart's in the right place. Now, I am going to call the record-keeper to the belfry for a brief discussion of something terribly important and entirely unrelated. Was there anything else?"

Tim shook he head, standing, and took another strawberry.

"I- no. Thank you- so much. What's your name?"

"Benjamin Marston. Good luck in your endeavours, Tumothy Osrick. I certainly do not wish you success. And do not thank me. I couldn't help you at all."

He smirked faintly, and turned, ushering out Tim from the office. "The records are a little down there, to the left, second door. Take care."

He limped away, slowly, down the corridor, and Tim saw him in the distance speaking with a robed man, gesturing, and noddding, leading him off upstairs. He hurried forwards when they'd left, ducking into the records room, and stared around at the dusty shelves reaching from floor to cieling, all heaving with books. He grimaced, swearing quietly, and set to searching.

A few minutes later he emerged, a hasty list noted down and stuffed into a pocket. He passed the priest in the corridors, wandering back with the archivist, and glanced to him with a small nod. The priest made no acknowlegement, bar a brief, quick wink, hobbling onwards deep in conversation.

Tim took in a deep breath of the warm air as he exited thed building, and closed his eyes briefly, feeling the warmth of the hazy afternoon sun and the cool breeze stirring the air. He turned away, and began the long trip back to Stormwind, and from there, back to the Broken Isles.

Its amazing, as always ^^ Francis is HARSH!

(A bit more. From in the week after the underwater party, when Gallanstar was imprisoned in Dala)

Tim sat at his small table and waited, idly refilling his cup with tea and inhaling the herbal steam briefly before adding a judicious spoonful of honey. He looked about the inside of the inn briefly. It was almost empty- too early for lunch and too late for breakfast, the weak morning sun illuminating the only other customers, a draenei and night elf in quiet conversation in the opposite corner. 

He sipped the tea, and drummed his fingers slightly on the tabletop, staring off and letting his mind drift back. What had Francis even been like, before? He had been so young when he left, that it was hard to pick apart his own real memories from his father’s glowing tales of his paragon son. Grown-up. Sort of serious, but he would laugh and joke and play-fight with Marcus. Protective, kind. But beyond that? What had he even liked or disliked? What had his favourite colour been, what animal? Had he known any good jokes, sung any songs? What had he feared, what had he doubted? The war stories had eclipsed all human detail, his father’s perfect, heroic, dead son, to which none other could ever measure. You might as well ask a statue’s personality.

Tim blinked, and sat up hurriedly from his slumped, thoughtful slouch as he saw his brother making his was into the tavern, staring about unblinkingly before approaching Tim’s table. Tim placed his cup down, and stood awkwardly, pulling out the other chair. Francis did not sit, but stood, staring at Timothy with unblinking burning blue eyes.


“Francis. Um. I’m really glad you could make it.”

“I was delayed.” There was a pause, dragging uncomfortably. Francis’ features showed no particular emotion, and his voice was a level, dry monotone. “Now I am here.”

“Right, right. Good!” Tim cleared his throat, and nodded to the seat. “Um- shall we sit?”

Francis stared at the chair briefly, then nodded wordlessly, sitting and removing his staff from his back, leaning it against the table. Tim sat, and reached for the cup, sipping the tea slowly, mildly grateful for something to occupy his hands.

“So- ah- how have you been?” He asked after a few moments of blank silence.

“I continue to exist.” Francis replied “And my work with the Kirin Tor continues. With Argus gone my tasks are smaller in scale. I spend most time amongst the archives, organising, arranging, filing, annotating. I do not require sleep so I am far more efficient than the living archivists.”

Tim tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t that sort of- dull, though-?”

“I do not suffer from boredom particularly. It does not trouble me. There is satisfaction in it. Some of the living find me unsettling. Therefor the solitary nature of the work is ideal.”

TIm nodded slowly, looking to Francis, his glance met by the same blank, calm, level expression.

“I - um. I’m sure it’s not personal, people just don’t like thinking about - death. And- you probably make them ah- well, acutely- aware of it. Being- dead and- all. But I’m sure that it’s not anything personal?” Tim replied with an encouraging smile. Francis nodded very slightly.

“That much is understandable. Death was unpleasant.” He stares at the table with a brief glimmer of a frown, then shook his head “How have you fared, little brother?”
Tim stared into his tea, thinking for a while.

“Um, you know, alright. We declared war on the sea. Well, not the SEA, but- things in it. Naga, really. We declared war on the naga. Um. Aszhara loyalists specifically. Well, a specific group of specifically Azshara-loyalists in the sea.”

Francis continued to stare, and Tim cleared his throat continued, the words spilling out nervously.

“We went to this- underwater palace to a party with a bunch of evil people in disguise as a different bunch of evil people? I was acting as the leader. Well, playing the part of the- evil group’s leader, anyway. In disguise. Um. I mean, we did really well, we rescued this- human they’d got captured. But it was really, really stressful and upsetting at the same time. But we did well. But I did have to dance with this- never mind. We got out alright, mostly, although when we were escaping I got stabbed a bunch of times by this elf-”

“Which elf? Do I know this elf?” The reply was sharp.
“Ah- Gallanstar, no, you don’t know him-”
“Where is Gallanstar?”
“I’m- not certain-”
“I will kill Gallanstar.”
“No, look, he’s imprisoned here anyway, I think-”
“I will gain access to Gallanstar’s cell and kill Gallanstar-”
“No, look you can’t just-.”
“He stabbed you. Multiple times.”
“Yes, but- look, I’m alright. I survived, I got patched up, it just- happens. It’s alright. I’m not made of glass.” Tim took a long breath, looking over to Francis worriedly. The undead mage was silent for a while, and then nodded solemnly.
“Justice will be done.”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose and finished his tea, setting the cup down and looking at Francis quietly.

“Right, yes. Anyway, apart from- that. Everything has been- alright. We finished decorating the house. You can come and see it whenever you want. I’m sure you could probably - improve the wards.”
“This is the house your illidari sin’dorei lover bought for you.”

Tim hesitated, and nodded, looking to Francis, who remained impassively watching, speaking in the same dry, level monotone voice. “You are happy with him? He has done nothing to harm you?”
“Nothing. He never would.” Tim replied firmly but quietly, inclining his head.

Francis shifted slightly, shoulders raising and falling with a rattling hiss that Tim absently realised was a ‘sigh’ of sorts, staring more intently over the table at him.

“I wish in part you had chosen a different partner. I do not care at all that you are- disinclined from women, brother, but- he is tainted. He harbours fel and demonic energies within his very soul. I do not think he wishes you harm. Everything I see or hear of him speaks well of his intentions. But I urge you to be cautious still. He is still extremely dangerous for what he is. Not who he is.”

Tim frowned, inclining his head. “I’m not- ignorant of the dangers, believe me. And I won’t pretend that the future is - certain, or clear. But - I love him, he makes me happy. I feel safe with him. And he doesn’t...pity me.”
Francis nodded slowly, leaning back and staring at Tim in silence again. Tim let it drag on, absently glancing over to a new group of customers filtering in- a group of apprentices in a chattering huddle. Francis turned his head and followed his gaze and spoke quietly in a measured tone, inclining his head.

“Forgive me. I do not mean to cast doubts. I cannot help to still see you as you were when we parted.”

“I’m not ten years old any more” Tim replied quietly, and looked to Francis. The undead mage stared back silently for a while, the two observing each other. Tim’s mind drifted briefly back, to their farewell on the docks, the last time that they’d spoken before he’d headed north. He’d seemed a giant then, to Tim, in fine robes, with a fine gryphon and ornate staff, filled with noble purpose and bravery. Not the faintest trace of fear or doubt or weakness. It was strange to look at him now- tall and broad still, certainly, but worn and battered, hair sparse and white, skin pallid, creased and lined with the dehydration of death, eyes sunken deep into withered sockets. He spoke eventually, with a low dry grunt. 

“I am aware time has moved on without me. Life has moved on. Things happened, that I was not there to stop.” Francis stared at the table, and there was stirring of emotion to his tone, briefly, wistful and regretful. Tim inclined his head, looking at the cup and absently turning it around in his hands.

“I know. But- um. Bad stuff happened, and we’re the people we are now, and we have to move on from- where we are. We can’t- change stuff.”
“That does not stop me from wishing the world was other than it is.”

Tim nodded slightly, with a sigh, and inclined his head, with a sudden thought, pointing to Francis.

“Say, um- what’s your favourite animal?”

Francis’ brow furrowed, and he tilted his head.

“I am- fond of gryphons. I miss my old one, Maurach. She was a good bird. Brave. Swift, vicious.”

“Right, um. Dragons, myself, if they count. Or hippogryphs. Or ravens. What’s your favourite- colour?”

“Dark blue.”

“Purple. Obviously. Um. Did you have any hobbies?”

Francis frowned, inclining his head in thought. “I used to like flying. For the sport of it. I’d fly races with Maurach now and then. She was good. Or-” he hesitated, and Tim peered over curiously. “Fishing. I used to fish sometimes. Do you remember?”

“I- yeah.” Tim blinked, frowning, and stared back. “Before you went, there was- one time when we all went along the coast. I was- really, really small. And- Marcus stunned a bunch of fish with a spell, and you told him off for cheating-”

“He did not fish with honor. The art is in the patience.” Francis replied with deliberate solemnity, and Tim snorted slightly with a soft chuckle.

“We can fish sometime? There’s a good spot by the house.”

“I do not require sustenance. Why would I procure fish?”

“No, but- I’m no good at it, you could always teach me.”

“Perhaps.” Francis replied, and inclined his head, thinking before speaking again.

“You are my only meaningful link to the living world, Timothy. The other Kirin Tor tolerate me, but those that knew me before are upset by my presence, or fear me, or else have moved on entirely and would not wish for me to intrude back into their lives. I am….aware that I am sometimes difficult to speak to. But I am grateful to have you. And would like very much for us to be on good terms.”

Tim smiled warmly, and nodded, looking over.

“I want that too. Um. Come to the house tomorrow, I’ll get you the coordinates. You can help me with the wards, and I can show the waterfall pools and the village and- you can talk to Tailan properly and put any- fears you have about that aside.”

Francis was silent for a while, staring back, then spoke. “Very well. The locals will not be disturbed?”

“Maybe, but- they’re pretty relaxed, and they haven’t raised a fuss over an illidari. I’ll let them know beforehand, anyway. You’ll come?”

“I shall visit you, aye.” Tim smiled broadly in return, and pulled out a scrap of paper, scrawling down the portal coordinates and passing them over. Francis stared for a while, looking over them, and then placed the paper away, shaking his head to himself.

“An entirely new continent. So much is changed.”

“It’s very beautiful. You’ll like it.” Tim replied quietly, and went to stand with a faint grimace. There was a constant faint ache from the healing injuries to his chest and abdomen, that still stung sharply when he moved or stretched. Francis observed, speaking levelly.

“You are certain I am forbidden from killing this Gallanstar?”

“Um. For the moment, anyway. I’ll- let you know if it changes. I need to sort a few errands out but- I will see you- tomorrow, aye?”

“Tomorrow. Keep yourself well until then. Try not to accumulate more injuries.”

Tim snorted faintly, with a small chuckle, turning for the door. “Light- was that a joke? Miracles do happen.”

“Not so much as a joke as it should have been. Take care.”

Tim nodded, heading out into the street, smiling faintly.

I love these snippets. Francis is the best x)

"“Which elf? Do I know this elf?” The reply was sharp.
“Ah- Gallanstar, no, you don’t know him-”
“Where is Gallanstar?”
“I’m- not certain-”
“I will kill Gallanstar.”
“No, look, he’s imprisoned here anyway, I think-”
“I will gain access to Gallanstar’s cell and kill Gallanstar-”
“No, look you can’t just-.”"

Just the best lmao.

It got me a little tearful. <3 But at least he has his brother back-.. kinda!

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